Amapola

I couldn't be happier and at the same time more desperate; one of the journalists managed to outsmart Rico and Fabrizio and get a photo of our kiss, which was splashed across all the Italian newspapers the next day.
“Salvatore Dalla Costa Confirms Romance with Secretary”
“Is Salvatore Dalla Costa’s Chosen One as Cold as He Is?”
“With a Kiss, Apparently Passionate and Public, Salvatore Dalla Costa Acknowledges Relationship”
“Find Out Who is the Woman Who Captured Boss Salvatore Dalla Costa’s Heart”
“Eye to Eye, Body to Body, Salvatore Dalla Costa and His Chosen One Seem to Complete Each Other”
“Will We Have a Wedding Soon?”
“What to Expect When Italy’s Coldest Man Decides to Warm His Heart?”
“It Wasn’t the First Kiss”
“The Beast’s Kiss”
“That’s it, sister-in-law, you’re famous,” Rico says after arriving at Salvatore's office and finding me analyzing the covers.
“Have they figured out who leaked it?”
“As soon as I saw the headlines, I imagined who it was.”
“And why didn’t you tell him?” I ask, gesturing toward Salvatore’s office with my thumb. He has been a beast since we got to the office and discovered the repercussions of our moment.
“Because this is a matter I want to handle personally. I’m going to tell him now, but I want him to leave it to me as to what I will do.” He raises an eyebrow. “Given how insane he was, the order would be for immediate execution, but no one pulls a fast one on me and gets a quick and painless end like that.” I can hear the anger in his voice.
“And who was it?”
“Valentina De Fiore, a little journalist with an angelic face and the malice of a devil.”
“And what will you do with her?”
“I don’t know yet, sister-in-law, but she will definitely regret having a loose tongue and quick fingers,” he says, heading toward Salvatore's office. I smile as I look at our photo plastered once again. It has indeed brought us many problems, but I can’t deny it’s the most beautiful photo I’ve ever seen in my life.
The day was a real hell, but I didn’t expect to be surrounded by reporters wanting a scoop, a word, or another photo of us together when we left the office. I didn’t know how, but even our exclusive exit was surrounded.
“You regret it,” I say when we stop at the door of the mansion. The whole journey had been silent up to this point.
“That’s not it, Amapola. The problem is that I don’t like this kind of exposure. I’ve never had my personal life plastered everywhere; this isn’t good for business.”
“But I’m not part of your business, Salvatore. This is also my life, and I’m not as bothered as you are, even though I’m just as exposed.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Amapola. You’ve never been in my position; you don’t know my obligations, so don’t compare yourself to me.”
“What did you say?” I ask, shocked. He hasn’t been rude to me in a long time; we used to get along well.
“Don’t make me repeat it; you heard me.” He abruptly opens the bedroom door and storms inside.
We had entered the house so exasperated that we went straight to the bedroom, barely responding to Naná’s greeting. I needed to remember to apologize to her later.
“I heard you, Salvatore, but I want to make sure I interpreted that correctly.”
“You’re not stupid.” He looks into my eyes coldly while unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“So that’s it? I was a mistake, or better yet, I’m a mistake for you.” I state. “I should never have entered your life, Salvatore. I’m not part of this family and never will be. I’m just your little secret, trapped within the walls of this house. Is that why you got so irritated? Because people have now discovered what you hid for a year?”
“If I didn’t want you, you wouldn’t be here anymore, so don’t put words in my mouth and don’t twist what I say.”
“Then stop reaffirming that I’m only yours here, inside this house, between four walls, where no one else can see. Why can’t you just admit our relationship? Why not end this once and for all?” I ask, with tears beginning to fill my eyes. Suddenly, I felt diminished, as if I meant very little to him.
“Because in the mafia, things don’t happen that way, Amapola. I can’t do what I want without giving explanations,” he says, turning on the shower.
“I’m tired of this: mafia, mafia, and mafia,” I say exasperated.
“This is the only thing I can offer you, Amapola; this is my reality. The mafia and I are one; I can’t distance myself from my obligations to do what you want.”
“So, I have to accept that this will be my position, Salvatore? Don’t expect me to be your dirty little secret forever.”
“You’re not and will never be my dirty little secret, mi amore, come here.” He calls me, and I refuse. “Give me time to sort things out, Amapola. I promise you everything will be fine,” he says, and I leave the bathroom, deciding to take a shower alone to reflect on everything I’ve heard.
I’ve never demanded anything from Salvatore; I’ve never pressured him to acknowledge me as his woman, but I didn’t like seeing him so irritated just because people found out about our relationship.
I had told him earlier that all he had to do was issue a statement, be evasive, and everything would be fine. People would back off, but Salvatore Dalla Costa wasn’t used to giving explanations to anyone, even if it robbed him of his peace.