Chapter 15

Lucia's POV

The rhythmic click of my keyboard was the only sound in the office. Papers lay neatly arranged around me, my focus pinned to the spreadsheet glowing across my screen. For once, I’d managed to push away the storm in my head and bury myself in work.

That fragile focus shattered the moment the door swung open.

Adrian Di Santi strode in with a line of guards trailing him, their black suits sharp and their eyes filled with rage. They moved with urgency like they had fire in their heels. My pulse spiked instantly. Whenever he entered a room like that, something unbearable must have happened.

He didn’t look at me at first. His gaze cut across the office, issuing orders in a voice that reeked of Authority —low, cold, and  commanding. The guards split, some leaving as fast as they’d come, others staying just long enough to receive instructions. I couldn’t make out every word, but phrases—“tighten surveillance,” “trace every contact,” “report directly”—drifted across the room.

My chest tightened. Something had happened. Something big.

And then he turned.

His eyes—dark, burning with the kind of fury that made your stomach twist—landed on me. He didn’t say anything at first, only stared, as if weighing me down to my chair with that look alone. He took a few steps toward his office door, then stopped.

“Lucia.” His voice was hoarse, and  commanding. “Report to my office. Now.”

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard, barely managing a nod. For a second, my legs refused to move.

Did he know?

The thought slammed into me like a blade. My heart stumbled against my ribs, panic rising faster making my breath hitch. Maybe he’d found out. Maybe Rico’s suspicions, whispered earlier in the week, had reached him. Maybe this was it—the end of whatever careful line I had been treading.

I forced myself up, gathering the scattered papers on my desk with trembling hands before abandoning them altogether. My steps felt unsteady as I crossed the space to his office. He’d already disappeared inside, leaving the heavy door slightly ajar, like an invitation laced with threat.

I pushed it open.

He stood behind his desk, tall, rigid, anger carved into every angle of his face. His suit jacket was half unbuttoned, as if he’d thrown it on in a rush, but nothing about him looked unprepared. Even in agitation, Adrian Di Santi was composed.

He gestured at the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

My breath caught in my throat. I stayed standing, unsure if I heard him right. My were nerves clenching tight.

His eyes narrowed. “I said sit.”

The command was sharper this time, his tone cutting through the room like a whip. My body reacted before my mind did, and I lowered myself into the chair. My palms pressed flat against my knees, trying to hide the faint tremor.

I braced myself for the worst. For questions I couldn’t answer. For accusations I couldn’t deny.

But his words caught me off guard.

“A fire broke out at one of my warehouses.” His fists bawled, and his jaw clenched hardt. “And I suspect someone was behind it.”

For a moment, I couldn’t process the words. Relief burst out of me in a shaky exhale I hadn’t realized I was holding. The knot in my stomach loosened, just barely. He didn’t know. At least, not yet.

The sound of my breath must have reached him, because his eyes snapped to mine, narrowing with suspicion. The relief I had foolishly allowed to escape was now a weight in the air between us.

I looked down quickly, gripping my knees tighter.

Adrian leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the polished surface of his desk. That sound—was more unnerving than raised voices. He was watching me.

“I want you to investigate it,” he said after a beat. “You’ll have everything you need—reports, surveillance, access to the men on duty that night. I want answers. And I want them fast.”

My head snapped up. “Me?” The word left before I could mask the surprise.

“Yes, you,” he replied, calm but absolute.

A small, incredulous laugh escaped me, though I bit it back quickly. “It’s starting to feel like I’m more of a private investigator than anything else.”

His lips curved—not into a smile, but something drier, edged with mockery. “That’s what your work entails, Lucia. Your role demands discretion, detail, and initiative. Everything about your qualifications prepared you for this.”

He said it with an almost pointed tone, like he’d studied my résumé more closely than I wanted him to.

I forced a smile, small and quick, the kind that wouldn’t crack my nerves further. “Sure. Of course.”

The truth was, my insides were still knotted. Investigating a fire at one of his warehouses wasn’t just another task. In his world, mistakes weren’t tolerated. A wrong conclusion, a missed detail, a lie—any of it could cost me more than this job.

His gaze lingered on me, heavy, and unrelenting. It felt like he was peeling back layers I didn’t even know I carried, searching for cracks. My smile faltered under the weight of it.

He didn’t speak. He only tapped his pen against the desk, slow, and rhythmic, as if timing my breath, as if daring me to flinch.

I sat there with my spine straight, and hands clasped in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. My thoughts churned, every scenario running wild in my head. If I did this well, it would buy me time, earn his trust—or at least stave off suspicion. If I failed, it might undo everything.

The silence stretched until it felt unbearable. Finally, I cleared my throat softly. “When do you want me to begin?”

“Now.” His answer came instantly, no hesitation. “The details will be sent to your desk before you leave. Talk to no one but me about this.” His eyes sharpened, his voice a fraction lower. “No one, Lucia.”

A chill crept down my spine. I nodded quickly. “Understood.”

He stopped tapping the pen, setting it down deliberately on the desk. For a moment, his gaze softened—not with warmth, but with something else.

“Good,” he said simply.

I rose from the chair, careful not to move too fast, careful not to let my relief show again. My knees felt weaker than I wanted them to, but I managed to keep moving steady as I turned toward the door.

“Lucia.”

His voice pulled me back. I froze, my hand just shy of the doorknob, and turned.

Adrian leaned back in his chair now, one hand draped across the armrest, eyes fixed on me. “Don’t disappoint me.”

The words were soft, almost calm. But the weight of them pressed like a blade at my throat.

I swallowed hard and nodded once. “I won’t.”

When I finally stepped out of his office, the air outside felt different—lighter, though my chest was still tight. My desk waited with its unfinished papers, the glow of my computer screen, and the ordinary hum of work. But nothing about what had just happened was ordinary.

I sank into my chair slowly, pressing my hands flat against the desk to steady them.

A fire. A deliberate one, if Adrian was right. And now, the responsibility of uncovering it sat on my shoulders.

I thought about the relief that had slipped past me earlier, how he’d noticed, how his eyes had cut through me like he’d almost read my thoughts. It had been too close. I couldn’t afford another mistake like that.

I looked at the blinking cursor on my screen, the empty document waiting for answers I didn’t yet have. My reflection stared back faintly in the glass—tired, wary, a woman walking a tightrope with no safety net.

Adrian trusted no one. Not fully. Not even me.

And maybe that was for the best. Because deep down, beneath my relief and my fear, one truth whispered in my chest:

If Adrian Di Santi ever truly knew me, knew everything—

He wouldn’t be giving me investigations.

He’d be giving the order to bury me.