ADRIAN
Paperwork was swallowing my desk.
Contracts. Security reports. Financial summaries. Updates from Vito. Updates from Tobias. Updates from people I didn’t even remember hiring. I’d been signing documents for so long my signature was starting to look like a medical condition.
I rubbed my temples, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes for a moment.
Silence.
Blessed, temporary silence.
Then—
“Adrian Salvatore!”
My eyes snapped open.
No.
God, no.
My office door flew open without a knock — because of course it did — and my mother swept in like a hurricane wearing heels and perfume strong enough to stun a grown man.
Behind her, trailing like a reluctant shadow, was Bianca.
I stood. “Ma—”
“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me,” she snapped, marching straight toward my desk. “You got married
