Xavier's POV
The morning started with blood.
Ricardo Valez thought he could steal from me and walk away breathing.
He was wrong.
They dragged him into my private office at seven sharp with one shoe missing, and blood trailing from his busted lip to the Persian rug.
My men didn't speak, as he groaned. They just threw him down and stepped back guarding the door. There was no way he could escape.
"You stole from me." My voice was calm, which made it worse.
I poured myself a glass of water. I didn't need whiskey this morning. I needed clarity, not fog.
Ricardo opened his mouth to lie. I saw it coming like a storm in the distance.
"I didn't—"
My stare silenced him.
He trembled. I crouched next to him, like a priest before a confession.
"Do you know what happens to people who steal from me?" I whispered. "They vanish. And the people they love? They don't get burials. They get warnings carved into their front doors."
His face was suddenly drained of color. I smiled faintly.
"You think I'm bluffing?" I tilted my head. "Look up the Torino docks massacre. Go ahead. Google it."
He said nothing. That was smart of him. For once.
I stood. "You'll pay me back. Triple. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll send your daughter your molars in a velvet box."
He nodded like a lizard.
"Good," I said and stood up. "You have a month."
"W…wait. I…I need more time," Ricardo begged.
I ignored him. I didn't enjoy violence. But I believed in fear. Fear lasted longer than bruises.
"Get him out of here," I ordered. He was ruining my rug.
The guards dragged him away, while he begged for more time. I had no intention of giving him any more time. I drank my water in one gulp.
By 8:30, I was at my real office in the Moretti Enterprise on the fifty-eighth floor. The sky looked better from here. I liked the feeling of being above it all. The city moved like insects below.
At 8:42 AM, my phone rang.
It was my best friend and business partner, Diego.
He only called when he was furious or euphoric. Never in between.
"Do you know what that bastard Santini did last night?" he snapped.
"No 'good morning'?" I teased.
"Don't play with me, Xavier." His tone cracked with heat. "He moved the Singapore shipment early. He didn't notify us."
I stared out the window. "And?"
"We lost leverage. We were supposed to hold that dock—"
"He's baiting us," I interrupted.
"Do you think he's screwing with us?" Diego asked.
"No. I think he's watching you lose your temper. And he's enjoying it." I teased again.
There was silence for some seconds.
Then Diego swore under his breath. "I swear, I'll put him in the ground—"
"No you won't. Not yet." I closed my eyes briefly. "He's a snake, Diego. And snakes don't die easily. They wait. So we wait longer."
Diego mocked. "You've got ice in your veins."
I smirked. "That's why I'm alive."
Diego didn't give up. "And that's why your calendar is always empty on Valentine's Day."
"Call again with a proper hello," I said, amused. "Or next time, I won't pick up."
"Asshole," He spat.
"Love you too, bro," I replied.
I hung up and tossed the phone on the desk.
By nine, she arrived.
Beatrice came in and bell-like announced her arrival.
"Excuse me, Sir. Elena Collins is here."
I'd seen her in the lobby earlier. I made it a habit to observe unnoticed. Something about her had scratched at my instincts.
Elena entered with poise. She was beautiful, and had a cold gaze on her soft face.
I could tell she didn't belong in the business world.
Which made her interesting.
"Elena Collins," I repeated slowly, tasting the name.
She met my eyes without flinching.
Most people wilted under my stare. She didn't even blink.
"Yes, sir," she responded.
"And you're here because?" I asked.
She stepped forward. "I'm applying for the position of executive assistant."
Her voice was even.
Beatrice shifted uncomfortably. I caught the jealousy in her silence. But Beatrice was ornamental. I didn't need a dumb pretty lady. I wanted someone smarter.
"And…?" I asked again.
Elena faltered, just for a second. Almost like a glitch happened in her system.
Beatrice seized the moment. "Sir, if she's not the one you're looking for, I can send the others—"
"I didn't say that." I cut her off, bored. "Elena, you're hired."
Both women froze.
"What?" Beatrice said, stunned.
"Any problem with that?" I asked.
"No, sir," they said in unison.
I looked at Beatrice and ordered. "Leave us."
Beatrice looked like she'd swallowed glass. She left, and I focused on Elena.
Elena stood perfectly still, like a soldier waiting for orders. I pretended to go through some files for almost thirty minutes just to see how long she'd last.
She didn't fidget. She didn't cough. She just waited.
I almost respected that.
"Sit," I said.
She obeyed.
I slid a thick folder toward her. "Your first assignment is to work on the quarterly marketing losses. You have one hour. I want a flawless report."
She took the file without blinking. "Understood."
I pushed a second file across the desk. A red one. Full of doctored data and confidential traps.
"Keep this safe. One wrong step…" I smiled. "You won't get a warning."
She nodded, without fear. Just quiet steel.
"You're dismissed," I commanded.
And she left.
I watched the door close, then turned to the monitor on my desk. The office was wired with hidden cameras. I wanted to see what she was up to.
She returned exactly an hour later, with the file in her hand.
I didn't even look at the report.
"The coffee machine is broken," I said flatly. "Get me a black Americano from Starbucks. No milk. You have ten minutes."
She opened her mouth to argue. "But, sir. That's not…"
"Five," I corrected.
She nodded, dropped the file, and left the room.
I switched screens, watching the camera outside the office. She slipped off her heels and bolted down the hallway.
I laughed softly. "So, you do get scared."
Eight minutes later, she was back with my coffee and sweating. She was still composed.
"You're late," I said.
She answered calmly. "There was a line."
I sipped the drink. It was perfect.
But I didn't thank her.
I slid another file forward. "Get me a clean summary in an hour."
She nodded and turned.
"Elena," I said.
She stopped.
"I don't like liars," I warned.
She didn't blink. "Neither do I."
"If you last a month in this office," I said, "and I might start trusting you."
She nodded and walked out.
I opened her report expecting garbage.
What I got was a near-perfect breakdown with clear language, real insight. She'd caught errors Beatrice had missed for weeks.
I frowned.
Who the hell are you?
I looked at the closed door.
Then I opened the drawer beside me.
Inside was a gun.
And a red folder marked Elena Collins.