The next morning, the moment I stepped into the front office of the Bellomo club, I could feel it.
The change.
Eyes followed me everywhere I went. Conversations cut off the second I got close, only to resume in hushed whispers the moment I passed. The hostesses. The floor runners. Even the bartender who usually nodded good morning wouldn't look at me.
It felt like walking into a hive that had been violently shaken.
As I sat down at my desk, Gianna leaned over almost immediately, the corner of her order pad curling between her fingers as she twisted it tight.
"Elena… people are saying you tried to get with the Boss," she whispered. "And his woman caught you in the act. It's all over the group chats."
She slid her phone toward me.
A video was playing.
The restaurant scene from last night.
Someone had recorded everything.
At some point during the chaos, a new group chat had been created just to spread it. Message after message scrolled past—speculation, accusations, mockery. Whispers on the floor made permanent with screenshots.
They painted me as someone who tried to sleep her way into the Family's good graces and got exposed.