Chapter Three: Beneath His Watch
1426 Words
***
The office smelled like paper, cologne, and quiet danger.
Adira stood by the wide glass window on the 20th floor, watching the city below sparkle in the darkness. Her black heels sank slightly into the thick carpet. The silence in the room was almost peaceful, but her heart was anything but calm.
Behind her, Rafael Romano sat at his desk — silent, focused, unreadable.
This was her new job now.
His assistant.
Not in the flirty, fake way the other girls in the club whispered about. No, he didn’t want her to smile or shake hips. He wanted her to be useful. Quiet. Sharp.
She had worked two nights already.
Two nights of sorting coded documents, answering private calls, sending messages to men who spoke in riddles. She hadn’t asked questions just did as she was told.
And Rafael… was watching.
Always watching.
He hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t even called her “Lena” more than twice. But every time their eyes met, she felt like he was trying to see through her skin.
Like he knew she was lying.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
And that gave her the power to move closer.
---
“Bring me the white folder from the cabinet,” Rafael said, not looking up from his screen.
Adira turned and walked to the silver cabinet beside the wall. Her hands stayed steady as she pulled the drawer open and found the file.
She paused.
The top paper had her father’s name on it.
Gianni Venti.
She almost stopped breathing.
She looked at the words. The ink. The date. It was five years old.
The day her world shattered.
“Problem?” Rafael asked from behind her.
Adira snapped the folder shut quickly.
“No, sir. Just checking the label.”
She turned and handed it over.
He didn’t look at her. Just opened the file and flipped through the documents like they meant nothing.
Like they hadn’t destroyed a family.
Like they weren’t soaked in blood.
Her fingers clenched behind her back.
She forced herself to look calm.
“You’re pale,” he said without glancing up.
“Just tired.”
“Don’t get tired,” he replied. “Tired people make mistakes. And mistakes get punished.”
She nodded once.
Inside, she screamed.
---
Later that evening, the office lights dimmed. Most of the building emptied. The club below still roared, but up here it was quiet. Cold.
Rafael stood by the bar pouring himself a drink. He didn’t ask if she wanted one. She wouldn’t have said yes.
“I heard you studied accounting,” he said, sipping slowly.
Adira’s eyes lifted slightly. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Community college in Michigan.”
Another lie.
She had never been in any college. But her father taught her numbers like they were magic. He’d wanted her far away from the business. But she learned it anyway.
“It shows,” Rafael said. “You’re not just memorizing. You understand the flows.”
Adira shrugged. “Money always tells the truth.”
He looked at her then. Direct. Unblinking.
“Do you?”
The room felt ten degrees colder.
She looked him straight in the eye.
“I try to.”
He smiled.
Not a warm smile. But something. A flicker.
“That’s your second lie tonight,” he said softly.
Her throat went dry.
“What was the first?”
He stepped closer, holding her gaze.
“Saying you’re just tired.”
Adira’s spine stiffened. “You’re used to people lying to you?”
“I expect it.”
“And you keep them anyway?”
“Only when their lies are useful.”
Adira didn’t reply.
She couldn’t.
Because that’s exactly what she was.
A useful lie.
---
She went home that night with too many thoughts and not enough answers.
In her apartment, she locked the door, pulled the blinds, and sat on the floor again with the same file.
Her father’s name sat on the top of the page like a wound.
There were codes beneath it. Dates. Numbers. Transfers.
She copied them all down in a small brown notebook and circled a name that kept appearing: Enzo Bianchi.
She remembered that name. Her father had whispered it the night before he died.
“I didn’t give anything to Enzo,” he’d said in a panic, pacing their living room.
Then, hours later… he was gone.
Adira held the paper tighter.
Enzo was still alive. Still close to Rafael.
If anyone could expose the real traitor, it was him.
She had to get to him.
But that meant digging deeper. Watching more closely. Asking the right questions at the right time — and never getting caught.
She didn’t sleep that night.
Her hatred kept her awake.
But so did something else.
Rafael.
The way he looked at her.
The way he saw too much.
The way his silence felt louder than a gunshot.
She hated him.
She feared him.
She needed him.
And that was the most dangerous part.
---
The next day, the mood in the office was different.
Tense.
Men in suits entered and left quickly. Doors shut fast. Phones buzzed with no names on the screens. Something was happening.
“Is there a problem?” Adira asked, watching two men argue quietly in the hallway.
Rafael didn’t answer. He was pacing near the window, holding a black phone. His face unreadable.
Then he turned to her.
“We’re moving tonight.”
She blinked. “Moving?”
“Temporary location. Warehouse near the docks. There’s heat on this place.”
“From the police?”
“Worse,” he muttered. “From rats.”
She swallowed. “What do you need me to do?”
He looked at her like she surprised him.
“Nothing. You’re off duty tonight.”
“I’d like to come.”
His brow lifted.
“Why?”
“I learn faster in pressure. That’s what you want, right?”
He stared at her.
Then nodded once.
“Be ready at ten. Wear black. No heels.”
---
The warehouse near the docks smelled like oil and rust. It was huge, empty except for a few crates and a long table in the center, stacked with phones, papers, and laptops.
Adira stood in the corner, watching as Rafael gave quiet orders to three men. They moved fast, like soldiers.
She noticed one of the men — an older guy in a gray shirt — watching her too closely.
“Who’s the girl?” he muttered to Rafael when she was out of earshot.
“She listens. She learns. That’s enough.”
“You trust her?”
Rafael’s jaw tensed.
“No.”
“Then why bring her?”
“Because I trust her more than the ones I do.”
Adira didn’t show her reaction. But she heard it.
And it chilled her.
She wasn’t the only liar in the room.
Hours passed. Files were moved. Phones burned. Messages sent.
Around midnight, Rafael sat down at the edge of a crate and motioned for Adira to join him.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“Just watching.”
“Good. What did you see?”
She listed it like a soldier: “Three men came and left in under five minutes. One carried a black bag, same brand as the one used to deliver payments. You changed your burner phone twice. And the guy in the gray shirt doesn't blink when you talk, but blinks every time you mention the word ‘shipment.’ He’s nervous.”
Rafael stared at her.
Then let out a soft, cold laugh.
“You see more than you should.”
“I’m here to help, right?”
He leaned closer.
“Or maybe you’re here to find something.”
Her throat tightened. “Like what?”
“You tell me.”
She looked at him.
Close now.
Too close.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” he whispered back.
The tension burned between them like fire waiting for a spark.
But neither moved.
Until footsteps interrupted.
“Sir—phone call,” one of the men said, holding out a device.
Rafael stood.
Before he walked away, he said to her, “Don’t touch anything. Don’t go anywhere. And if someone asks you who you really are... lie better.”
Then he was gone.
And Adira was left standing in a warehouse full of secrets — and one man she should never have followed.
- Writer
