12
1660 Words
JORDAN
My phone buzzes at the edge of my desk. I ignore it at first — too many hours, too many fires to put out — but something about the vibration keeps tugging at me.
When I finally pick it up, the number’s unfamiliar. No ID. No name. Just a message.
Normally, I’d delete it without blinking. The only person who ever texts me during work hours isn’t talking to me anymore. And even if she was, she’d never use this number.
Still, I open it.
Unknown: You can’t protect everyone, hero. I know who you’re guarding. And when I’m done, you’ll wish you’d never taken the job.
My stomach knots. The words hit like a punch to the gut not because of what they say, but because of what they mean. Someone knows. Someone’s watching.
A chill runs through me. For a second, I just stare at the message, reading it again and again. Then I drop the phone on the desk and scrub a hand over my face.
“Damn it.”
I grab the intercom and buzz the tech office. “Eli, I need you to trace an unknown number. Now. Full back-end sweep. I want to know who sent it and from where.”
There’s a pause, the kind that says he’s heard this tone before. Then, “Got it, boss.”
When the line goes dead, I sit back and stare at the message again.
Taylor’s name flashes across my mind like a wound that never closed. I failed her.
And if I don’t get ahead of this — whoever this is — I’ll fail again.
I pocket the phone and force myself to breathe. There’s no point spiraling — not now. The message, the threat, Taylor — all of it will have to wait. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes across town, and the last thing I need is my team seeing me rattled.
By the time I’m in the car, the sky’s turned the dull color of metal. I drive on autopilot, mind chewing through possibilities. The text replays in my head with every red light. You can’t protect everyone, hero.
No, maybe not. But I’ll die trying.
The meeting drags. My body’s there, nodding, talking contracts, logistics, security detail rotations but my mind’s miles away. When it’s over, I barely remember what was said.
Mom is already waiting for me at the little Italian place she loves — same corner booth, same polite smile that always tries to hide how much she worries.
“You look tired,” she says as soon as I sit down.
“I’ve had worse days.” I manage a half-smile, the kind that doesn’t touch my eyes.
She studies me for a moment before asking, “How’s Felix?”
The question hits like a quiet slap. I drop my gaze to my coffee, swirling the spoon just to buy a second. “He’s… fine.”
She hums, unconvinced. “And you?”
I shrug. “Same.”
Her voice softens, but her eyes don’t. “Still hung up on your best friend’s wife?”
My throat tightens. For a moment, I think about lying — telling her I’ve moved on, that I don’t see her face every damn time I close my eyes. But I can’t even form the words.
Instead, I just exhale through a faint smile that feels too brittle to last. “Let’s not do this today, Mom.”
She nods slowly, reaching for my hand across the table. “You have to let some ghosts go, sweetheart. They’ll eat you alive if you don’t.”
I look away — through the glass, at nothing in particular — and wonder if she has any idea how right she is.
The waiter clears our plates, and Mom keeps talking — something about the neighbor’s new dog or her garden — but I’m only half there. My phone’s face-down beside my napkin. I keep glancing at it like it might start burning through the table.
When it finally vibrates, the sound is so sharp it makes both of us flinch.
I flip it over. Eli.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say, already standing. “Work thing.”
She gives me that look — the one that says she knows it’s more than that — but she just nods. “Go ahead.”
I step outside, letting the door close behind me. The street noise fills the silence I’ve been carrying since morning.
“Talk to me,” I say into the phone.
Eli’s voice is tight. “We got something. The number’s a ghost — encrypted, bounced through at least six servers — but there’s a trace. Someone wanted to be found, just not easily.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Meaning?”
“Meaning whoever sent that message knows how we work. They used our own relay format. It’s someone with inside access — or someone who’s studied us.”
For a second, all I hear is the sound of my own breathing. “Lock it down,” I say finally. “Nobody leaves the building without clearance. Pull all client files. Every name, every log, every threat report — I want it on my desk in an hour.”
Eli hesitates. “You think this is connected to—”
“I don’t think,” I cut in. “I know.”
I end the call and stand there for a moment, the phone still in my hand. Across the street, people laugh as they spill out of a café. Normal life. The kind I keep pretending to have.
When I go back inside, Mom’s watching me through the window. I force a smile and lift my hand in a wave. She smiles back, but her eyes stay on me, searching.
Something in me twists. Because for the first time in months, I realize — I might not be able to protect anyone, not even myself.
By the time I get back to the office, the place feels different. Quieter. The kind of quiet that hums with tension.
Eli’s waiting by my door, tablet in hand. “You’re gonna want to see this.”
I step inside, shut the door behind me. “Talk.”
He pulls up a file. “The number traces back to an offshore node we’ve seen before — connected to the Marino syndicate.”
My jaw tightens. “The mafia?”
“Yeah. The same crew threatening Russo — the client we’ve been covering the last two months.”
It clicks fast. “They’ve figured out we’re the ones keeping him alive.”
Eli nods. “Looks that way. They’re not going after Russo anymore. They’re coming for you.”
I let out a breath, slow and steady. “Then we double the guards. Shift the rotation. No one outside core staff gets location data on our clients. And Eli—”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure every man in this building knows what’s coming.” I meet his eyes. “If they’re coming for me, they’re coming for all of us.”
He nods and walks out, leaving me alone with the weight of it.
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring at the city through the glass wall.
I’ve been in this business long enough to know what happens when you do your job too well.
Eventually, someone decides you’re worth killing.
It’s almost eight when I realize the office is completely silent. Most of the team’s gone home. The only sounds left are the hum of the AC and the faint noise of traffic below.
I pour a drink from the mini bar and take a slow sip. It doesn’t do much, but it steadies me enough to think. Then I grab my phone.
I make the calls — one after another.
Extra security on Russo. Rotate the drivers. No repeated routes. Only core staff get access to his schedule.
When it’s done, I sit back, the glass still in my hand. The ice has melted into a thin layer of water.
I scroll through my contacts until I see her name. Nadia.
For a few seconds, I just stare at it. I want to call her — tell her I’m tired, tell her I’m scared this job’s starting to bleed into everything else.
But she doesn’t know who I really am. To her, I build things, not guard people from being destroyed.
I set the phone down. Pick it up again. Then scroll one name down. Felix.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Yeah?”
“You free tonight?”
“Depends. You buying?”
“Yeah.”
“You sound off. Is everything okay?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Just need a drink. Same place?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I hang up and slip the phone into my pocket. Then I pick up my bag and keys and head out the door.
I miss Nadia more than I should. It’s not just longing — it’s this constant, dull ache that sits behind everything I do. Some days it feels manageable. Other days, like now, it feels like it’s eating me alive.
It pisses me off, too. Because I shouldn’t still feel this way. I shouldn’t still want someone who was never mine to begin with.
If things weren’t so damn complicated… if life had tilted just a little differently… maybe I’d have had a chance to tell her how I really felt. Maybe I’d—
I stop myself, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles pale. Thinking about her never leads anywhere good.
In a few minutes, I’ll be meeting my best friend — her husband. I need to pull myself together before I see him.
The last thing I can afford is to mess up the only link, the only bridge I still have to her.
- Writer
