Chapter 3 #3
And people close to me would not remain untouched.
My throat went dry.
I hated that the thought had weight.
I hated more that he likely knew it.
My fingers hovered above the paper again.
Not because I agreed.
Because I was calculating what it would cost not to.
Then—
I slid my hand downward, slower now, searching.
There.
The faint shift in texture near the bottom right.
The signature line.
I paused.
The pen rested between my fingers, suddenly heavier than it had any right to be.
This wasn’t just a reassignment. This was a decision.
One that would pull me deeper into his world.
Closer.
Exactly as he wanted.
I lifted my head slightly, turning toward where I sensed him sitting behind the desk. I didn’t know what I expected—confirmation, instruction, maybe even interruption.
But he said nothing.
The silence felt deliberate.
Like a test.
My lips pressed together briefly.
Fine.
If he wanted to see whether I would hesitate—
He would have his answer.
I positioned the pen carefully, aligning it with the space I had located through touch. My hand steadied, muscle memory taking over as I drew the first stroke.
Loretta Orsini.
When I finished, I lifted the pen slowly, holding it just above the page for a second before setting it down gently.
“I think that’s it,” I murmured.
Not uncertain. Just confirming.
Only then did I hear him move and settle into the chair across from me.
“Since you are unable to read the terms of the contract,” he said evenly, “allow me to state its most important provision to you. This agreement does not extend your stay beyond your original seven months.”
My chest loosened—just slightly.
“You remain free,” he continued, voice measured, “to return to Italy once your internship concludes.”
I should have felt relieved after hearing that. And in a way, I did—just a fraction, a thin easing at the edges of my chest.
But it did not last.
Because almost immediately, confusion began to coil beneath it, like something taking root where relief had briefly settled.
Seven months still meant proximity. Still meant access. Still meant he had chosen me out of everyone else—and that alone did not make sense.
This wasn’t about keeping me. It was about something else.
Something time-sensitive. Something already in motion.
Something he expected to resolve before the seven months ran out.
Something tied to the past he had only hinted at in fragments.
My throat went dry at the thought.
“Ramiro will escort you to your new office,” he said, his tone unhurried. “Welcome to my inner circle.”
Inner circle.
The words landed with quiet weight in my chest, as though they carried more meaning than the room allowed them to show.
And now I would be escorted.
To a new office.
As his personal assistant.
The thought tightened slowly in my mind, uncomfortable in its simplicity.
Nothing about this felt like a transition. It felt like a placement.
As though I had been moved on a board I had never agreed to stand on in the first place.
Another presence entered the room—distinct from Rafael’s in every way.
Where Rafael felt like contained power, this one carried something steadier. Measured in a different way.
The rhythm of his steps was precise.
“Miss Loretta.”
The voice that followed was warmer—measured in a different way entirely.
Not the sharp precision of command, but the steady weight of experience. It carried age without fragility.
“I am Ramiro,” he said, each word placed carefully. “At your service.”
He stopped at a respectful distance. I could feel it in the way the air settled between us—close enough to speak easily, far enough not to intrude.
“I’ll be guiding you,” he continued, “and assisting with anything you require.”
“It’s an honor to work with you, Mr. Ramiro,” I replied, inclining my head slightly.
My voice stayed steady.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, shifting smoothly into instruction, “I’ll show you your new office—just outside Mr. Pérez’s door.”
Just outside.
The word echoed silently in my mind.
“I’ll walk you through the systems we use, introduce you to the internal protocols, and ensure you’re fully equipped to begin.”
A brief pause.
“Your official duties begin then.”
“For today, finish whatever needs wrapping up in your current department.”
A small thread of relief slipped through me at that. One last moment of familiarity before everything changed.
“I will,” I said, rising smoothly to my feet. “Thank you.”
My cane touched the floor lightly, grounding me as I adjusted my stance.
But Ramiro wasn’t finished.
“One more thing,” he added, his tone shifting—still calm, but carrying a weight that made my spine straighten instinctively.
“You should be aware of this early... so you can prepare yourself accordingly.”
“Tomorrow evening,” he continued, “you will escort Mr. Rafael to the final boxing match between Spain’s two leading heavyweight champions.”
My breath stilled.
“The event will be held at the Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys.”
The name alone carried scale.
Open space. Thousands of people packed into it. Noise layered over noise, rising and collapsing in waves.
“The Prime Minister of Spain will be in attendance,” he went on. “Along with several European dignitaries.”
Each word added weight.
“After the match,” he said, “a private dinner will be held at the Majestic Hotel Barcelona. A historic five-star establishment,” Ramiro continued, “known for its discretion, its security, and its ability to host conversations that are never meant to leave the room.”
“It is where decisions are made that rarely appear in public records.” He said evenly. “And you will be beside him at the dinner itself—your first field assignment as his assistant.”
I stood completely still.
Me.
In that environment.
Walking beside Rafael Pérez.
Representing him.
Navigating a space built entirely on perception, precision, visual cues I couldn’t access.
One misstep..
One moment of uncertainty—
And it wouldn’t just reflect on me.
It would reflect on him.
“I’m telling you this now,” Ramiro added, gentler this time, “so tomorrow does not take you by surprise.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing my lungs to work again, to draw in air that suddenly felt thinner.
“Understood,” I said, nodding once.
Calm. Collected.
As if my entire life hadn’t just tilted violently in a new direction.
From quiet, controlled routines...
To this.
“I assume I may return to my desk now?”
“Yes,” Ramiro confirmed.
I inclined my head slightly in acknowledgment, then turned toward where I estimated the door to be.
My cane swept forward in a careful arc.
This space was still unfamiliar.
Dangerous in its unpredictability.
I moved slowly. Each step calculated, each sound analyzed.
One step.
Two.
Three—
The cane struck something.
A console table.
I adjusted immediately, shifting my weight, angling my body just enough to avoid direct collision.
My shoulder brushed the air where the edge had been, close enough to register.
I corrected smoothly, continuing forward as if nothing had happened.
Because that was how I had learned to survive moments like this.
Recover. Continue. Never linger.
I found the door seconds later, fingers brushing against the cool surface before pulling it open.
The air outside felt different instantly, filled with distant sounds of the office floor.
I stepped out.
And then—
That feeling came.
Not sound. Not touch. Not anything I could directly explain. Just that instinctive, crawling awareness when something dangerous has locked onto you.
My steps slowed, almost against my will.
I knew instantly it wasn’t Ramiro.
It wasn’t Rafael either.
This presence was different—Vile.