I could go find him. March down that hallway, tell him exactly how much I did not appreciate what he just did, watch him listen to my outrage with that infuriating calm. And then watch him push me against the wall and take what we both know he’s going to take eventually.
Because that’s how this works. We both know how it ends—with me underneath him, or on top of him, or bent over his desk, whatever he decides.
My hands are steady. That’s the part that scares me most. I’m alone in the office of a man who just had his hand inside my bra, and I’m not shaking. Not crying. Not planning an escape.
Fuck.
The Martinez file sits open in front of me. Witness statements. Contradictions. Evidence of crimes I’m helping cover up.
I flip a page. Try to read. Squeeze my thighs tighter.
A knock at the door.
I go still.
Too firm. Too intentional.
Raffaele doesn’t knock. He walks in like doors are suggestions.
Another knock. Louder.
“Mr. D’Amico isn’t available,” I call out. “The office is closed.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart. We’re not here for him.”
Cold settles in my chest.
The door opens before I can react. Two men step inside.
Big. Rough. Familiar in the worst way. I’ve seen their kind in files—never names, just roles. The ones who handle what doesn’t make it onto paper.
“Office is closed,” I say again, already on my feet, the desk between us. “You need to leave.”
“We just want to talk.” The first one moves in, slow, taking in the room like he’s evaluating it. “Nice setup. D’Amico’s doing alright.”
“I said leave.”
“Heard about you.” The second drifts sideways, cutting off the door without making a show of it. “New girl. Pretty, too.”
“Who sent you?”
“Does it matter?”
The first one closes the distance another step. “We’re here to pass along a message. About knowing where you stand. About what happens when people forget.”
I step back.
My back hits the wall.
No more space.
“Someone like you,” he continues, “should understand when she’s in over her head. Some families don’t like outsiders getting comfortable.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A smile. “Sure you don’t. Pretty dress, private time with the boss while everyone else is busy playing charity. People notice.”
The second one reaches for me?—
