Under The Mafia King's Protection

ost of all, the man who occupied it. Salvatore Russo. The name alone carried weight. Power. Fear. She had heard it whispered in the streets growing up, always in hushed tones. He was a legen

itated. Then, slowly, she walked to the door, pressing her palm against the wood. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. A pause. "To talk." Celeste sighed, rubbing her forehead. She didn't want to talk. She wanted answers. She wanted a way out. But she knew Salvatore wasn't the type of man to give her anything unless it suited him. She unlocked the door and opened it just enough to see him standing there, his face shadowed under the hallway light. "Say what you need to say," she muttered. His eyes flicked over her, assessing, searching. "You're safe here," he said simply. She huffed a humorless laugh. "Safe? You call this safe?" He leaned a hand against the doorframe, towering over her. "No one can get to you here." "Except you," she pointed out. His lips twitched. "I'm not your enemy, Celeste." "No? Because you sure as hell don't feel like a friend." A muscle ticked in his jaw. He exhaled through his nose, as if trying to rein in his patience. "I don't expect you to trust me." "Good," she said. "Because I don't." Another pause. His eyes darkened, something unreadable passing through them. "Get some rest," he said finally. "We'll talk in the morning." Celeste wanted to slam the door in his face, but instead, she simply shut it with controlled force, locking it behind her. She didn't need rest. She needed to figure out how to escape. Hours passed. Celeste lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep taunting her from a distance. The penthouse was sil