Chapter Seven: Scared but confident
1025 Words
It was a new day Lucy sat at the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her blue eyes staring at the wall as though the paint itself could give her answers. Her heart still echoed the sound of that gunshot, still trembling with the memory of a commanding voice she swore belonged to Marcel Safari.
Her best friend’s words replayed in her head like a broken record: Voices can sound alike, watches can be the same… You can’t be too sure.
Lucy ran her fingers through her black hair, exhaling shakily. But what if I am sure? What if it really was him?
She had thought about going to the police, thought about whispering her fears into an officer’s ear. But every time the thought formed, a new one crushed it—Marcel was too powerful. He wasn’t just a boss in an office; he was a man who carried an aura that went beyond business. If he truly was connected to something darker, she could ruin her life just by speaking up.
“Do I go to work today?” she whispered to herself.
Her body screamed to hide, to curl up in her apartment and never set foot in Safari Company again. But something deeper—pride, perhaps, or stubborn courage—made her straighten her back. If she ran now, she would only make herself look guilty, suspicious even. She needed to act normal, to test the waters, and maybe… maybe even find proof.
By the time she dressed and arrived at the glass-towered headquarters of Safari Company, her nerves were raw, but her resolve was firm.
---
Inside, the office buzzed with the familiar hum of workers buried in tasks, the clicking of keyboards, and the ring of phones. Lucy forced herself to walk steadily, though every step felt heavier than the last.
Her chance came quicker than expected.
Two co-workers near the printer were murmuring about a document.
“This needs to go straight to Mr. Marcel’s office before noon,” one said, tapping the folder in his hand.
Lucy’s heart jumped. Without thinking, she stepped closer, her voice cutting in. “Oh, you need to submit that to Mr. Marcel? I’ll take it.”
Both workers turned, blinking at her in surprise. One frowned. “No, I’m the one who’s supposed to deliver it. Why are you suddenly interested in running errands to his office?”
Lucy’s lips curved into a quick, nervous smile. “Because Mr. Marcel asked me to get it for him,” she lied smoothly, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “So, you’ll have to give it to me.”
The worker hesitated, suspicion lingering, but finally shrugged. “Fine. Here.” He passed her the file. “Just don’t lose it.”
“Of course not,” Lucy murmured, clutching the folder tightly as if it were her only ticket to the truth.
---
Her heels clicked against the polished floors as she approached the heavy double doors of Marcel’s office. She paused, her breath catching. From inside, a muffled voice seeped through.
Marcel.
But he wasn’t speaking English. His deep voice rolled in Spanish, sharp, commanding, with occasional English words woven through.
“…¿por qué ahora?(Why now) Why would Abuelo summon us like this? … What happened in El Poblado?”
Lucy froze, her blood running cold. She had heard of El Poblado—it was a district in Medellín, Colombia, infamous for old crime families and whispered Mafia legacies.
Marcel’s voice dropped lower, urgent, dangerous. “If this is about business, fine. But if something has happened with the familia, I need to know. Entiendes?”
Her heart pounded. Family? Council? El Poblado? The words tangled in her head.
She shifted slightly, trying to steady the file in her trembling hands, but her movement must have caught his attention.
The door opened with a sudden sweep.
Marcel stood there, his tall frame filling the doorway, his dark eyes piercing into hers like twin blades.
“Lucy?” His tone was flat, suspicious.
Her breath hitched. She held out the file quickly. “I—I just needed to bring this to you, sir. One of the team asked me to—”
He studied her for a long, tense moment, then nodded curtly. “Drop it on the desk. You can leave.”
Lucy obeyed, walking into the office. The air was heavy, scented faintly with expensive cologne and wine. Her steps felt slow, deliberate, as though she was walking into the lion’s den. She placed the file carefully on his desk.
Turning, she hesitated. Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “Um… Mr. Marcel?”
He raised a brow, still standing near the door. “Yes?”
Lucy’s throat tightened. Her courage faltered, but the words tumbled out, shaky and uncertain. “Did you… Did you go anywhere last night?”
Marcel’s expression shifted slightly, confusion feigned but controlled. “What do you mean? I don’t understand. What do you mean by " did I go out last night?”
Lucy’s fingers twisted together. “I just meant… I thought maybe—” Her voice faltered.
Before she could finish, the door opened again.
Ethan.
He stepped in, wearing his usual casual air, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—snapped to Lucy immediately.
“Leave.”
The word cracked like a whip.
Lucy blinked, startled. “What—”
“I said leave.” His voice was low but powerful, carrying an authority she had never heard from him before. It wasn’t a request. It was a command.
Her heart skipped. She glanced from Ethan to Marcel, the tension between the two men suffocating. Something about Ethan’s tone, the sharp edge of control, sent alarm bells ringing in her head.
Swallowing hard, Lucy nodded quickly, brushing past him and out the door. But as she walked away, her thoughts raced.
Ethan’s command. Marcel’s phone call. The wristwatch. The voice.
It all swirled together, and Lucy realized she was far closer to the truth than she ever wanted to be.
- Writer
