Chapter Three
1248 Words
The months that followed felt like stepping into rhythm.
Every morning began with the soft hiss of the lab doors, the smell of ethanol, and Christopher’s deep voice saying, “You’re early again, Ricci. Trying to show me up?”
He made science sound like a game. Somehow, between enzyme reactions and calibration tests, he made me laugh more than I expected to in a place built on deadlines.
“Careful,” Dr. Keller warned one afternoon, eyes slicing through her glasses. “He’s charming because he can afford to be.”
Christopher grinned when she left. “Translation: I haven’t broken anything this week.”
“You mean yet,” I said.
“Touché.”
I didn’t realize I was smiling until he said softly, “You should do that more often.”
Something in my chest shifted. Dangerous, that feeling.
That fateful weekend, Papa insisted I join him at his workshop for dinner.
His lab wasn’t sleek like Valente Biotech…it was cluttered, warm, full of unfinished projects and the smell of oil and pepper soup. Classic Papa.
“How’s the internship?” he asked, adjusting his glasses as he soldered a tiny circuit.
“Good. Overwhelming, but good.”
“Do they treat you well?”
I hesitated, then smiled. “Yes. My supervisor is… kind.”
“Kind?” His brow lifted. “Not handsome?”
I laughed. “Papa.”
He chuckled, setting down his tools. “A father’s duty is to ask. Just remember; ambition and affection rarely mix cleanly.”
“I know.”
But I wasn’t sure I did.
He noticed I had zoomed out, and called my name: “Flora, what are you thinking about? Eat your food.”
I nodded and blushed while stuffing my mouth with Papa’s favorite: garlic bread and tomato basil soup.
Later that night, I noticed blueprints scattered across his desk: circuit schematics and molecular diagrams labeled Prototype V-Sensor.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He rubbed his forehead. “A project I started with Valente Biotech before you joined. The company’s been pushing for full ownership, but it’s my design. Adrian wants to patent it under their name.”
“Adrian?”
“He’s the brother to Alessandro, who is the founder of Velente Biotech,” he said. “He’s a clever man. Ruthless, too.”
The name sent a chill through me. “Does Alessandro know?”
“I doubt it. He seems decent. But Adrian—” Papa’s jaw tightened. “He believes everything has a price. Including people.”
He sighed, softer this time. “I’ll settle it soon. Just… stay out of it, Flora.”
I promised, but a small, stubborn part of me didn’t mean it.
The next Monday, the air in the lab felt heavier. Christopher was quieter, distracted.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded, fiddling with a sensor. “Just board pressure. Uncle Adrian’s been breathing down on everyone’s neck.”
I tried to compose myself. “Your uncle is Adrian? Like Adrian, the brother of Alessandro, the founder of this company??”
“Yes, he is. Alessandro is my father.”
I felt dizzy immediately, I had to sit down to process what I had just heard because my head felt very heavy.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Flora,” he said while heading towards me to hold my hands.
He continued because I was quiet; “Alessandro Valente. You’ve probably heard of him. He started Valente Biotech about thirty years ago. A bit of a legend in this place.”
Alessandro.
Her breath hitched.
Of course, she’d heard the name. Her father was currently working with his brother, Adrian Valente.
I wonder how my father would feel when he realizes that I’m falling in love with a man whose uncle is a tyrant.
I tried to sound casual. “Your uncle sounds… intense.”
“That’s one word for it.” He gave a small, humorless laugh while fiddling with his silver cufflinks. “He built this company from nothing, but sometimes I think he forgets people who helped him get there.”
“Like your father?”
His hand froze on the table. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Like my father.”
There was something in his eyes — grief, maybe. Regret. But before I could ask, Dr. Keller entered, breaking the moment.
At lunch, we escaped to the rooftop balcony — his secret place, he said. The wind whipped through my hair, and the skyline glittered below.
“Whenever things get too loud,” he said, leaning on the railing, “I come up here. Makes me remember the world’s bigger than my uncle’s meetings.”
“Smart,” I said. “My dad says silence helps him think. I say it just makes me anxious.”
Christopher smiled. “Then you need more coffee, not silence.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Admit it, though. You like the impossible.”
I shouldn’t have smiled, but I did.
Eventually, Christopher opened up to me about his father’s death, which was caused by a sudden heart attack. We hugged for a long time after he told me.
That night, I came home to find Papa still in the workshop, blue light from his monitor flickering across his face. He barely noticed me walk in.
“Papa, you’re still up?”
He nodded absently. “Flora, could you pass me that folder? The one marked ‘Valente.’”
I handed it to him. The papers inside looked wrong; pages replaced, numbers crossed out.
“What’s this?”
“Evidence,” he murmured. “Someone’s been accessing my files remotely. Transferring data without authorization. I think Adrian’s people are trying to claim my work as theirs.”
“Then tell someone!”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I need proof. Once I have it, I’ll go public.”
The way he said it made my stomach twist.
Two days later, I caught sight of Adrian Valente for the first time. He arrived at the lab unannounced, all designer suit and smooth words. The room went silent when he entered.
“Dr. Keller,” he said with a politician’s smile. “You run a tight ship.”
Keller straightened. “We try, sir.”
His gaze slid past her…and landed briefly on me. Assessing. Calculating.
“And who’s this?”
“Flora Ricci,” Keller said. “Our intern.”
“Ricci…” Adrian repeated, rolling the name in his mouth like he was tasting it. Then he smiled thinly. “Welcome to Valente Biotech, Miss Ricci. Make your father proud.”
He turned away before I could respond, but something in his tone made my blood run cold.
Christopher must’ve noticed, because later he found me by the elevator. “Don’t let him get to you. My uncle can make compliments sound like threats.”
“Does he always watch people like that?” I asked quietly.
“Only the ones who matter.”
I didn’t know what he meant—but it didn’t feel like flattery.
That evening, Papa didn’t answer my call.
His workshop line rang and rang.
I told myself he was busy, just focused on his project. But deep down, something clawed at me — an unease I couldn’t name yet.
And though I didn’t know it then, that night was the beginning of everything falling apart.
- Writer
