Chapter 10: The Line in the Sand
I slammed my fist on the desk so hard that my coffee cup jumped.
Through the glass wall of my office, I watched Marco lean over Lucia's desk, his face too close to hers. She pressed back in her chair, trying to create space between them. Her eyes were wide. Scared.
That was it.
I was out of my chair and through my door in three seconds flat.
"Marco." My voice cut through the hallway like a knife. "My office. Now."
He straightened up, smirking like he'd done nothing wrong. Lucia's face had gone pale. She kept her eyes on her computer screen, but her hands shook over the keyboard.
Marco strolled into my office like he owned the place. I shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
"What's the problem, boss?" He held up his hands. "I was just asking her to find a file."
"By standing six inches from her face?" I moved closer to him, and his smirk faded. "By making her uncomfortable in her own workspace?"
"Come on, Dante. I was just being friendly."
"That wasn't friendly. That was threatening." I pointed at the door. "She works for me. That means she's under my protection. You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. You don't even breathe near her. Understand?"
Marco's jaw tightened. For a second, I thought he might argue. But he knew better. Everyone in my organization knew better.
"Yeah," he said. "I understand."
"Good. Now get out."
He left, and I stood there trying to calm down. My heart pounded in my chest. I'd threatened men for less, but something about seeing Lucia scared made my blood boil hotter than usual.
Why did I care so much?
I looked through the glass. She was still at her desk, her shoulders hunched. She typed something, deleted it, typed again. Everything about her body language screamed that she wanted to disappear.
This was supposed to be simple. Give her a job. Keep her close. Make sure she didn't cause problems. But nothing about Lucia was turning out to be simple.
I sat back down and tried to focus on work. Reports needed reading. Deals needed closing. Phone calls needed making. But my eyes kept drifting to her desk.
She was good at the job. Better than I'd expected. She answered phones professionally. She organized files without being asked. She even figured out my coffee order without me telling her—black, no sugar, extra hot.
Patricia had been thrilled to have help. "She's a natural," she'd told me that morning. "Quick learner. Doesn't complain. Doesn't ask too many questions."
That last part worried me. People who didn't ask questions were usually people who already knew the answers.
Around two o'clock, Lucia stood up from her desk. She grabbed her purse and headed toward the elevators. Lunch break, probably. I should've let her go. Should've gone back to work.
Instead, I followed her.
I kept my distance, staying back far enough that she wouldn't notice. She took the elevator down to the lobby and walked outside into the afternoon sun. She didn't go to any of the fancy restaurants nearby. Instead, she crossed the street to a small park.
She sat on a bench and pulled out a sandwich from her purse. Nothing expensive. Probably made it at home. She ate slowly, staring at the fountain in the center of the park.
I watched from the building's entrance. She looked tired. Her shoulders sagged like she was carrying something heavy. Something more than just a long day at work.
My phone buzzed. A text from Vincent: We need to talk about Thursday.
Thursday. The shipment. The dock worker who knew too much.
I texted back: Later.
When I looked up again, Lucia was crying. Not loud sobbing. Just quiet tears running down her face that she wiped away quickly with the back of her hand.
Something twisted in my chest. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. I'd pulled her into this world without asking if she wanted to be here. I'd given her a job she didn't ask for, in a place where danger hid behind every corner.
But what choice did I have? She'd seen too much at the warehouse. Keeping her close was the only way to keep her safe. To keep my organization safe.
At least, that's what I told myself.
She finished her sandwich and walked back to the building. I made it to my office before she reached her desk. When I looked through the glass, she was back at work like nothing had happened.
The afternoon passed in meetings and phone calls. I tried not to watch her, but I failed. Every time someone approached her desk, my attention snapped to them. Making sure they kept their distance. Making sure they treated her right.
This was getting out of hand.
At five o'clock, most of the office started clearing out. Lucia packed up her things, shut down her computer, and grabbed her coat. She knocked on my door softly.
"Come in," I called.
She stepped inside, staying close to the door like she might need to run. "I'm heading home, Mr. Moretti. Unless you need anything else?"
"Dante," I said. "You can call me Dante when we're alone."
She blinked, surprised. "Okay. Dante."
Hearing my name from her lips did something strange to me. Made me want to hear it again.
"How was your first day?" I asked.
"Good. Fine. Everyone's been nice." She said it too quickly. Like she was trying to convince herself.
"If anyone gives you trouble, you tell me. Immediately."
"I will." She shifted on her feet. "Can I ask you something?"
My muscles tensed. "Go ahead."
"Why did you hire me? Really?"
Smart girl. Too smart.
"You needed a job. I had an opening."
"But you barely know me."
"I know enough." I leaned back in my chair, studying her. "You're honest. Hardworking. Those are rare qualities."
She didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity."
"Lucia." I stood up and walked around my desk. "This job comes with certain... expectations. You see things here. Hear things. Those things stay between us."
Her face went pale. She was remembering what she'd overheard. The conversation about eliminating problems.
"I understand," she whispered.
"I hope you do." I moved closer, and she didn't back away this time. "Because once you're part of this world, there's no walking away from it. No going back to normal."
Her eyes met mine, and I saw fear there. But also something else. Determination. Strength.
"I won't say anything," she said. "To anyone."
"Good."
She left, and I watched her walk to the elevators. Watched the doors close. Watched her disappear.
My phone rang. Vincent's name flashed on the screen.
"What?" I answered.
"We've got a problem," Vincent said. His voice was tight. "The dock worker? He went to the police this morning. Filed a report about suspicious activity at the docks."
My blood ran cold. "What did he tell them?"
"Everything. Shipment times. Routes. Names." Vincent paused. "He mentioned you specifically, Dante. And he mentioned seeing a young woman at the warehouse last week."
My heart stopped.
"What woman?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
"Dark hair. Early twenties. He got a good look at her face." Vincent's next words hit me like a bullet. "The police want to question her. They think she's a witness. Or an accomplice. Either way, they're coming for her."
I looked at Lucia's empty desk through the glass.
"How long do we have?" I asked.
"Maybe a day. Maybe less." Vincent's voice dropped lower. "Dante, if they get to her first—if she talks—"
"She won't talk."
"How do you know?"
Because I had to believe it. Because the alternative meant I'd have to make a choice I didn't want to make.
"Just find out everything the police know," I said. "I'll handle Lucia."
I hung up and stared at my phone. In less than twenty-four hours, everything could fall apart. My business. My organization. My freedom.
All because of one girl who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I dialed her number. It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then a man's voice answered.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
Not Lucia. Someone else. Someone who had her phone.
"Where's Lucia?" I asked, my voice deadly calm.
"That's funny," the man said. "I was about to ask you the same question."