The Mafia Boss's Assistant

Chapter Three: Alexandra’s POV

I sat among the other hopefuls and I couldn’t help but notice the fidgeting, nail-biting, and hair-twirling that betrayed their poker-faces.

Meanwhile, I tried to ignore them, and keep my own focus laser-sharp. I was fixed on acing this meeting and landing the job.

I rehearsed my pitch in my head, perfecting my tone and body language, and was very determined to make a lasting impression on Mario Morano.

My goal wasn’t just to get hired; it was to convince him that I was the only fit for the role of his secretary. I needed to be close enough to him if I had any hopes of discovering more details that could link him to the murder.

“Miss Clarke?”

From the desk at the corner, I heard the young lady’s voice echo somewhere at the back of my mind but I could barely concentrate.

My blood roared in my ears, my palms were sweaty, and my heart pounded in my chest like a thousand drums beating at once.

“Is there a Miss Ava Clarke present?”

Then it registered. I whipped up my head so fast, I thought it would have a splitting headache.

“Me!” I jumped to my feet, almost dropping my files in the haste as I walked up to the desk. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s me… Ava, um, Ava Clarke. I’m here.”

I swallowed, realizing I had almost forgotten that I applied for this job using a name I’d randomly picked out from one of my favorite novels.

Being strong was one of the necessities for this mission, but also, I had to be a completely different person to execute my plan. I couldn’t infiltrate such a powerful group with my birth name.

I was sure Mario Morano could hear the name Alexandra Shaw from a mile away and be suspicious. And what would then happen if he immediately put the pieces together, linking me to his late employee, my father, Shaw McGrath?

I shuddered, dismissing the thought. Inside this building, there was no Lexi. No Alexandra. Just Ava Clarke.

“I would take you there myself, but I’m sorry, the boss needs me to attend to something else urgently,” the beautiful blonde lady was saying.

Before I could tell her I had no problem locating the interview room on my own, she kept talking.

“So, down the hall to your left, you’ll see two doors. There’s the brown door and there’s a darker brown. The brown door leads to the interview room. Someone will meet you there.”

My heart sunk. “Someone?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“Uh, no. It’s just… I thought the CEO will handle the interviews himself since he needs a secretary.” I tried to smile and chuckle at the same time, but it probably didn’t do a good job convincing anyone that I didn’t have ulterior motives.

Her brows creased. “He’ll be there. Maybe not immediately. Do you remember the directions?”

Releasing another nervous chuckle, I nodded “Yes, I do.”

I thanked her and started off to find the brown door that would lead to my conquest.

But along the way, my gaze drifted to the polished floors and the walls adorned with gleaming silver accents and framed photographs of the Morano Group’s milestones.

The hallway was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and from them I spotted the breathtaking view of the San Francisco skyline and, from a long distance, a glimpse of the Golden Gate bridge, its rust-red towers rising majestically above the fog.

The view was stunning, but I knew I couldn’t linger. I had an interview to ace.

I turned left, following the blonde’s directions.

So, down the hall to your left, you’ll see two doors. There’s the brown door and there’s a darker brown. The brown door leads to the interview room.

I got there and…there was a problem.

I found myself facing two doors that looked identical. According to her, I was supposed to look for doors with brown and darker brown finishes, but these two doors seemed to be exactly the same shade.

I frowned slightly, hesitating for a moment. Which one was I supposed to go through?

I searched for any subtle difference in shade or design that might give me a clue. Still, they looked eerily similar.

I struggled to control my breaths which came out in puffs.

My confidence was melting by the second and it felt like I was holding on to a thin thread of courage before I snapped, ran back home, and cried myself to sleep for being a coward and a failure.

I checked again. I didn’t need glasses; my contact lenses were working just fine.

Maybe there was a detail I was missing. I reached out to grab the handle of one door, hoping for some indication of which room was the correct one, but stopped when I heard hushed but heavy voices coming from behind the other brown door.

I drew closer to it and, beyond all reasoning to stay away, I pressed my ear to the wood.

The voices grew louder, though the words were still indistinct. It sounded like a heated discussion between two or more people. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it did sound tense.

My curiosity was heightened.

Temporarily, I’d forgotten the real reason I stood in the hallway. I found myself leaning in closer, trying to catch a snippet of conversation.

Then abruptly, the conversation ceased. Pin drop silence. Everything went still and quiet, except my thrumming heart. But, against my better judgement, I stayed rooted on the spot.

What I didn’t expect was the sudden grab on the door handle, just before the door swung wide open.

“Baby Jesus!” My hand flew to my chest, and I could have sworn, my soul left my body for a minute.

Inside was a room full of several scary-looking men in dark suits with piercing gazes that night look happy to see me.

Their faces were stern and all eyes were fixed on me. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I stood frozen, my hand still grasping the files to my heaving chest.

The man by the door, who stood tall and imposing with a chiseled jawline and a parallel scar across his left eyebrow, took a step forward.

His eyes narrowed, and his voice sounded like a menacing growl.

“Can we help you?”

I swallowed hard, trying to compose myself. “I…I think I’m here for the interview,” I stammered, hoping I sounded confident despite the butterflies in my stomach threatening to destroy me.

God, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Secretary?” A smooth baritone voiced out from behind the man in front me.

I didn’t see the face of the man who spoke, but I nodded like a frightened mouse. “Yes… yes, sir.”

“Fabio, let her in,” the man calmly said.

The doorman’s gaze lingered on me with a blank expression. Then, without a word, he stepped aside, revealing two figures seated at the far end of the table.

My blood stopped cold.

At the head of the table was the man I’d spent nights and days stalking on the internet. The man I believed was responsible for snatching the life of my parents.

He looked older and more intimidating than the Getty images I’d seen on Google. Silver hair, broad shoulders hidden under a suit jacket, and lips drawn in a tight disapproving line.

The man himself, there he was.

Mario Morano.

But somehow, it was younger man seated beside him that snagged all my attention.

I’d seen very few of his photos on the internet, posed like a model beside his father for a Vogue cover, but none of those pictures did justice to the demigod of a man.

It was like watching an incredibly handsome male hero in a fantasy book come alive.

Chiseled features, piercing green eyes, and a sharp jawline gave him a striking presence. Even beneath his well-tailored suit, his lean athletic build stood out.

Our eyes met, and I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body.