The Traps Closes
719 Words
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
I stepped out into silence.
Not the comfortable kind. The dangerous kind—thick, watchful, deliberate. The hallway before me was narrow, lit by recessed lights that cast long shadows across polished concrete floors. No music. No laughter. This part of the hotel wasn’t meant for guests.
“Level B2,” Mila whispered in my ear. “You’re in the restricted service wing. Server room is sixty meters ahead. Two guards rotating every five minutes.”
My fingers curled slightly at my sides. “I see them.”
Two men stood near a security door, suits pressed, hands resting casually near concealed weapons. Their posture screamed discipline. Syndicate-trained.
I lowered my head, adjusted the service badge clipped to my dress—another lie Jonah had arranged—and walked forward with measured steps.
Confidence. Belonging.
One of the guards glanced at me as I passed.
“Delivery?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied without slowing. “Late request from upstairs.”
He studied my face for a second too long.
Then he waved me through.
My lungs burned as I turned the corner.
“Good,” Mila murmured. “Door access in ten seconds.”
The server room door slid open with a quiet hiss.
Cold air rushed out, raising goosebumps on my skin.
I stepped inside.
The server room was a cathedral of machines.
Tall black racks lined the walls, lights blinking in endless patterns—green, blue, red. Cables snaked across the ceiling like veins. The hum of power was constant, oppressive.
“Plug in now,” Mila instructed. “You have twelve minutes before the next sweep.”
I pulled the tablet from my clutch, hands steady despite the adrenaline flooding my veins. I connected the cable to the access port and crouched behind a rack, shielding myself from the camera mounted in the corner.
Mila bypassed it within seconds.
“You’re invisible,” she said. “For now.”
Lines of code streamed across the tablet screen.
Accounts. Transfers. Offshore vaults.
My breath caught.
There it was.
A slush fund so massive it made my head spin. Enough to save my parents. Enough to save everyone in that hospital.
“I’m initiating the transfer,” Mila said. “This is the risky part.”
“Do it.”
The progress bar crawled forward.
Five percent.
Ten.
My heart hammered.
“Movement on the upper floors,” Jonah warned. “Security just increased.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.”
Twenty-five percent.
The lights flickered.
My stomach dropped.
“Mila,” I hissed. “What just happened?”
“I didn’t do that,” she replied quickly. “Someone’s accessing the system from inside.”
Inside?
Thirty-eight percent.
Alarms didn’t blare—but the hum of the servers changed pitch, like a warning growl.
“We’ve been flagged,” Mila said, her voice tight. “Not fully—but something’s wrong.”
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not guards running.
Someone walking.
Forty-five percent.
I held my breath.
The door handle moved.
I ducked lower, pressing myself against the cold metal rack.
The door opened.
A shadow fell across the floor.
My pulse roared in my ears.
The footsteps entered the room.
Unhurried.
Confident.
The kind of walk that didn’t fear what it might find.
“Abort,” Jonah whispered urgently. “Sera, abort now.”
“Sixty percent,” Mila said. “If we stop now, the partial transfer will raise alarms.”
I swallowed hard.
The shadow stopped.
Then—
A voice cut through the hum of the machines.
“Interesting choice of target.”
My blood turned to ice.
That voice.
Low. Calm. Deadly.
I slowly raised my head.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, dressed in black like the night itself. The server lights reflected off his sharp features, casting shadows that made him look carved from stone.
Matteo De Luca.
The devil.
“So,” he continued, eyes locking onto mine with terrifying focus. “Tell me—who are you stealing from?”
My mouth went dry.
Behind me, the tablet vibrated softly.
Seventy percent.
The trap had closed.
And I was standing at the center of it.
- Writer
