Chapter Three
956 Words
The next morning, Ariella arrived at the office earlier than usual. The hallway lights were still dim, and only a few interns had filtered in. But Dante’s office light was on — glowing like a lighthouse at the end of the corridor.
Of course he was already here.
She made herself a strong black coffee and tried to focus on the Luciano contract. She had reread her father’s handwriting a dozen times, but the words still made her chest ache. Never again. What had happened in March 2014? What had broken him so badly that he swore off something forever?
And why had it been hidden?
She looked at the new file structure Dante’s assistant had sent her. It was a trail. Carefully curated. Each folder unlocked another layer. Contracts. Internal memos. Discrepancies in supply records. Reports flagged for further investigation but never pursued.
It wasn’t just her father’s name she saw now.
It was a list of people who had disappeared.
Employees who had resigned under duress.
Auditors who quit mid-investigation.
A lawyer who died in a car accident four days after filing a corruption complaint.
Her fingers froze over the mouse. This wasn’t about numbers anymore. This was about history—dark, twisted history—and she was walking straight into its shadow.
At noon, Dante called her into his office again.
He was pacing, tie loosened, a file in his hand. When she entered, he didn't greet her. He just held the file up.
“Do you know what this is?”
She took a step forward and scanned the title: Risk Assessment: Luciano Holdings.
“No,” she said slowly. “I haven’t seen it before.”
“It’s from 2015. Buried in Level 6 archives. You wouldn’t have access to it—so imagine my surprise when IT flagged a login attempt from your ID last night.”
Ariella’s breath caught. “That wasn’t me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
He studied her. She felt stripped under that gaze — as if he could see not just her face, but her motives, her secrets, her fear.
Then, unexpectedly, he tossed the file onto his desk.
“Someone’s testing you,” he said. “Or testing me, through you.”
“Why me?”
“That’s the question.”
She folded her arms. “Maybe someone inside wants the truth out.”
He walked around the desk, closer now. “You think the truth is buried in documents and dusty ledgers. You think this company is just a building with secrets stacked in folders.”
She didn’t respond.
“You’re wrong,” he said, voice low. “The truth is buried in people. In debts. In blood. And some of it... doesn’t want to be found.”
Ariella swallowed hard. “Then why put me on the Luciano file?”
“To see how far you'd go.”
They stood in silence. Something tense and electric passed between them — not anger, not trust, but something in between. Recognition, maybe.
Finally, he turned back to his desk. “Keep working on the Luciano audit. If someone wants to use you, we’ll let them try.”
“We?”
“I don’t like being manipulated.” He looked at her again. “You’re not the only one being watched.”
She left his office with her mind racing.
Dante Moretti was either protecting her — or pulling strings she couldn’t see.
That afternoon, the office held an executive reception on the rooftop terrace. Ariella had been told to attend, though she suspected she wasn’t expected to speak. It was one of those events designed to dazzle investors and intimidate rivals.
The London skyline glittered around them as servers floated past with champagne. The higher-ups mingled like wolves in expensive suits.
Ariella stood near the glass railing, clutching her drink, trying to disappear.
Then she heard his voice.
“You clean up well.”
She turned.
Dante stood beside her, his tie still loosened from earlier, but his posture effortlessly powerful. Commanding.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said.
“I wasn’t expecting to come.”
They stared out over the city in silence. The wind teased her hair, tugged at her coat. The hum of conversation buzzed behind them, but the space between them was quiet.
“Why did you really take this internship?” he asked suddenly.
She didn’t answer.
“I looked into your application again,” he said. “Your credentials check out. But your past… it’s been scrubbed. There’s no record of your family name connected to GreyTech Holdings, even though your father was CFO.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He knew.
“I changed my name legally after my father died,” she said softly.
“Why?”
“Because the name was poison.”
He looked at her, long and hard. “Then why come back to it?”
“I needed answers.”
A beat passed.
“You won’t like the ones you find,” he said. “Trust me.”
The way he said it — with quiet finality — made her skin prickle.
“Maybe I’m not afraid of hard truths.”
“You should be.”
She turned to him. “Why are you warning me?”
His eyes darkened. “Because I’ve seen what truth does to people who aren’t ready for it.”
Their eyes locked.
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not trust.
But something.
Recognition.
He walked away without another word, leaving her breathless and cold, staring out at the city that had taken her father and given her this storm in return.
- Writer
