Chapter 9 — Dont Cross That Line
POV: Elena
The listening device—a small black plastic disc the size of a shirt button—burned against my skin where it nestled in my bra, right between my breasts.
It was just an inert object—cold, technological. But the sensation it created was visceral, as if I had a third eye open beneath my blouse, transmitting every erratic beat of my heart directly to Gabriel Moretti’s ears.
No one looked at me. I was invisible. The temporary translator. The woman who arrived with the boss and left his office with smudged lipstick and downcast eyes.
They didn’t know I was the bait.
I squeezed the pen between my fingers until my knuckles ached, trying to control the tremor in my hands. Gabriel was somewhere less than a hundred feet away, locked in his smoked-glass office with an earpiece in, waiting.
He said I didn’t owe him trust. He was wrong. I owed him something far more dangerous: blind obedience.
“Miss Walsh?”
The voice came from above, unctuous and dripping with false courtesy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up before I even raised my head.
Richard Hale stood beside my desk.
He wasn’t handsome like Gabriel. Gabriel’s beauty was a weapon, sharp and brutal. Richard’s was a silicone mask, too polished, stretched over something rotten. He wore a light gray suit that looked like it cost more than the house I grew up in, and he smiled as if we were sharing an inside joke.
“Mr. Hale,” I replied, forcing my voice to sound tremulous, submissive. It wasn’t difficult. The fear was real; I just needed to direct it.
“Please, Richard.” He leaned against my desk divider, invading my personal space with the casualness of someone who owns the building.
His scent hit me—heavy musk and artificial mint.
“I see Gabriel left you out here, exposed to the traffic. He’s not exactly known for his hospitality with his... collaborators.”
My hand went to my neck instinctively, covering the black turtleneck, repeating the victimization gesture Gabriel had scripted for me.
“He prefers that I stay where he can see me,” I murmured, lowering my eyes.
Richard let out a theatrical sigh, shaking his head.
“Typical. Control and surveillance. It’s his modus operandi.
” He glanced around, making sure no one was listening—though he didn’t know the most dangerous person in the building was hearing every syllable.
“It must be exhausting, Elena. Living under a microscope. Especially when you have... urgent family concerns.”
My heart skipped a beat. Thomas.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” He smiled, and the smile didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “But I know how Gabriel operates. He finds a pressure point and squeezes until the bone breaks. He did that with your brother, didn’t he? Threatened to turn him over to the feds if you didn’t cooperate?”
The precision of his guess chilled me. Richard wasn’t guessing; he was projecting. He knew exactly how the game was played because he’d helped write the rules.
“I need to work, Mr. Hale,” I said, trying to look like cornered prey desperate to flee. “If Gabriel sees me talking to you...”
“Gabriel is on a teleconference with the London partners. He won’t leave that room for the next hour.
” Richard reached out and touched my shoulder lightly.
The contact was quick, but I felt my skin crawl with disgust beneath the fabric of my blouse.
“Come with me. Let’s have a coffee. The executive archive room has a decent espresso machine and, more importantly, acoustic privacy. ”
Acoustic privacy.
It was the invitation. The trap within the trap.
I looked at Gabriel’s closed door at the end of the hallway. Nothing. No interruption. He was letting me go.
“Just a coffee,” I agreed, rising on legs that felt like lead.
Richard smiled, victorious, and gestured chivalrously for me to follow him.
We walked down the hallway, passing the glass cubicles. I felt the device on my chest, heavy and hot. You’re hearing this, Gabriel? You’re hearing him take me?
The executive archive room was in a side wing, away from the main flow of employees. It was a spacious area with rows of sliding metal shelves and a small sitting area with leather armchairs and a chrome coffee maker. The air was cold, smelling of old paper and settled dust.
Richard closed the door behind us. The sound of the lock turning echoed in the silence like a gunshot.
“Sit down, Elena.” He indicated one of the armchairs.
I sat on the edge, keeping my posture rigid, my purse clutched in my lap. Richard didn’t go to the coffee maker. He leaned against one of the metal shelves, crossed his arms, and watched me.
“I saw your brother’s file,” he began, cutting straight to the point. “Thomas Walsh. Junior financial analyst. Ambitious, but careless. Exactly the type of profile Gabriel likes to exploit.”
“Gabriel is helping Thomas,” I lied, my voice weak. “He said he’d resolve the fraud situation.”
