Chapter 16 — The Shadow on the Glass
852 Words
The office lights were low, the city outside cast in silver and shadow.
Dante sat alone at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, eyes locked on the files spread before him—but he hadn’t read a word in twenty minutes.
He was replaying her voice.
Her face.
The word never.
It haunted him more than any contract ever had.
He’d built his life on order. On boundaries. And now those boundaries felt like smoke in his hands.
The intercom crackled. “Mr. Morelli, you have a call from Mr. Ross—urgent.”
He pressed the button. “Put him through.”
A click, then a deep voice, rough from too much whiskey and not enough sleep.
“Dante, we’ve got a problem.”
“Define problem.”
“The data breach from last week wasn’t random. Whoever’s behind it knew exactly where to look. Your personal files. The off-ledger accounts.”
His hand stilled on the desk. “That information doesn’t exist on the public network.”
“It does now. Someone got through your internal firewall.”
Dante leaned back slowly, jaw tightening. “How much?”
“Enough. They didn’t touch the core assets, but they left a trace—like they wanted you to know.”
He was silent for a long moment. “Find out who. I don’t care what it costs.”
Ross hesitated. “There’s more. One of the offshore accounts—Singapore—was flagged by InterSec this morning. They’re asking questions.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Handle it.”
“I will, but Dante…”
Ross’s tone softened. “Be careful who you trust. Someone close is feeding information out.”
The line went dead.
⸻
He sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the city far below. His reflection in the glass looked different tonight—older, colder, and for the first time in years, uncertain.
There were always enemies in his world: competitors, board members, politicians who owed him favors they regretted. But this—this was personal.
And he had a terrible suspicion he knew where it began.
A name he hadn’t heard in years floated through his thoughts.
Dean Carter.
A small-time investor once—sharp, reckless, ambitious. And stupid enough to cross the wrong people.
The same Dean Carter who’d broken Selena’s heart.
Coincidence? He didn’t believe in those.
⸻
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.
Selena.
He didn’t have to look to know it was her. He could feel her presence—the quiet gravity she carried, the way the air seemed to shift when she entered a room.
“Mr. Morelli,” she said softly from the doorway. “You asked to see me.”
He turned his chair toward her, hiding the storm in his head. “Come in.”
She wore professionalism like armor—blouse buttoned, hair perfectly in place—but her eyes gave her away. They were the same eyes that had met his in the dark last night, full of something he didn’t dare name.
He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
She did, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “What’s this about?”
He studied her for a moment before answering. “Do you trust me?”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s an unusual question from an employer.”
“I’m not asking as your employer.”
She hesitated, then: “Yes. I trust you.”
He nodded once, more to himself than to her. “Good. Then trust me when I say you may hear things—rumors, articles, whispers. Ignore them.”
“About you?” she asked, voice quiet but steady.
“Yes.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Should I be worried?”
He almost smiled. “No. But someone wants you to be.”
A long pause. The rain began again outside, faint and rhythmic.
“Is this about work?” she asked finally.
“Everything is about work.”
The answer was too quick, too clean. She heard the lie.
“Dante.”
Her voice—soft, low, full of that impossible combination of defiance and care—cut straight through his restraint. He looked up, met her eyes, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed again to just them.
He stood abruptly, needing distance. “That’ll be all for tonight.”
She rose slowly. “You’re pushing me away.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
He turned back to the window. “From me.”
The silence that followed said everything words couldn’t.
She left without another word, the door closing quietly behind her.
He stood there long after she was gone, staring at the rain running down the glass. Her reflection still lingered faintly in it, like a ghost that refused to fade.
He reached for his phone and called Ross back.
“Change the protocol,” he said. “No one moves without my authorization.”
“Understood.”
“Oh, and Ross?” Dante’s voice dropped an octave.
“Find Dean Carter.”
- Writer
