Salvatore Bellomo had two front-row concert tickets tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his tailored suit. I thought he had planned a surprise for me. I was giddy with anticipation, counting down the days until the concert. But when the day finally came, I found out he had taken those tickets and gone on Family business instead.
With the help of a few connections and a ridiculous amount of money, I managed to get a ticket last minute. And that's when I saw it.
Onstage, under the dazzling lights and booming music, he was kissing another girl—deeply, passionately, like they were in the middle of their own love story. Their kiss was so emotional, so raw, that the camera crew caught it and broadcasted it on the giant screen for thousands of people to see.
After the concert, I stumbled across the girl's social media post.
Sharing a kiss with the love of my life at our idol's concert… Best birthday gift ever.
The comment section was filled with blessings and heart emojis.
Wishing you 99! they said, wishing them a love that would last a hundred years.
Meanwhile, I got hit by a car. His car. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed in a private clinic on the Family's payroll, the kind of place where no one asks questions and the hallways smell of disinfectant and silence. Salvatore was sitting beside me, scrolling through his phone, a soft smile playing on his lips. A smile I had never seen him wear when he was with me.
I asked, "Who is she?"
Without even lifting his eyes, he replied coldly, "I'm your boss. Now that you're awake, just focus on recovering."
Then he walked away. No hesitation, no guilt. I turned my head away from the door and dialed my uncle's number.
"Hart, about that alliance marriage you mentioned… I'll do it. I'll marry him."
——
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, so long that I almost thought the call had dropped. Then came a quiet exhale, followed by an unmistakable sigh of relief.
"Elena, finally," the voice said, a mix of concern and satisfaction threading through the words. I could picture him in his study, the ember of his cigar glowing as he tapped ash with his thumbnail. Three precise strokes, never two, never four. "That man kept you hidden in the dark for five whole years. Five years. A man like that doesn't even deserve to see the light of day."
I didn't respond right away.
"When can you come back?" he continued, the tone shifting, becoming more urgent, more hopeful. "I just reached out to them. They're already asking to finalize the wedding date."
Five years.
Five years with Salvatore, and I was always the one tucked away, the one who couldn't exist in the open. No introductions, no acknowledgment, no place in his world that anyone else could see. I was convenient when he needed me, invisible when he didn't. In the Bellomo Family, I had been kept off every guest list, absent from every feast night and gala, a woman who existed only behind closed doors in a Don's private rooms.
Now that he had made it so clear that I meant nothing to him, I didn't see a reason to hold on anymore. If I severed ties with the Family's front, I doubted he would even try to stop me.
"The sooner the better," I said quietly, my voice steady despite everything. "I can handle the process quickly."
I had barely finished speaking when the clinic room door opened again.
Salvatore walked back in.
Apparently, he had forgotten something.
"Severing ties?" he echoed casually, as if the words had simply caught his attention in passing. His eyes moved around the room as he searched for something, completely unconcerned. The silver lighter was turning over his knuckles in that idle, precise rhythm he carried with him everywhere. "Who's leaving our operation?"
His tone was light, almost amused, like it was nothing important.
He would have to sign off on it anyway, so there was no point hiding it. I gave a small nod, but he didn't even notice. He didn't lift his head from his phone long enough to register my response.
After a moment, he found what he was looking for.
His car keys.
Picking them up, he let out a short, half-laugh. "The doctor said you hit your head pretty hard. Might even have some memory loss." He paused briefly, glancing at me with a faint smirk. "Honestly, for a second there, I almost believed it."
My fingers tightened slightly under the blanket.
"The car…" he added, almost as an afterthought, like it wasn't worth much attention. "It was mine. The streetlights were dim, and you were staring at your phone…"
I froze.
So that was it.
That was the explanation. The reason he had said nothing, offered nothing, and treated me like I was nothing more than an ordinary associate he barely knew.
Ten minutes ago, when he introduced himself as "just my boss," his expression had been flawless. Professional. Composed. Distant in exactly the right way. There had been just enough concern in his voice to make it believable.
But not even a trace of guilt.
