Chapter 4

Salvatore

A nd I do watch her the next day. Sitting in the shadows in my car, I hold a cigarette between my fingers and observe her through the window of the office building. Despite the early morning hustle around me, my attention remains focused on only one thing.

Serena.

Sitting at her desk, with her back straight, she organizes her papers. I don’t see a trace of the girl who never once refused me anything. Completely opposite to what I’ve come to expect from her.

A puff of smoke escapes my mouth when I breathe out, leaving an acrid flavor on my tongue. I find myself thinking about the talk I had with my father last night.

"Salvatore, this is an incredible opportunity," my father’s voice crackles over the phone. "Having a practicing lawyer in the family will be invaluable. Think of the leverage, the connections. Why don't you want her to work? Are you catching feelings, Salvatore?"

Feelings. The word tastes bitter in my mouth. "No," I reply curtly, the denial swift and sharp. But his question lingers, festering like a wound. Am I catching feelings? It seems absurd, yet here I am, watching her every move, consumed by thoughts of her.

I take another drag from the cigarette. Leverage. Connections. These are the things that matter. Not feelings, not emotions.

Since when has she become so cunning?

Anger simmers within me as I think about her using my father to try and influence me. The same man who thinks he has the power but is nothing more than the scum beneath my shoes. He doesn’t deserve to know a single detail about our life.

She is proving to be more devious than I ever imagined. As much as I hate to admit it, her persistence made me agree. Yet, I can't shake off the defiance, the fire. She’s different. And that difference is unsettling.

I grind the cigarette into the ashtray, the remnants of it crumbling under my touch. My gaze never leaves her, watching as she interacts with her colleagues. Her expressions are animated. She is so alive, so vibrant. And I hate how much I notice it.

I remember how, when Serena stepped out of the mansion to head to work, she caught sight of me, and instead of ignoring my presence, she smirked, a gleam in her eyes.

She was so smug. It felt like a million fire ants were flowing through my veins.

I curse under my breath, knowing that staying here, stalking her, will accomplish nothing. She already has a guard assigned to her, watching her every move. Lingering like a shadow outside her place of work is pointless.

As I drive to my office, frustration eats at me. Once there, I try to dive into the mountain of work waiting on my desk, but I can't focus on a thing.

Everything blurs together, overshadowed by thoughts of her. Why am I thinking about her so much? It is as if she has taken root in my mind, a constant, maddening presence. It’s like I am obsessed with her.

I scoff at my own thoughts. Obsessed with her? No, that can’t be it. I am probably obsessed with controlling her. That has to be it. The need to dominate, to bend her to my will—that is what drives me. It has to be.

I just want things to go back to how they were. I want her affection back, her beautiful smiles that she would give me. I never thought that I wanted these silly little things, but it turns out that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I miss the way we would have dinner together every evening. Despite everything, I do care for her—a lot.

But I can’t give her what she craves. Love. That word, that feeling, is beyond my grasp. My mother made sure of that. She deformed every opportunity I had to experience love, transforming it into something corrupted.

I care for Serena, more than I have ever cared for anyone, but love? That is something I could never offer her.

I pull at my hair, throwing the documents I was looking at to the side. Maybe I need to make the first move. She didn’t have breakfast this morning; she’ll come back starving. I could cook for her, and maybe then we could go back to having dinner together every evening, like we used to.

I rush to the mansion and hurry to the kitchen. I pull steaks out of the freezer to defrost them. As I work, Lucia, our live-in maid, enters the kitchen.

"Mr. Agosti, do you need any help?" she asks, her voice cautious, her eyes zeroing on the steak.

I shake my head. "No, Lucia. Take the day off," I say, waving her away.

She looks at me in shock. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. "Go."

Lucia hesitates for a moment before nodding and leaving the kitchen, bewilderment dripping off her. I stand there, rubbing the bridge of my nose, feeling utterly foolish.

What the hell am I doing? I am not the best cook, and this isn’t some grand romantic gesture. But I want to show her that I care, even though I can’t be the man she wants me to be.

I occupy myself with getting the food ready, my hands working mechanically while I spice the steaks and arrange the table. I want to show her that I am trying, that I am willing to make an effort, even if I can’t give her everything she desires. She doesn’t need to avoid me like I’m some deadly disease.

When she comes back, I feel my hands start to sweat. I don’t understand the way my body is reacting. I go to her, reaching to remove her blazer. Her eyebrows draw together in confusion as I do.

"How was your day?" I ask, clearing my throat.

Her eyes search mine before a frown twists her lips. "Why do you care?"

I sigh, my features hardening. "Listen, I know this is fucked up. I am sorry for the things I said that night," I say, wanting to smooth things over.

She rolls her eyes, moving past me, but I grab her arm and pull her tight against my body. She is breathing hard in my face, and I miss this—the closeness, the intensity.

"I am not saying the things I said didn’t have some truth. I am not the type of man who can give you what you want—"

She cuts me off with a scoff. "You got that right!"

I clench my teeth, looking away to control myself before trying again. "I just want us to be cordial at least, Serena. There isn’t getting out of this, so we can’t stay like this forever."

She bites her lip, refusing to speak. I know she sees a point in what I am saying. I guide her to the table where I have dinner set.

Her eyes widen slightly when I tell her I was the one who cooked. For a moment, her guard drops, and I see a flicker of the woman that I am used to.

"Sit," I say, pulling out a chair for her.

She sits down with a huff. I set her plate with the steak and the vegetables I have steamed, then take my seat opposite her. The tension in the room is obvious as I try to start a casual conversation.

"How's the new job?" I ask, forcing a lightness into my tone.

"It's fine," she replies curtly, cutting into her steak.

I try again. "Is Harper mentoring you well?"

"Yes, she's very capable," Serena answers.

"Have you met any interesting colleagues?" I press, hoping to thaw the ice between us. I am also probing, I am not ashamed to admit that. There better be no motherfucker lurking around her.

"Not really," she says, focusing on her food.

Despite her being like a block of ice in front of me, it feels like a vice around my heart relaxes, one that I hadn't known was there. I rub at my chest, trying to ease the unfamiliar sensation.

We continue eating in near silence, my attempts at conversation met with cold responses. When she puts the last bite of steak in her mouth, she wipes around her lips and speaks.

"Thank you," she says, her tone flat. Before I can respond, she continues, "But next time, don’t overcook the steak."

She stands up, the sway in her hips more pronounced, her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she walks to the guest bedroom. I watch her go, my left eye twitching.

I throw the napkin onto my plate, the taste of poison in my mouth. She was never like this with me before.

The Serena I knew would have been swayed by all of this. She would have swooned at me for taking time out of my busy day to cook for her. She would have smiled, her eyes lighting up with love.

But this Serena is different. Hardened. Detached. She isn't the same woman I knew before, and I never once imagined that I would be bothered by her indifference towards me. But I am, and that within itself is a problem.