Chapter 3

A few hours later, I'm back home, waiting eagerly or not so for Di Santi's men.

A black sleek car rolled to a stop in front of my apartment like a silent shadow. The tinted Windows shimmered under the moon.

Di Santi!

I hesitated, gripping my small clutch tighter. As the driver stepped out and opened the door, my eyes were drawn to the figure seated inside.

In the back seat, with a calm authority was Adrian Di Santi.

My chest tightened as we locked eyes for a few seconds.

He wore a tailored suit that hugged his broad shoulders like it was designed with him in mind. No tie. Just a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the faint trace of a scar along his collarbone — a reminder, perhaps, of how dangerous he really was.

His dark hair was slicked back, every strand in place. And his eyes — those cold, emotionless eyes met mine with an unreadable expression. My breath caught. Not from desire, but from dread.

He looked every bit the untouchable king of the underworld.

"Get in," he muttered coldly.

Those piercing eyes locked into me the second I sat beside him, my heart beating hard against my ribs.

His eyes beheld the red dress that hugged my body just as the stylists had intended. Even the perfume on my skin, the soft texture of my hair and the body lotion I had used had all been chosen by Di Santi's people. A team of women had prepped me like a porcelain doll just to blend in with their word.

As the car cruised through the darkened street, I looked out the window but couldn't ignore the weight of his presence.

My mind replayed the files I had read last night — the secrets buried in numbers. This lifestyle wasn't just tough — it was dangerous.

We finally arrived at a high-end venue lit by golden lights and lined with expensive cars. I froze in a heartbeat. The name of the club was too familiar. Miguel had been here. He was always here. I remembered it from the search I'd done on his phone after his death.

My stomach churned. Every step toward the entrance felt like betrayal. I could still hear Miguel’s laugh — could still see his last unread message on my phone.”

As Adrian entered ahead, I was halted by a stone-faced woman in black. Her eyes were hollow, devoid of emotion — smiling must have been a forbidden act around di Santi's people.

"Phone," she demanded.

I hesitated but handed over the one Elsa had given me. They patted me down with practiced efficiency.

"Protocol," the woman muttered. "You can only go in with the phone from di Santi."

I was pissed off already but masked it well. Just to avenge my brother, I had sacrificed my quiet life. And now, even if I changed my mind, there was no escape.

I was in too deep, because the moment I crossed into their world, my life was no longer mine.

Once cleared, I stepped into the golden-lit room. Music, laughter, and the scent of expensive perfumes filled the air.

There he was — Adrian Di Santi, seated among Billionaires. They were laughing, drinking, oozing wealth and danger.

I stood at a distance until Di Santi glanced my way and crooked a finger.

I walked over and stood silently by his side.

Some of the men— old enough to be my father whistled and threw flirty remarks my way. One reached as though to touch my arm.

"She's not for you," Adrian cut in coldly. "She's different."

They backed off, grumbling in amusement but continued to eye me, undressing me with their stares.

"Get to work," Adrian said without looking at me.

I nodded.  And focused on what I was here for — taking notes, tracking the money being exchanged, and documenting everything down to the last digit. I felt eyes on me but I ignored them. Bloody murderers.

Then the next words threw me off balance.

One of the men laughed and raised his glass. "If only Miguel hadn't betrayed us, he'd be here too, enjoying this."

My entire body tensed. My throat tightened, I almost crushed the pen in my hand

I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch him in the mouth.

How dare he talk about my brother like that? The same Miguel they all killed?

Adrian, uninterested, merely snorted. "I don't talk about my dead men."

My chest constricted. I couldn't believe I was here — working under the man who had killed my brother.

I stepped back slightly, trying to create distance from the conversation. Maybe I could disappear, find air, or escape.

"Stay," Adrian said quietly. "You work until I say you're done."

I swallowed hard. "Understood."

Moments later, women flooded in. Models, dancers, party girls. The laughter escalated. The other men grabbed the girls greedily, touching, whispering, pulling them close and splashing money on them. Yet Adrian sat still, arms folded. One woman leaned in, attempting to touch his shoulder. He turned away sharply.

