I headed for the door, feeling the heaviness in my steps. The marble floors of the penthouse stretched out before me like a sentence I'd been serving.
Before I could reach the doorway, Dominic's voice, surprised, cut through the silence behind me.
"Olivia…" he started, his voice unsure.
I didn't bother turning around. "Anything else?" I asked, my tone flat.
There was a pause. The kind of pause that in any other household might mean nothing. In the home of a Don, a pause was a calculation. I could almost hear the gears turning, the brief war between the man who never explained himself and whatever unnamed thing had flickered across his face.
"...I'll send you money for the ingredients."
I continued on my tracks without a word.
When I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing me into that polished steel box, I pulled out my phone. Opening up our chat history, I stared at the numbers.
5,363. That's how many messages I'd sent him.
He'd replied to only 25.