21. LEO #4
I take the pills. I leave them on my tongue, the bitter chemical taste, and take the water. I let them slide down my throat.
Luca remains still, waiting. A stone guard. But stones don't get this uncomfortable.
I watch him. He saw everything. The execution. The claim. The kiss. The way Dante touched me, as if I belonged to him. Luca is Dante's most loyal man, his closest. What does he think when he sees his general, his icon of strength, being touched like that by me ?
"Want to tell me something, Luca?"
He finally looks at me. Just a second. His brown eyes, usually so impassive, waver.
"The boss's orders were to ensure you took your medicine."
He's deflecting. Cute.
"No, not the orders. You . Got something stuck in there, soldier?"
Luca's mask cracks. The muscle in his jaw twitches. He's not used to this, to the intimacy he was forced to witness.
"You've been avoiding looking at me since the warehouse. Your movement pattern has changed. You stop at the door, assess the room, but your field of vision narrows to inanimate objects. You don't include me in your sweep. Curious."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just following orders," he recites. The soldier's mantra.
"It was the kiss, wasn't it?"
He looks away.
I like Luca. He's simple, predictable, loyal. That's why it's so amusing to watch his parameters fail.
"My job is to protect you and the boss," he finally says. "What happens between you two is none of my business."
I nod. I see why Dante trusts him so much.
"Of all the people who could have seen that, I'm glad it was you," I say, before leaning back against the wall. "Thanks for the meds, Luca. And for keeping me alive back there."
Luca doesn't respond. He's also not used to gratitude other than a paycheck.
He clears his throat and looks away.
"Rest, Hays."
He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I could live like this. It's infinitely better than anything I've witnessed in the last twenty-three years before Dante.
I want to get used to this.
The following days are a grey avalanche: first, nothing.
I was left to marinate. Luca insisted that Dante insisted I should rest. A doctor—the same one who fixed my face—visited me daily, and Luca stood guard at the door most of the time so I wouldn't sneak out.
Nothing to do but languish and think about Dante.
Then, an envelope arrived. Discreet, on heavy cardstock, with no sender. Inside, a contract with the Volkov logo.
Dmitry, the family diplomat, is efficient.
A formal proposal to be the Head of Cyber Security.
My eyes scanned the salary: a number with so many zeros it made me dizzy.
I almost dropped the paper. It was obscene.
Why so much? Why would I need all that money per month?
I didn't sign. It didn't make sense; there was no explanation for why I, who can barely wear dress shoes for more than two hours, would need it.
Finally, Luca brought an expensive suit that looked casual. My size. These weren't the light, comfortable clothes he had left me in the past few days. Office suit.
"The IT division will be reintegrated."
It took me a while to understand he was talking about my old job.
I'd even forgotten it existed. Reintegrating was a polite euphemism for saying the last living division would be dissolved, its functions absorbed back into the main Volkov empire.
Which meant, for me, the end of my monotonous job there.
It also meant, for everyone else, unemployment.
So, today, I'm back at my old workplace.
I hadn't shown up for days without explanation, while being beaten in the Malakovs' basement and held captive by Luca in a luxury hotel. An irony. But my boss was no longer Chad. Anyway, I need to collect my things.
My ribs no longer hurt so much from walking. My eyes have some green outlines, consequences of the broken nose slowly disappearing, and Brenda from the reception is no longer there. I pass through the turnstiles directly. The cameras recognize me.
The only lit floor is IT. The department going to the gallows. Cardboard boxes with corporate remains are everywhere. On the last day, the prodigal son returns home.
Luca had told me before dropping me off at the entrance, "Mr. Volkov wishes everything to be in order by the end of the day." In order, of course. Exterminated.
I walk down the hallway. Some familiar faces turn toward me, brimming with a mixture of resignation and despair.
And strangeness. I disappeared for a while.
They see me, and I see them. Colleagues.
Fired. They think I've also been hit, squeezed out.
If not for the reintegration, it would be for not showing up for work for a whole week without notice.
And I let them think. There's a certain irony in that. While they sink, I float. To the top.
In the middle of that corporate funeral, I find Nicole. She's sitting in her cubicle, shoulders hunched, a cardboard box in her lap. Her brown hair, usually tied back, is loose and disheveled. She's crying.