Richard laughed. It was a dry, cutting sound.
“‘Resolve.’ Is that what he calls it? Let me guess: he said he’d clean the records if you translate the Vanguard documents and keep your mouth shut. He said he’s protecting you.”
“Yes.”
“He lied.” Richard pushed off from the shelf and took two steps toward me. “Gabriel isn’t clearing your brother’s name, Elena. He’s building a case to pin the whole thing on him. He needs a scapegoat to hand over to the prosecution and save the firm. And guess who he chose?”
I felt a knot in my throat. Richard’s lie was sophisticated because it was laced with truth. Gabriel had considered using Thomas. But discovering Richard’s signature changed everything. Richard was trying to project his own guilt onto Gabriel.
“No... he wouldn’t do that. We have an agreement.”
“Gabriel Moretti doesn’t make agreements.
He makes ultimatums.” Richard stopped in front of me.
He was tall, towering over me where I sat.
“Look at you. You’re trembling. You have marks on your body that you’re trying to hide with that ridiculous outfit.
You think this is protection? This is abuse, Elena.
And I can’t stand to see talented women being broken by men like him. ”
The hypocrisy was so thick I almost choked.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, cutting to the chase, knowing Gabriel needed this recorded.
Richard crouched in front of me, getting on my level. He placed his hands on my knees. The touch was possessive, disgusting. It took all my willpower not to kick him in the face.
“I want to offer you a way out,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can save Thomas. I have access to the original logistics files. I can prove the order came from above, not from him. I can make it all disappear.”
“In exchange for what?”
Richard’s eyes gleamed. He slid his hands up from my knees, gliding along my thighs. The fabric of my pants was the only barrier between his skin and mine.
“In exchange for loyalty.” His hands stopped mid-thigh. “I need you to give me what Gabriel has. The translations. The notes. Everything he’s hiding about the Turkish connection.”
He knew. He knew Gabriel had discovered Turkey.
“And then?” I asked, my breath catching.
“Then...” Richard leaned forward. The smell of mint became suffocating. “Then you come work for me. Directly. No intermediaries. No marks on your neck. I’m a much more... generous man than my partner.”
My right hand, hidden under my purse, gripped the fabric of my pants. Gabriel was hearing this. He was hearing his partner harassing me, bribing me, threatening me. Do something.
“I can’t,” I whispered, trying to stand, but Richard held my legs, pinning me to the chair.
“You don’t have a choice, Elena.” His tone changed. The savior mask fell away, revealing the predator. “The prosecution is going to knock on your brother’s door tomorrow morning. Gabriel is going to hand him over on a silver platter. I’m the only option you have left.”
He stood up but didn’t step back. He leaned over me, one hand going to the back of the chair, the other moving toward my face.
“Let me see,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Your neck.” His voice was hoarse with morbid curiosity. “I want to see what he did to you. I want to see what I’m going to have to fix.”
“No.” I brought my hands to my collar, protecting the mark. Not because I was ashamed of it, but because the idea of Richard looking at something Gabriel had left on me, something born from a moment of twisted passion between us, felt like a desecration.
“Take your hand away, Elena.” Richard grabbed my wrist. His strength was surprising. He yanked my hand away violently.
“No!” I screamed, struggling.
With his other hand, he grabbed the collar of my sweater and yanked it down, slightly tearing the seam.
The cold air of the archive touched my exposed skin.
Richard looked at the purple and blue bruise. His eyes dilated, not with horror, but with excitement.
“My God,” he whispered, running his rough thumb over the mark. “He really marked you like cattle. What a waste.”
I felt bile rise. His touch on Gabriel’s mark was like a branding iron, but cold. It was wrong. Fundamentally, cellularly wrong.
When Gabriel touched me, there was fear, yes, but there was fire. There was implicit consent in the darkness. Richard’s touch was nothing but violation.
“Get your hands off me!” I snarled, abandoning the victim role. I shoved his chest with all the strength I had.
Richard staggered backward, surprised by my sudden strength. He laughed, adjusting his tie.
“Got claws. I like that. Gabriel always had a thing for the feisty ones, but he never knew how to break them without ruining the toy.”
He stepped forward again, his face hardening.