I watched him. For someone so powerful, it was strange. He didn't let women near him. I remembered reading during my research that Adrian Di Santi hated being touched by women. No one knew why.

One tried to sit on his lap but he pushed her away with a quiet disgust.

I watched, puzzled. Was it trauma? Disgust?

The laughter was suddenly shattered by chaos.

Gunshots!!!

Masked men stormed in, brandishing weapons. Screams erupted as people scrambled for cover.

I hit the floor, covering my head, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I'd never seen such horror. Bodies collapsed and landed beside me, blood pooling at my feet. I clasped my palm hard against my mouth as I trembled uncontrollably.

I caught a glimpse of Adrian who didn't hesitate and had pulled out his gun. He was firing so also was Rico.

Di Santi's guards moved like trained soldiers. They were skillful.

I wanted to run, to disappear but my legs refused to move.

I felt something click behind me and with a trembling body, I turned to see one of the rivals holding a gun to my head.

Adrian came just in time and pulled the trigger, killing him.

"Stay close," he ordered. I could only nod as hot tears pooled at my eyes.

When everything was finally over, I looked across the room, it was wrecked.

Dead bodies, twisted and drenched in blood. I felt my legs give way and I fell to the ground.

---

When I opened my eyes, the world around me smelled of lavender and linen. I was in a different room now, away from the wreckage I had witnessed earlier. I blinked, confused.

Two women stood near the bed, motionless. Their expressions were blank, like dolls programmed for one task only.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice dry.

They didn't respond.

"Where the hell am I?"

One woman finally said, "Do you need anything?"

I cursed inwardly. I tried to get out but the door was locked. My head throbbed. I turned to ask again when one of the women whispered to the other and left.

Minutes later, Adrian entered.

He sat beside me, a cold expression on his face.

"You fainted," he said flatly. "I wonder if you're truly a forensic accountant. You should have seen worse already."

I forced a shaky breath, trying to form a lie. "It was just overwhelming. I've seen cases like that... But not in real time."

Adrian studied me, he didn't seem convinced, but nodded. "I brought you here. It was safe. They might have followed you home."

I murmured a soft "thank you."

"You'll receive your account details soon."

"But I have my personal account..."

"When you work for di Santi, everything you own is replaced with what I approve of."

My fists clenched beneath the sheets. Even my name, my account, my choices — all subject to his approval.

A lump rose in my throat, thick and bitter, but I swallowed it down and said nothing.

He stood. "Eat something. Then come downstairs. We have work."

There was humanity in his voice which made me think even behind that tough exterior, there was a soft man who cared for his workers — or so I thought.

As he left, the two women entered again — still expressionless — and placed a silver tray before me. Caviar. Fruits dipped in chocolate. And a meal too rich for someone with a sick stomach.

My throat burned with emotion. A single tear threatened to fall. Was this the world Miguel had drowned in? Just to protect me? To provide for me?

I tried to eat but the women stared.

"Can I have privacy?" I asked.

They only shook their heads and stood firm.

After breakfast, they gesture for me to shower.

I eyed them suspiciously. "You're not going to watch me, are you?"

They shifted aside, giving minimal privacy.

As I walked to the shower, that was when I realized I was wearing a white Tshirt against the red gown I had worn yesterday.

"How did I end up wearing this T-shirt?" I asked them hoping Adrian hadn't instructed his men to change my wear.

"Mr di Santi gave us the order to change your gown. It reeked of blood."

After the shower, I walked in expecting to wear the t-shirt again when one of them said, "Mr di Santi selected what you'll wear."

They brought out a gown encrusted with diamonds. Sat me down, brushed my hair, applied makeup. Jewelry followed, a diamond bracelet , a necklace and earrings.

When I looked in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself.

I whispered, "Thank you."

They didn't respond but escorted me downstairs.

The mansion was huge. Guards stood at every corner. At least twenty rooms. I felt like a bird in a golden cage.

Adrian sat, sipping wine. When he saw me, I could swear his gaze lingered. Something flickered in his expression — quickly hidden.

"Sit," he said quietly.

I obeyed. My new life has begun. And the path to revenge was only just opening its doors.