Salvatore Dalla

"Amapola slammed the office door behind her, and I vented my anger by punching the desk to avoid taking it out on her. My day had been an endless mess.
Last night, after Amapola fell asleep, I went down to the office to check my emails and see what needed to be prioritized for the next day, and since then, I could tell everything was in complete chaos. Stepping away had been a mistake, and now I had to face the consequences. A mafia boss never shirks his responsibilities, and I was foolish to think I could distract myself and step away from everything, even if just for two days.
I worked practically all night and left before the sun was shining brightly in the sky. Amapola slept as if nothing could touch her, and I was here to ensure that it was indeed so. I pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and inhaled deeply the scent of her hair, wanting to remember her to calm myself, knowing I would need that throughout the day.
Unfortunately, not even the memories of the days we spent together, her scent, or her devotion could ward off the problems that engulfed me like a hurricane. I knew my brothers had done what they could, but I had thrown shit into the fan when I slit Martin's throat, and I knew the deaths of the Russians would also attract attention. To make matters worse, my secretary, who made my life so much easier, had taken some time off, which would bring me a lot of responsibilities. There were still the legitimate activities of the organization that required constant special attention so that nothing crossed over or got confused with the illegal ones we operated.
There was too much important stuff to handle alone, which is why I stayed late in the office. When I got home, even though my body and mind were pleading, I didn’t go to her. First, because there were still many things to resolve, and second, because I knew the chances of taking it out on her would be high, and I definitely didn’t want that.
But like a dog that sniffs out trouble and doesn’t shy away from it, Amapola came to me, and just as I predicted and tried to avoid, I exploded with her. I tried to calm down and return to work, but it was impossible. I understood her point, but I was the boss of this shit, and she couldn’t think she could talk to me however she wanted.
That’s the problem with women; we extend a hand to them, and they think they can take over our whole bodies.
Too irritated, I drank half a bottle of whiskey before heading upstairs to my room, hoping she was already asleep—better that than having another conflict before I could finally sleep. Although, if she was awake, who knows, maybe I could convince her to make better use of our time. I almost smiled at the thought because I was sure it would be easier for Amapola to shoot me in the forehead than to lie down with me. Oh, what a difficult woman, my God.
If I was already irritated, when I reached my room and didn’t find her, I almost became the very embodiment of a bomb, ready to blow up the whole mansion with just the push of a button.
I stormed out and opened the door to the next room, knowing where I would find her. I tried to avoid it, but if she wanted more trouble, I would satisfy her desire. I had already made it clear that she should sleep with me; that room would only serve as a storage space for her personal belongings.
But upon opening the door in a fury, my impulses for confusion were immediately paralyzed at the sight of the woman sleeping in a small armchair with a book resting on her chest.
“Romeo and Giulietta.” I saw the title of the book and shook my head in disbelief. It definitely wasn’t something I thought Amapola would read—a classic by Shakespeare. Was she more romantic than she wanted to show, or was I the one who couldn’t read her like I did with other people?
I placed the book on the nightstand next to her bed and, being careful not to wake her, took her to my room. She mumbled something I couldn’t decipher as I covered her with the blanket, took a shower, and lay down beside her, wanting her presence to calm me and help me fall asleep faster."


***



"I wake up in the morning and, just like yesterday, I leave before she wakes up.
“Boss?” Amadeu calls again, interrupting my focus on the report I urgently need to sign.
“Yes,” I reply irritably.
“We have a problem.”
“Not another one, really? But I don’t want to know what it is; just solve it or I won’t be able to finish reviewing this report to sign. It’s already past two in the afternoon, and I haven’t even had lunch.”
“Sorry, boss, I didn’t remember to arrange something for you to eat.”
“Don’t worry, Amadeu, just don’t bring me more problems.” I see him hesitate and not leave the room when I dismiss him, so I ask irritably, “Speak up, Amadeu; what the hell happened that you can’t solve on your own?”
“It’s Miss Amapola,” he says her name, and all my senses go on high alert instantly.
“What happened to her, Amadeu? Wasn’t Matteu supposed to be on guard today?” I ask, already getting up.
“Yes, sir. He just called me and said the girl is throwing a fit at his house, saying she wants to see her father and that you authorized it. Mamma tried to calm her down, saying it would be better for her to wait for you, but she is unyielding and insisted on speaking with you.”
“Damn it, doesn’t that girl ever get tired of causing me trouble?” I say out loud when I should have just thought it.
“Do you want me to find her another place, boss?” Amadeu asks.
“Don’t worry; Amapola is my problem.”
“Good,” he says quietly with a smile on his lips.
“What did you say?” I ask, glaring at him irritably.
“Nothing, sir; I just thought out loud.”
“Well, control your thoughts, Amadeu. Now you can go; I’ll handle this problem.”
“Angela?” I say when she answers the call, and I can already hear Amapola screaming at Matteu; she really isn’t the type of woman who gets intimidated by a gun or a man with a tough face.
“Yes, sir.”
“Put Amapola on the line.”
“Amapola,” I hear Angela say, “Salvatore wants to speak with you.” And instantly, her voice erupts through the call; I have to pull my ears away to keep them from bursting with her screams.
“Salvatore, tell this brute that you allowed me to see my father. You said I wasn’t your prisoner, so order him to take me there; I’m going to go crazy if I stay locked up here, unable to leave this place.” She rushes through her words, and I take a deep breath; how can a creature be so stubborn?
“Amapola?” I try to control my voice.
“Yes.”
“We need to talk. I’m going to ask him to bring you to me, okay?” Although I’m fuming with anger, I try to use all the self-control I’ve trained for years.
“To you? But I wanted to see my father, and…”
“Amapola, please don’t cause me more problems; just come, and we’ll sort it out, okay?”
“Yes, sir Salvatore, as you wish,” she says and hangs up the phone before I can respond any further.
“Damn impulsive woman,” I mutter, throwing the phone on the desk and trying again to focus on work."

***