“Listen up, you ungrateful little slut. You have until the end of the day to bring me the Turkey files. If you don’t, I’ll call the prosecutor myself and tell them it was you and your brother who orchestrated the whole scheme. I’ll bury you both so deep you’ll need a map to find sunlight.”
The archive room door burst open with a crash that shook the metal shelves.
It wasn’t a push. It was a kick.
Richard spun around, startled.
Gabriel stood in the doorway.
He wasn’t running. He wasn’t out of breath. He stood with an absolute, terrifying stillness. He’d removed his jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His tie had disappeared.
But it was his face that made Richard’s blood drain.
There was no anger on Gabriel’s face. Anger is hot, human. What he wore was the cold void of a summary execution.
“Gabriel…” Richard began, his voice failing, trying to regain composure. “I was just having a conversation with Miss Walsh about… productivity.”
Gabriel didn’t look at Richard. He looked at me.
His black eyes swept over my face, down to my exposed neck where the collar was torn, and stopped at my trembling hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was low, controlled, but there was a vibration in it that made the metal shelves seem to hum.
“He touched me,” I answered. The truth came out raw, unfiltered. I didn’t need to act anymore. “He saw the mark. He tried to negotiate for the Turkey files.”
Gabriel finally shifted his gaze to Richard.
“You crossed the line, Richard.”
Richard tried to laugh, but it came out as a nervous choke. He backed up until his back hit a shelf.
“Don’t be dramatic, Gabriel. She’s an employee. A disposable piece. We share everything, remember? Clients, profits…”
“She’s not a profit,” Gabriel said, taking his first step into the room. “And she’s not divisible.”
“Are you recording this?” Richard looked around, paranoid. “Is this a trap?”
“Don’t need a recording for what’s going to happen now,” Gabriel replied.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click, locking us inside.
The space shrank. The temperature dropped ten degrees.
“Gabriel, wait.” Richard raised his hands, the arrogance disappearing, replaced by the genuine fear of someone who realizes they’ve underestimated the predator sharing their cage. “We can work this out. The girl doesn’t matter. The Vanguard case… I can explain Turkey. It was necessary.”
“You threatened her brother,” Gabriel continued walking, slow, inexorable. “You tried to coerce my witness. You tried to steal my defense.”
He stopped three feet from Richard.
“But your biggest mistake, Richard… the mistake that’s going to cost you your career and your teeth… was putting your hands on her.”
“Gabriel, don’t do thi—”
Gabriel’s fist connected with Richard’s jaw with a wet, cracking sound that made me jump.
Richard was thrown against the metal shelf. Folders flew. He fell to the floor, dazed, blood pouring from his broken nose.
I brought my hands to my mouth to muffle a scream.
Gabriel didn’t stop. He crouched down, grabbed Richard by the collar of his expensive suit, and lifted him like a rag doll, throwing him against the opposite wall.
“Don’t touch her,” Gabriel growled, each word punctuated by a blow. A punch to the stomach that made Richard double over. A knee to the face that made him fall again. “Never. Touch. What. Is. Mine.”
I stood paralyzed, watching the violence explode in the sterile room. It was brutal. It was excessive. It wasn’t a lawyer’s defense; it was the vengeance of a territorial animal.
Richard was on the floor, moaning, curled in the fetal position, his face a mask of blood.
Gabriel stopped. He was panting, his hair falling over his forehead, his fists stained red. He looked at his own hands, as if waking from a trance, and then looked at me.
The beast receded. The lawyer returned, but his eyes still burned.
“Get out,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
“Gabriel…”
“Get out now, Elena!” he shouted, the loss of verbal control as frightening as the physical. “Go to my office. Lock the door. And don’t open it for anyone but me.”
I looked at Richard, spitting blood onto the gray carpet. I looked at Gabriel, trembling with adrenaline and barely contained rage.
I should have been horrified. I should have been calling the police.
But as I ran out of the room, pressing the listening device against my chest, the only thing I could feel—pulsing hot and shameful through my veins—was an overwhelming sense of safety.
Richard was right about one thing. Gabriel was a monster.
But he was my monster. And he had just destroyed the world so no one else could touch me.
I ran down the hallway, ignoring the curious stares, shocked tears streaming down my face.
The line had been crossed. There was no going back. The contract, the lie, the performance… everything had turned to ash in the file room.
Now, there was only blood. And the terrifying certainty that I would never escape Gabriel Moretti’s orbit.