Chapter2
1147 Words
The next morning, Kriela stood infront of the De Qanto tower again, clutching a cup of coffee that had gone cold. The rain from last night had left the streets shining like mirrors.
She took a deep breath. This time it wasn’t fear. She wouldn’t call it that. This time, it was something tighter, colder, it was anticipation clothed in the memory of loss.
She walked in.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked towards the elevator, the only one the top staff used.
Her ID flashed green and the doors opened.
The building smelled like old secrets and money. Men in dark suits moved with purpose; likewise women in pencil skirts whose heels clicked against the marble floor. It looked like any real business, professional and legitimate but Kriela knew better.
Their empires were not built on meetings and contracts. But on blood. On silence.
When she came out of the elevator, she was first greeted by Liana, the secretary. A short woman with curly hair and gestures that could freeze time.
“Punctual, I see.” Liana said, glancing at the clock. That is……uncommon.
“I like to get a head start,” Kriela responded.
“Wonderful, you’ll need it.”
Liana handed her a sleek digital pad. “Lineup’s already loaded. Mr. De Qanto hates delays, loves attention to detail, and demands loyalty. You either learn quickly or you’d be out of here in no time. You won’t last long.”
Her tone made it sound more like a threat and less like an advice.
“Got it,” Kriela said quietly.
Liana’s eyes flicked over her once more, as if weighing whether she’d break under pressure. Then she walked away.
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Kriela’s new desk was outside Miano’s office. From there, she could see him, though she pretended not to.
He was on a call, standing by the window, his back facing her. The morning light caught in his hair, outlining him in pale gold. Even from here, she could sense it, that control, that focus that made people obey before he spoke.
He ended the call, turned slightly, and saw her.
For a moment, the world stopped.
“Good morning, Miss Russo,” he said. His voice carried easily through the glass, low and calm.
“Good morning, Mr. De Qanto.”
He nodded once, then motioned for her to enter.
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The office was different in daylight.
Less intimidating, more intricate. Maps framed in dark wood, a single black-and-white photo on the wall, a young Miano standing beside his father.
“Your first day,” he said. “How does it feel?”
“Productive,” she answered.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You sound like you’re describing a machine.”
“Machines don’t make mistakes,” she said before she could stop herself.
He was startled. “And you don’t plan to, I assume?”
“I don’t plan to,” she echoed.
He watched her for a moment, too long, as though he was reading the spaces between her words. Then he turned to his desk and pushed a folder toward her.
“Translate this. Italian to English. Ask no questions about the content.”
Her pulse skipped. “Is it sensitive?”
“Everything here is sensitive,” he said simply.
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She returned the folder back to her desk and began typing. The words were in neat cursive, the ink slightly faded. At first, they looked like simple transaction records. But then she noticed something strange, the numbers were too even, too precise, too careful.
They weren’t accounts. They were codes.
And some of them…
Some of them looked like the kind her father used to write down before his death.
Her throat tightened.
“Everything okay?”
She looked up too fast. Miano stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp but unreadable.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Just… focused.”
He moved closer. “That’s good. Focus is survival here.”
She forced a smile. “I’ve been surviving for ages.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.”
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Around noon, she followed Liana into the conference room for Miano’s briefing. The room was filled with men in tailored suits and guarded faces.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar near his ear, gave her a cold smile. “New assistant?”
“Miss Russo,” Miano said smoothly. “She replaces Marco.”
The man’s smile faded. “Marco? He…..”
“Transferred,” Miano interrupted, his tone, final.
The silence that followed said otherwise. Kriela could feel it, the quiet tension, the invisible rules. One wrong word, and you vanished. You and your entire generation wiped out.
She kept her head down, scribbling notes as Miano spoke.
The meeting ended, the scarred man brushed past her, muttering something in Italian that made Liana’s eyes flick toward them.
“What did he say?” Kriela asked when they were alone.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Liana replied curtly.
But Kriela couldn’t forget the sound of it.
Her father used to say the same phrase before leaving for his “late meetings.”
L’acqua è rossa stanotte.
The water is red tonight.
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Later, when everyone had gone, she found herself still at her desk.
The building had quieted, the city lights outside turning gold to blue.
Miano was still in his office. He hadn’t moved for an hour. Papers covered his desk, but his gaze was on the skyline.
Kriela hesitated at the doorway. “Sir, do you need anything before I leave?”
He turned slowly. “Tell me, Miss Russo…”
“Yes?”
“Do you believe people can change?”
The question startled her.
“I don’t know,” she said carefully. “I think they pretend to.”
He nodded once, as if her answer confirmed something he already suspected. “Goodnight then ,Miss Russo.”
She lingered a moment longer, wanting to ask what he meant but something in his expression stopped her.
When she stepped out of the office into the night, she could still feel his gaze on her back.
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Back in her apartment, she pulled the folder from her bag again.
One of the documents had a signature scrawled faintly in the corner — S. De Qanto.
Miano’s father.
The man everyone said was dead.
But the ink looked too new for a dead person’s hand.
Kriela pressed her lips together, her pulse quickening.
The De Qanto’s were hiding something.
And if she played her cards right, she’d find out what, even if it meant losing the last piece of her soul.
Outside, thunder rolled again, deeper this time, closer. Clouds thickened.
A storm was building, and this time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to survive it.
- Writer
