The File
1216 Words
The call came at 11:47 PM.
“Office. Now.”
Vito’s voice was ice over the phone. No greeting. No "how are you". Just a command.
Lina stared at the cracked screen of her phone. The blue light made her tiny apartment look even smaller. Her hands were shaking. The last customer had left her shoe shop two hours ago. She still had to count today’s earnings. $47. Not even enough for rent.
She should’ve hung up. She should’ve blocked the number.
Then her phone buzzed again. A photo.
Her little brother Marco. 9 years old. Walking home from school. Backpack dragging on the ground. Timestamp: 4:30 PM today.
Her blood went cold.
Twenty minutes later she was standing in front of the Vito Group tower. 40 floors of glass and steel stabbing into the Lagos night. The security guards at the door didn’t even ask her name. They just nodded and let her through.
Of course they did. Everyone knew who she was now. The shoemaker who dared to talk back to Vito.
The elevator ride to the 40th floor was silent. Too silent. Her reflection in the gold doors looked pale. Scared.
Ding.
The entire floor was dark except for one office at the end of the hall. Light spilled out from under the door like a warning.
Vito was behind his desk. Suit jacket thrown over a chair. White shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. A glass of whiskey sat on the desk. Untouched. Condensation running down the sides and pooling on the expensive wood.
And right in the center of the desk… a thick black file.
“Close the door,” he said without looking up.
She did. The click echoed louder than it should have.
“Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
His eyes lifted then. Dark. Amused. Dangerous. “You’re in no position to choose, shoemaker.”
He pushed the file across the mahogany with one finger. It slid to a stop right in front of her knees.
“Open it.”
Lina’s fingers trembled as she flipped the cover.
Page 1: Her mother’s hospital bills. $40,000. Overdue. Stamped in red across the top: FINAL NOTICE.
Her chest caved in. Mom needed surgery in 3 weeks or she’d never walk again. The doctors said it was now or never.
Page 2: Photos of her shop. Taken at 3am.
Two men in black standing outside her door. One holding a crowbar. A yellow sticky note attached to the photo: _“We come back Friday. Pay or we take the door. And the rest.”_
Her breath hitched. That was tomorrow.
Page 3: Her sister Ana. 12 years old. School ID photo. Home address. Class schedule. The route she walked every day.
Rage replaced fear. “How did you get these—”
“I own the bank that holds your debt,” Vito cut in, voice flat like he was reading the weather. “I own the building your shop is in. And as of this morning, I own the men who were going to break your door down tomorrow.”
He leaned back in his leather chair. It creaked. “So here’s the deal, Lina.”
He said her name slowly. Like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.
“Work for me. Be my personal assistant. 24/7. For 6 months.”
“In exchange, I clear your debts. I pay your mother’s surgery in full. I make sure your shop stays open. And I make sure your family stays safe.”
Lina slammed the file shut. The sound cracked through the office. “That’s blackmail.”
Vito smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s business.”
He stood up. Slow. Deliberate. He walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of her.
Close enough that she could smell whiskey and expensive cologne and something darker. Power.
“You can walk out that door right now,” he whispered. His finger came up and brushed her jaw. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “And by morning, everything you love will be gone. The shop. The house. Your mother’s chance to walk again.”
His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Or you can stay. And be mine.”
The city lights behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows made him look like a devil in a tailored suit.
And for the first time in her 24 years, Lina had no choice.
Her voice broke. “Fine.”
“Good girl,” Vito murmured. Approval mixed with something possessive.
He picked up a pen and slid a new contract across the desk. This one was thicker. Legal. 10 pages.
“Sign.”
She flipped through it with shaking hands. Her eyes caught phrases that made her sick.
Term: 6 months. Renewable at Employer’s discretion.
Employee shall obey all directives without question.
Employee may not terminate contract early under any circumstances.
“These are illegal,” she whispered.
“These are my rules,” he corrected. “Rule 1: You answer my calls in three rings. Rule 2: You wear what I tell you. Rule 3: No one touches you. You’re mine. Mine to protect. Mine to punish.”
He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. “Rule 4: You don’t fall in love with me.”
Lina laughed. Bitter and broken. “As if.”
Vito pulled back and studied her face. “Sign, Lina.”
The pen felt like it weighed 10 kilos.
Her signature looked wrong. Shaky. Like it belonged to a stranger. Lina Reyes.
The moment the ink dried, Vito took the contract and locked it in his desk drawer.
“Mine,” he said quietly. Not to her. To himself.
He came around the desk again. This time he didn’t stop inches away.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was light but it burned her skin.
“Let me make something clear,” he murmured. “You’re not my employee. You’re not my assistant.”
His hand dropped to her wrist. He squeezed once. “You’re my responsibility now. That means no one hurts you. No one talks to you. No one looks at you the wrong way. Because they’ll have to go through me.”
Lina tried to pull back. He didn’t let go.
“And it means,” he continued, voice dropping lower, “that when I say jump, you ask how high. When I say stay, you stay. When I say you’re mine…”
He leaned in until their noses almost touched. “You believe it.”
He finally let her go. “Come.”
He walked her to the elevator in silence. In the car, he didn’t touch her. Didn’t speak. Just drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console near hers like a silent threat.
He dropped her in front of her dark, closed shop. “8AM tomorrow. My office. Dress code: black.”
Lina got out without a word.
She watched his car disappear down the street, taillights fading into the night.
Then she sank to the sidewalk and cried.
Because she just sold herself to the devil.
And the worst part was, part of her was relieved.
- Writer
