Chapter Four: Getting Orders From The Don
1143 Words
Aria’s POV
“They want you upstairs.”
Rosa’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it froze me where I stood.
In this house, upstairs meant only one thing.
Luciano Cortez.
My fingers tightened around the damp rag in my hand until my knuckles burned. Soapy water dripped onto the tiled floor, spreading slowly, but I didn’t notice. My heart began to pound slowly at first, then faster, heavier, like something inside me was waking up and screaming to be let out.
I already knew Rosa wouldn’t answer me, but I asked anyway.
“What does he want from me this time?” I whispered.
As usual she didn’t answer.
Rosa never spoke more than she had to. And when she did, her words came wrapped in fear, heavy, short and with a state of urgency. She only looked at me, her eyes filled with something close to pity.
That scared me more than words ever could.
I dropped the rag into the bucket and wiped my wet hands on my skirt. The kitchen smelled of spices, oil, and warm bread. The smell mocked me as cold fear crawled slowly up my spine.
I turned and walked toward the stairs.
Each step I took felt heavier than the last.
I could feel eyes on me, the guards, servants, and even their shadows. No one spoke. No one stopped me. In this house, when the Don summoned you, the walls themselves moved aside.
I had only been to Luciano Cortez’s room once.
The night I was dragged into this mansion in chains.
That night still lived inside my bones, sharp and restless. Since then, our paths have never crossed. Luciano Cortez was not a man who noticed servants. He barely noticed people.
Until now.
That alone twisted my stomach painfully.
What could he possibly want from me?
The hallway upstairs was quieter than the rest of the house, almost sacred in its stillness. The walls were lined with dark portraits of men long dead past Dons, killers, kings of blood and gold. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me, judging, remembering.
My footsteps echoed softly.
I stopped in front of his door.
I raised my hand and knocked once.
No one answered.
I knocked again.
“Come inside,” his deep voice came through.
I pushed the door open.
Inside, Luciano Cortez sat at his personal study desk. Papers were spread neatly before him. Contracts. Ledgers. Maps. A laptop glowed faintly beside stacks of accounts. Everything in the room was ordered, precise, intentional. Just like him.
He wore a grey singlet that hugged his arms tightly, showing muscles built from power, not decoration. The kind of body shaped by violence, discipline, and command.
His dark brown hair was loose, falling over one eye.
For a moment, he looked unreal.
Like a Roman god carved from shadow and smoke.
Then he looked up suddenly like he had only just noticed I was there.
“You fixed my ledger,” he said calmly.
The words hit me like a slap.
My stomach dropped.
“I..I was told to clean the study,” I replied carefully. “The book was open. I only..”
“You corrected numbers my accountants missed,” he cut in. “In less than an hour.”
I said nothing.
Talking too much was another mistake I had learned to avoid.
Silence stretched between us.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes never leaving my face. Luciano Cortez had grey eyes that didn’t blink enough. They didn’t look at people, rather they looked through them.
When his gaze settled on me, my skin tightened, like I had been stripped bare and placed under a light.
“Where did you learn accounting?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” I answered truthfully.
Another pause.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t the kind one at all.
“Lying is dangerous here,” he said softly.
“I’m not lying,” I whispered.
He stood up.
My heart skipped violently.
He walked toward me slowly, every step measured, controlled. I forced my legs not to shake. When he stopped, he was close enough that I could smell him . It was the mixture of whiskey, leather, and a his strong perfume again.
There was always something dangerous about the smell.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I did.
Most people couldn’t hold his gaze.
I could.
Not because I was brave.
But because fear had trained me well.
“You’re either very brave,” he said quietly, “or very stupid.”
“I try not to be either,” I replied before I could stop myself.
The air shifted.
The guards outside the room might as well have disappeared.
For one terrifying second, I thought I had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
Then he laughed.
Low. Quiet. Unexpectedly.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
He stepped back, studying me like a puzzle he hadn’t planned to solve. His gaze moved over my face, my hands, the way I stood alert, tense, ready to run or fight.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
The word struck me harder than a slap.
Servants didn’t have names.
Names meant existence.
I hesitated, my throat tightening.
Then, I said, “Aria.”
He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting it.
“Aria.”
The way he said my name made my skin prickle.
He turned away and walked back to the window, staring out at the city lights glowing beneath the dark sky.
“You’ll work for me now,” he said.
My breath caught sharply.
“Sir?”
“My assistant,” he continued like it was nothing. “You’ll handle numbers. Contracts. Anything financial that crosses my desk.”
The room tilted.
“I’m not qualified,” I said quickly. “I’ll make mistakes.”
“You won’t,” he replied without turning.
He faced me again, his eyes sharp, unreadable.
“And if you do,” he added calmly, “you’ll answer to me.”
That part, I understood perfectly.
“Yes, sir.”
He waved his hand dismissively.
“Go.”
Relief rushed through me as I reached for the door, my body suddenly weak.
“Aria.” He called back.
I froze.
“If you betray me,” he said evenly, “I will not kill you quickly.” He said, pulling out his pistol from the drawer
I nodded, shaking in fear.
He dismissed me afterwards.
When I reached my small room and locked the door my hands began to shake. My knees gave way, and I slid down against the wood, breathing hard.
Becoming visible in this house was dangerous.
But being invisible had kept me a slave for too long.
That night, sleep did not come as I ruminated over two deadly decisions.
- Writer
