CHAPTER FIVE: INTERESTING LITTLE THING
1078 Words
LUCA’S POV
“Rewind.”
The guard’s fingers flew across the keyboard without hesitation. The security footage skipped backward before beginning again.
The timestamp blinked across the corner of the monitor.
11:17.
Elena Rossi stepped cautiously into the corridor, pausing just outside her room. Her eyes swept over the hallway before she took another careful step, as though expecting someone to appear at any moment.
She wasn’t wandering. She was searching for a way out. The corner of my lip pulled up a little. Impressive, I thought.
“Again.”
The footage replayed. This time, I ignored her face. I watched her movements. She tested doors she knew were locked.
Counted intersections.
Memorized the layout.
Every few steps, she glanced over her shoulder.
Interesting.
Most people brought through the gates of the De Santis estate accepted reality surprisingly quickly. Some cried. Some begged. A few screamed until exhaustion stole their voices.
She looked for an escape on her second night here. She’s more promising than I thought.
She kept on searching even though the lights were dim and you could tell by her posture that she was scared. That alone made her interesting.
She had crossed half the eastern wing before one of the guards caught her and quietly redirected her back to her room. Even then, she hadn’t lashed out or collapsed into hysterics.
For someone who had stumbled into my world by accident, she possessed remarkable survival instincts.
“Freeze it.”
The image stopped.
Elena stood in the middle of the courtyard, moonlight spilling over her shoulders as she stared toward the gardens beyond the walls. She wasn’t admiring the flowers or the fountain — she was searching for a way out. Perhaps a hidden tunnel or a back door.
She’s not just stubborn. She could be useful when the time is right.
A vibration against my desk interrupted the silence.
Vittorio.
I answered without taking my eyes off the screen.
“The Marseille shipment arrived this morning,” my consigliere said.
“And?”
“French customs delayed one container.”
“For how long?”
“They’re claiming routine inspections.”
“They’re lying.”
He paused for a moment, as if waiting for me to lash out at him.
“They’re waiting for someone to pay,” he finally said with a slight tremor in his voice.
“We won’t pay.”
“Understood.”
“If they become impatient, remind them who owns the route they use.”
“…Yes, Don.”
The line went dead.
Business. Predictable as always. Money moved. Politicians lied. People paid with their lives. Life went on.
People followed patterns.
They always did.
Except…
My gaze returned to the frozen image on the monitor.
Elena Rossi.
She wasn’t supposed to exist.
Arthur Rossi had never mentioned a daughter during negotiations. When he realized he couldn’t repay eight million euros, he’d offered her instead—a desperate decision made by a desperate man. Pathetic!
Because of him, I know almost nothing about the woman now living under my roof.
That was unacceptable.
I pressed the intercom.
“Gabrio.”
“Yes, Don?”
“I want everything on the girl. University records. Employment history. Financial records. Family. Friends.”
“Understood.”
“If she has ever so much as borrowed a library book, I want to know about it.”
“Consider it done.”
The intercom clicked off.
My attention drifted back to the monitor one last time.
During our conversation in the courtyard, she’d said four words that hadn’t left my mind.
I’m a nurse.
An unusual profession for someone who had just become collateral. Most of the people who landed in La Casa dei De Santis are workers who thing they can double-cross me. Most of them leave the world before they ever realized their mistakes.
I’ve never housed an innocent. I never planned to. But it was only a matter of time before Arthur Rossi gave his daughter away to clear his tab.
That rat had no morals, no control, and even less sense. I first noticed him ten months ago during a random inspection.
The i***t got sloppy drunk at one of my blackjack tables and tried to punch a pit boss over a lost hand. A man who couldn't handle his liquor or his losses had no business in my establishment, but instead of throwing him to the alley for good, I had my men keep an eye on him. He was interesting, very unpredictable.
It became a pathetic ritual. Every single night for ten months, Arthur was back, sweating through his collars and betting like his life depended on it—even as it bled him dry. He was a creature of pure desperation, spiraling lower with every hand dealt. And when a man like Arthur runs out of money, he starts offering up the only valuable things he has left.
The loud ring of my phone interrupted my thoughts.
Vittorio.
“Talk.”
“Sir. They’re requesting your presence.”
“This isn’t about the shipment. Who’s with them?”
“She says she’s an old acquaintance. Her name is Rémy Valois. She said you should be excited to see her.”
My jaw tightened. Rémy Valois. That woman was like a bad omen wrapped in silk.
She never appeared without a reason, and whatever that reason was, it had never ended well for the person on the receiving end.
The last time I’d seen her, a man had died three minutes after she smiled at him. I had never asked how she did it.
I had learned a long time ago that there were some questions better left unanswered.
“What does she want?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Of course she wouldn’t. That psychopath enjoyed secrets the way other people enjoyed champagne.
“And you let her near the shipment?”
“She was already there when our men arrived.”
I went still for a moment. This wasn’t good news.
Already there?
That was different.
“Where is she now?”
“Waiting for you.”
A humorless smile touched my mouth. “Then let’s not keep the lady waiting.”
I ended the call and reached for my jacket.
Rémy Valois had no business being anywhere near a De Santis shipment.
Which meant one thing.
This wasn’t a visit. It was a message. I just had to find out who had sent it.
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