The thought— let them sink while I float —hides. It doesn't feel right with her. An anomaly.
"Nicole." My voice is more direct than usual. She was the most dedicated. Even thinking the printer had a virus.
She lifts her head. Her red, swollen eyes fix on me. Surprise. Shame. "Leo? My God, where have you been? And what… what happened to your face?"
Déjà vu. I ignore it.
"Are you okay?"
The question sounds more like an observation than genuine concern. It's unintentional.
She stares at the cardboard box. It's empty. The collectible miniatures she kept are still on her desk. The colorful post-its are still on the computer. A cemetery of objects.
She gestures to the desk. "I needed this job."
I look at the computer screen in my cubicle. Off. The camera blinks. I look at the security cameras on the ceiling. Maybe Dante wouldn't like this. Maybe he's watching.
It's not the point now.
"I'll get some water."
It's a mechanical decision. She sniffs and nods. The filter is still functional, in the corner of the room, with a pile of disposable cups. I grab one, fill it, and return. Nicole's face is still streaked with tears. She takes the cup with trembling hands.
"They said it would be a restructuring ," she murmurs, choked up. "What am I going to do now? I have bills, you know? My dad..."
Her voice trails off. I remember what Dante told me. One hundred thousand dollars in debt. Her father had two bypass surgeries. Her mother depends on a pension to survive.
I look at the miniatures on her desk, the little superhero and monster figurines she arranged so carefully. She didn't have the heart to put them in the box.
Behind them, the fern. Mine. Green, beautiful. She took care of it.
"You'll find something," I say. It sounds hollow even to me. I just turned down a salary that could support her family for a decade, maybe more. I float. She sinks. The image is clearer now. And uncomfortable.
She shakes her head. "It's not that easy, Leo. Not for someone who doesn't have... connections. Or… I'm not as good as you." She stops. Then she looks at me. "What happened to you? You weren't answering your phone, and no one knew about you. Chad was a nervous wreck."
I don't usually look away like this. But I do now. A strange shame crawls up my neck. "I had some health issues."
I like Dante's marks. Even if consequential, like these, which weren't made directly by his hands. I display them with pride. But it feels wrong here. It feels wrong to display them to Nicole. They are a symbol of a privilege that didn't reach her. This bothers me.
"Were you also laid off?" she asks softly.
I shrug. "Looks like it. That's life, isn't it?"
I see other colleagues saying goodbye, some with forced hugs, others with empty handshakes. All with the same look of veiled panic.
"I'll miss your bad jokes, Leo."
She forces a smile. It's the first time in a while that I've seen the real fragility of the world that doesn't bend to the will of the Volkovs.
Nicole used to laugh at anything I said. Most of the time, it wasn't even a joke.
Her gaze wanders around the cubicle, landing on the fern in the corner of her desk. My fern.
"Oh... before I forget." She leans over and picks up the small pot, handing it to me with ceremonial care. "I took care of it for you. Watered it every day. Didn't want it to die just because you were... sick."
I hold the pot. The only living thing on this floor that doesn't know this is the end.
Before I can formulate a reply, a loud, desperate voice cuts through the silence of the floor.
"Leo! Holy shit, man, you're alive! Where did you disappear to?"
Chad. He marches toward us, his hair disheveled by stress, with a cardboard box under his arm. Always the same thing. He completely ignores the boxes, the mass layoff, Nicole's tears.
"You disappear for a week, and we're here thinking you died or something, and then suddenly, BAM!
I thought they'd keep the IT department, but they sent everyone packing!
Can you believe it?" He throws his box on the floor.
"Years of work thrown in the trash! And for what?
For some multi-billion dollar subsidiary to swallow us whole! "
He leans in. He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me away from Nicole, who just accepts it, at this point.
He whispers to me, "In the middle of all this mess, my headphones went missing.
I don't want to accuse anyone, but Nicole's always been quiet, right?
Staring at everyone's computer. She was here when they disappeared. Did you see them?"
I stare at him. Yes, the headphones are in my pocket.
"No, Chad. I didn't."
"Keep an eye on her for me, man. If you see anything, let me know."
I just nod slowly. He seems satisfied, as if we've just sealed a pact.