CH2:Lines Uncrossed
1052 Words
Morning came quietly.
Sarah woke to pale light filtering through sheer curtains and the distant hum of Milan below. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the stillness reminded her—this wasn’t a hotel, and it wasn’t home.
It was Lorenzo De Santis’s house.
She checked her phone. No messages. No reminders. Just silence.
You are free to leave at dawn, he had said.
And yet… she was still here.
After a shower, she dressed simply—black trousers, a white blouse, hair pulled back. If she was going to be observed, she would be observed on her own terms.
The kitchen was vast, modern, and spotless. Lorenzo stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading something on a tablet. He didn’t look surprised to see her.
“You slept,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “Which tells me your security is good.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “It has to be.”
She poured herself coffee without asking. He watched her do it, not possessive—curious.
“You could have left,” he said.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Sarah met his gaze. “Because I don’t like unanswered questions.”
He nodded slowly, as if that answer pleased him more than it should have.
“Breakfast is optional,” he added. “Conversation is not.”
She smiled faintly. “You always speak in conditions?”
“Only when honesty requires structure.”
They sat across from each other at the long marble table, the space between them deliberate. No touching. No leaning in. And yet, the air felt charged.
“You’re not what people say you are,” Sarah said quietly.
“And what do they say?”
“That you’re ruthless. Dangerous. A criminal hiding behind luxury.”
“And what do you see?”
She studied him. The calm control. The restraint. The way he never filled silence unless it mattered.
“A man who doesn’t need to force anything,” she said. “Which makes him more dangerous than most.”
Lorenzo held her gaze. “Good,” he said. “Then you’re paying attention.”
Later that day, she explored the penthouse—his library, his art, the rooms that told stories without words. Nothing illegal. Nothing reckless. Just power… carefully managed.
By evening, they stood on opposite sides of the balcony, watching the city lights flicker on.
“Rules still intact,” she said.
“For now,” he replied.
Their eyes met. The moment stretched. Nothing happened.
And yet everything did.Sarah hated luxury hotels.
They were too quiet. Too perfect. Like they were hiding something.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest suite, smoothing the wrinkles from her simple navy dress. It was modest—nothing like the silk gowns she’d seen other women wear downstairs—but it was her. Clean. Honest. Unimpressive in a world that thrived on excess.
She had been invited—no, summoned—to interview Lorenzo De santis.
The name alone carried weight.
Mafia boss. Power broker. A man whispered about in business circles and feared in darker ones. Yet officially, Lorenzo De santis was a philanthropist, a shadow investor, a man whose wealth came from “private holdings.”
Unofficially?
Nobody ever said where the money really came from.
A soft knock landed on the door.
“Miss Sarah,” a man’s voice said politely. “Mr. De Luca is ready for you.”
Her stomach tightened.
This was supposed to be just another job. One interview. One article. One paycheck that would keep her freelance career alive for another month.
Still, as she followed the guard down the long hallway, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into something she wouldn’t be able to walk back out of.
They stopped in front of tall double doors.
The guard opened them without knocking.
And there he was.
Lorenzo De santis stood near the window, his back to her, hands clasped behind him as the city lights spilled across the room. He wore a tailored black suit, no tie, the top button undone like rules had never applied to him anyway.
He didn’t turn around immediately.
“Leave us,” he said calmly.
The door closed behind her.
Silence fell—thick, deliberate.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Mr. De Santis ,thank you for agreeing to this interview.”
He turned slowly.
Her breath caught.
Lorenzo was… composed. Sharp features softened by a calm expression that didn’t match the reputation attached to his name. His dark eyes settled on her, unreadable, assessing—not her body, but her.
“You don’t look like the others,” he said.
“The others?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.
“The ones who come here wanting something.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the room without effort. “They usually dress like they already own me.”
Sarah swallowed. “I’m just here to ask questions.”
A faint smile touched his lips. Not warm. Curious.
“That’s what makes you dangerous, Sarah.”
Her name on his tongue sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
“I know many things.” He gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
She obeyed—against her better judgment.
Lorenzo didn’t sit. He circled slowly, like a man used to control, like someone who never rushed decisions.
“You’re a freelancer,” he said. “No big media house. No protection.”
“That doesn’t scare me,” she replied, though it probably should have.
His gaze lingered on her face. “It should.”
There it was—the warning beneath the calm.
“So why agree to this interview?” she asked. “If I’m so dangerous?”
He stopped in front of her.
“Because,” Lorenzo said quietly, “you walked into my world without knowing who I really am.”
His eyes darkened—not with threat, but with something far more unsettling.
Interest.
And in that moment, Sarah realized this interview wasn’t about him anymore.
It was about why he chose her.
And what it would cost her to find out.
- Writer
