“I’m sorry,” I apologized to Poppy for the fiftieth time while on our way up to my apartment. When the elevator dinged, I grabbed her hand and hurried down the hallway toward my door. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, glancing down at her clothing that Bethany had stained with that soda. Because Bethany had the worst aim in the f*****g world, she splashed the soda more on Poppy than on me. “It’s just a shirt.”
“It should’ve never happened,” I muttered.
But while Bethany might’ve been a b***h to me, I wasn’t the wife of a Mafia don. I had no room to put anyone in their place. I could do nothing but sit back and take the ridicule. After all, I had signed up for it.
Even if I had tried to defend us, Bethany would have cried to Laila. Or worse, hate Laila.
After what Constantino had
