Salvatore Dalla

Carlota had located the traitor who had given information to the police, and if there was one thing I didn’t tolerate in the famiglia, it was betrayal. I hunted them down like pathetic prey and devoured them like the predator I was.
All traitors were handed over directly to me. I insisted on torturing and killing them personally, and everyone knew that a death at my hands was always the most painful. That’s why very few dared to face my wrath, and none of them survived to tell the story—this one wouldn't be the first.
I entered the warehouse, followed by Amadeu, Fabrizio, Rico, and Carlota. I preferred to leave Amapola in the car. I didn’t want her to see what I turned into when I acted as the mafia boss.
Sure, she had seen me take the life of the man who had tried to assault her, but the slow death I gave Martin was nothing compared to what I would do to the traitor.
I took off my suit jacket and white shirt, now only in my pants, and walked slowly toward the man tied to a chair.
"So, you’re the traitor?" I grabbed his hair in anger, forcing him to look me in the eyes and see the torment awaiting him.
I noticed Carlota Carbone pull up a chair and sit down to watch my actions. I knew she wanted to show she was ready to be the boss's woman, that she had the stomach to endure whatever the mafia threw at her. What she didn’t realize was that it no longer mattered to me. Not long ago, perhaps, that was one of the qualities I would have sought in a woman to be my wife.
But now I no longer thought that way. It was Amapola's tranquility, peace, compassion, and care that drew me in. I began to consider that all the weight and darkness that the mafia represented could be kept outside my home. Inside, darkness didn't necessarily have to reign.
I started torturing him, breaking each of his fingers, and with a sharp knife, I carved the word "traitor" into his chest. I made sure to dig the blade into his flesh as deeply as possible; the pain reflected in his eyes usually fueled me even more.
I decided to ramp up the game to see how long Carlota would maintain her composed posture, but when I ordered them to hang the man upside down and made so many cuts on his body that his skin looked entirely flayed, carefully controlling the depth of each cut so he wouldn’t die, she ran out, and I smiled, knowing I was right.
A pool of blood had gathered beneath his head when I ripped out his last teeth. His pleas for mercy had turned into begging for death. It was truly better to die than to be left under my claws.
I grabbed a thin knife, and when I plunged it into one of his eyes, smiling, I turned to make a comment to my brothers, but my grin disappeared when my eyes met Amapola's.
She was standing near the warehouse door, the agenda she had been clutching all morning still pressed against her chest. Her breathing was heavy, her jaw clenched, and I knew she had been there longer than I had wanted.
She had witnessed most of the torture, maybe even the worst parts of it. I didn’t want her to have seen me like this, covered in blood, smiling as I tortured someone begging for mercy. I turned on my heels again and, with a precise cut to the throat, ended what was left of the traitor's life.
I walked to the bathroom and washed my body. Amadeu had already left a change of clothes for me, as he always did after any torture session. My clothes went straight to the trash. I didn’t even consider wearing anything again that had come into contact with a traitor’s blood.
As cold water poured over my head, I thought of Amapola, wondering what she must be thinking, having seen me literally as the monster she had accused me of being a few times. For the first time, I didn’t know how to deal with someone’s judgment. I didn’t know what to say when I looked her in the eyes again. Even exhausted from the recent torture session, I punched the wall in front of me.
"Amapola, what are you doing here?" I asked as I stepped out of the small stall to grab a towel, but she was already holding it, extending it toward me.
"Do you need anything else, Mr. Salvatore?" she asked in a professional tone.
"I asked you to wait for me in the car." I took the towel from her hands.
"But I’m your personal assistant. I need to be by your side at all times," she justified.
"No, Amapola, you’re much more than my personal assistant. That’s why I didn’t want you here."
"And what am I to you, Salvatore?"
"Mia moglie, Amah, tu sei mia moglie," I said as sincerely as I could.

That’s it. Amapola is no longer my prisoner, not even my personal assistant. She didn’t judge my actions, and her tenderness in coming to meet me, concerned with my needs, showed me that despite knowing and respecting who I am as the head of Dalla Costa, she kept the tenderness and calm that I needed.
"Let me take care of your hand," she said with a smile on her lips.
"Let me take care of your mouth first," I pulled her to me and pressed our lips together.
The kiss was different this time, for both of us. Our tongues dueled, but it wasn’t just about lust and desire. There was also a sense of surrender and affection. My hands instinctively roamed over her body, but I focused on her face, holding it with both hands, keeping her captive in my grasp—this time, with her consent and will.
As we pulled away, I caught a glimpse of Carlota’s shadow. She had witnessed our moment, and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. On one hand, she might realize her chances of having me again had vanished. On the other, she might want to harm Amapola in some way. I had to be even more vigilant about her.
"You said we needed to keep things professional," Amapola said, but the sparkle in her eyes made it clear she wanted that kiss as much as I did.
"Yes, I did." I placed another light kiss on her lips. "But we can keep it professional only in front of others. I can’t resist you, Amah."
"And I can’t resist you, Salvatore," she replied, and I could see the truth in every word she spoke.
The words I had said lifted a weight off my shoulders. I was really starting to like Amapola—her company and, most of all, her care.
She dressed the wounds on my wrists, and after getting dressed, we left the room. I wanted to show what I felt, but I had to put on the mask of control that my position demanded.
"Salvatore, can you take me home?" Carlota asked, trying to hide what she had seen.
"Of course, no problem." I got into the car, followed by her. I watched as Amapola walked around the vehicle and sat to my left. Carlota tried to keep us apart, but Amapola subtly did what she needed to do, remaining professional while still marking her territory.
"Is your secretary coming with us?" Carlota asked, trying to belittle Amapola.
"Yes, I’m going with Salvatore. I’m always close to him." I opened my mouth to respond, but Amapola spoke first. Carlota huffed, unable to hide her displeasure, which became even more evident as she kept her eyes glued to the road for the entire drive.
Discreetly, I squeezed Amapola’s hand, approving her attitude. If she was going to be by my side, she needed to be strong and assertive, and I would give her the freedom to do so. Even if I couldn’t publicly acknowledge her immediately, she would have whatever she needed from me.

"Thank you, Salvatore." Carlota didn’t even wait for one of my men to open the door. As soon as we stopped in front of her family’s mansion, she was already inside. She had done her job by delivering the traitor’s head to me, and I had brought her back safely. That was what mattered.
As for the capos' demands, I would think about how to deal with them later. I needed to solve one problem at a time. But right now, all I wanted was to get home and have *mia moglie* in my arms.