In the Shadow Of His Heart

Chapter 5: Wolves in the Dark

Ama's hands trembled as she stared at the door. The two men stood on the other side, their shadows stark against the c***k beneath it.

FBI.

They weren’t here to deliver a birthday card.

Her first instinct was to run — as if she could somehow outrun the weight of their badges, their questions, their intentions. But her feet wouldn’t move.

A hard, impatient knock rattled the door again.

"Miss Mensah," the taller agent said. His voice was steady, official. "We know you're inside. We only want to talk."

Ama swallowed hard and wiped her clammy palms against the satin of her dress. She couldn’t ignore them. That would only make things worse.

With a deep breath that felt like dragging air through a straw, she turned the lock and pulled the door open a cautious few inches.

Two men in dark suits stood there — mirror images of each other. Serious, cold-eyed. One was older, with deep lines etched into his face like scars. The other looked fresh, sharp, like a blade newly sharpened.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about Damian Wolfe," the older one said, flashing his badge again. "Mind if we come in?"

Every instinct screamed at her to say no. To slam the door, lock it, and pretend this wasn’t happening.

But reality didn't work that way.

Ama opened the door wider and stepped aside.

The agents entered with the quiet efficiency of men who had done this a thousand times. Their eyes flickered around the tiny apartment, cataloging every detail: the peeling paint, the worn furniture, the faint scent of cinnamon and old books.

"Relax, Miss Mensah," the younger one said, though his tone made it clear relaxing was the last thing he expected. "We're just here to talk."

Ama stood, arms crossed protectively over her chest. "I don't know anything."

The older agent smiled thinly. "That's not what we heard."

She stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"You were seen having dinner with Mr. Wolfe tonight," he said, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. Witnesses at the restaurant. Private table, corner booth."

Ama's mouth went dry.

They’d been watching.

"I work for him," she said quickly. "It was just a... work thing."

The agents exchanged a look that said they weren’t buying it.

"Miss Mensah," the older one said, flipping a page in his notebook, "Damian Wolfe isn't just a wealthy businessman. He's connected to some... very dangerous circles. Arms dealing. Money laundering. Corporate espionage."

Ama shook her head. "I didn’t know anything about that." I’m just a waitress."

"Are you?" the younger agent asked, c*****g an eyebrow.

The insult was clear, and it stung more than she wanted to admit.

But Ama lifted her chin, forcing herself to stay calm.

"I was hired to serve at an event," she said. "That's it."

The older agent closed his notebook with a soft snap. "If that's the case, then you have nothing to worry about."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"But if you’re smart, Miss Mensah, you’ll stay far away from Damian Wolfe. Men like him don't just ruin lives. They end them."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Ama's heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself think. She wanted to scream that she had no choice, that she was trapped — but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she nodded mutely.

The agents gave her one last hard look before stepping back toward the door.

"If you remember anything — anything at all —" the older one said, "call this number." He handed her a plain white card, the ink so stark it looked like a warning.

Then they were gone.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Ama alone with the hollow thudding of her own pulse.

---

It took her almost five minutes before she could move.

When she finally sat down on the futon, she realized she was still clutching the card so tightly it was crumpled in her hand.

Stay away from Damian Wolfe.

The warning echoed again and again.

But how could she?

How could she, when he already had her name, her number, her schedule — her life?

Ama shuddered and dropped the card onto the table like it was something poisonous.

A knock at the door made her jump again, but this one was softer. Familiar.

Nina.

Ama rushed to open it, pulling her best friend into a tight hug before the words even came.

"Jesus, Ama, what happened?!" Nina exclaimed, pulling back to scan her face. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"Not a ghost," Ama whispered. "The FBI."

Nina’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "You’re joking."

Ama shook her head.

She told her everything — the agents, their accusations, the warning about Damian. By the end, Nina was pacing the tiny living room like a caged animal.

"This is bad," Nina said finally, running a hand through her curls. "Real bad."

"I know."

"You need to quit. Get the hell out. Find another job. Anything."

Ama's stomach twisted. "I can’t, Nina. You know why."

Her mother’s hospital bills. The debts she couldn't even bear to look at anymore. The dreams she hadn’t dared speak aloud — dreams that would die without money.

"Damian Wolfe is dangerous, Ama," Nina said fiercely. You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe anyone your life."

Ama wanted to believe that.

But the memory of Damian’s steel-grey eyes flashed behind her eyelids — cold, commanding, like he already owned her fate.

And the terrifying part?

A small, secret piece of her didn’t want to escape him.

It wanted to understand him. To find the man behind the walls.

Ama shoved the thought away.

"This is temporary," she said aloud, more for herself than for Nina. Just until I have enough money. Then I’m out."

Nina didn’t look convinced, but she pulled Ama into another fierce hug.

"Promise me you’ll be careful."

"I promise."

---

Later, after Nina had left, Ama sat in the darkened apartment, staring at the black dress draped over the chair.

Tomorrow night, she will step fully into Damian Wolfe’s world.

The world of billionaires and criminals. Power and danger. The wolves were circling.

And she was walking straight into their den.

Her phone buzzed on the table again.

Damian.

> Damian Wolfe:

Change of plans. My driver will pick you up at 5:30. And Ama — wear the dress. No substitutions.

Ama stared at the screen for a long moment, her heart thudding against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

In the shadows of his heart, there was no safe place to hide.

And tomorrow, she will have to find out whether she can survive it.