Salvatore found her at breakfast the next morning, still in yesterday's exhaustion, a cup of coffee going cold in front of her that she hadn't touched.
"Vincent called at six," he said, sitting across from her without asking. "He wants Rossi security assigned to you, effective immediately. Two men, rotating shifts, until whoever did this last night is found."
"Absolutely not."
"Elena—"
"I grew up in this house, Papa. I know every man on our payroll by name. I am not going to be shadowed through my own kitchen by soldiers who wore Rossi black to my Uncle Carmine's funeral protest." Her hand tightened around the cold cup. "Assign me our own men if you're worried. I don't need Rossi charity."
"It isn't charity. It's strategy, and I need you to hear the difference." Salvatore's voice had
