He’d said the words so casually—like he’s offering to change a tire or call a taxi. But I know better. I’ve seen the movies, read enough news articles and can tell that fixing things, in his world, doesn’t mean talking to HR.
“I don’t—no,” I say quickly, standing up because my legs suddenly feel unstable. “I don’t need that. Gerard is… he’s just a jerk sometimes. It’s fine.”
Riccardo’s expression doesn’t change. “You’re upset. He upset you.”
“I upset myself,” I maintain. “It’s just work. It happens.”
“It shouldn’t happen to you.”
His tone tells me those are dangerous words from a man like him.
I step back, heart hammering. “I should get back inside. My break’s almost over.”
He dips his head in a small nod, like he’s letting me go even though we both know he didn’t have to. “If you ever want help,” he says softly, “you only have to ask.”
My stomach twists. Not because of the offer itself, but because some part of me—some tired, overworked, scared part that knows he means it—yearns to accept it.
“I won’t,” I say, voice too thin for my liking. “But thank you.”
I shove the handkerchief back into his palm, but he closes his fingers around mine for a brief second, stopping me.
“Keep it,” he murmurs.
I pull my hand back as gently as I can without letting him feel how badly I’m shaking.
“I really have to get back,” I whisper.
Before he can say anything else—before he can make another offer I’m not strong enough to refuse—I push through the door and disappear into the heat and noise of the kitchen.
I don’t breathe again until it slams shut behind me.
2
RICCARDO
Iwatch her run.
She doesn’t look back, not even once. She slips inside the kitchen fast, gripping the door like she needs it to stay upright. The metal swings shut between us, and I’m left standing in the alley with the cold settling over my coat.
I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know better than to push.
But the way she’d looked at me—frightened, cornered—it’d twisted something in my chest. Something sharp. Something close to regret.
I didn’t mean to scare her.
I meant to help.
I stand there for a few more seconds, hands deep in my pockets, the scent of frying garlic drifting out through the door she just disappeared behind. Her eyes were red. Her voice was tight. She was unraveling, and I could see it from across the dining room long before she stepped outside.
I’ve been watching her for months. Not in a way she’d notice. Or, god forbid, fear. Just enough to keep an eye on things. Enough to know the rhythm of her shifts, the way she movesaround that kitchen like it’s the only place she feels steady. Enough to see exactly when she started breaking.
Gerard raises his voice at everyone, but with her, it’s different. He stands closer. Talks lower. Smiles too much. I’ve watched his hand graze her back one too many times. It pisses me off more than it should.
She doesn’t belong in a place like this. Not under a man like him.
“Thought I’d find you brooding back here.”
I turn my head slightly as my consigliere, Valerio, steps into the alley.
