Chapter 2 - The Red Target on a Cheap Secretary’s Back
I didn’t move. I couldn't.
Berto stared at the flashing red light for three agonizing seconds before picking up the receiver. He didn't say hello. He just listened.
I watched his face transform. The man who had just confessed his dark, obsessive feelings to me vanished, replaced by the monster of New York’s underworld. His eyes became black voids. The muscles in his neck corded.
“Where?” Berto asked. His voice was too quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes a nuclear blast.
A pause.
“Secure her,” Berto ordered. “I’m coming.”
He slammed the receiver down and looked at me. Before I could ask a single question, he grabbed a heavy, matte-black handgun from his top drawer and tucked it into his waistband.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“Berto, what’s going on? Who was that?”
“My men just intercepted a team of Marcone’s cleaners outside your apartment,” Berto said, grabbing my wrist. His grip was firm, not hurting me, but completely unyielding. “They weren't there to steal your color-coded files, Anna. They were there to wait for you.”
My stomach dropped. The image of my small, messy apartment—the one with the leaky faucet and the half-empty carton of oat milk in the fridge—suddenly felt like a crime scene.
“My... my apartment?” I stammered, stumbling as he pulled me toward the private elevator behind his desk. “How did they even know where I live?”
“You are listed as my primary emergency contact on every official, semi-official, and highly illegal document I own,” Berto said as the elevator doors slid shut, sealing us in the metallic box. “They didn’t have to dig deep. They saw a weak link, and they went for it.”
“I am not a weak link!” I snapped, my fear turning into defensive anger. “I am an administrative professional! If anything, I am the only thing keeping your entire empire from being audited by the IRS!”
Berto didn't laugh. He didn't even look at me. He just stared at the elevator floor indicator as it descended rapidly to the basement garage.
“You are my weakness, Anna. That makes you the most dangerous target in this city.”
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing a fleet of black, armored SUVs. Six of Berto’s heavily armed guards stood waiting, their hands on their weapons. When they saw me, they didn't look surprised. They looked grim.
“Don,” one of them, a massive man named Leo, said. “The Marcone scouts are tracking the perimeter. We need to move now.”
Berto pushed me gently but firmly into the back seat of the middle SUV, sliding in right after me. The door slammed shut, sealing us in a tomb of bulletproof glass and reinforced steel.
As the convoy roared out of the garage and into the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, my phone buzzed in my hand.
An unknown number.
I looked at Berto. He saw the screen and nodded once. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”
With shaking fingers, I swiped the screen and pressed the button.
“Anna,” a voice purred. It was David. But the nervous, stuttering tone was gone. It was replaced by a smooth, chilling confidence. “I missed you at the office today. I wanted to ask if you liked the story about the rubber ducks.”
My throat closed up.
“Leave her alone, David,” Berto growled, leaning over me, his voice cutting through the speaker like a blade.
A dry chuckle came through the receiver. “Ah, Don Castellano. I figured you’d be listening. You’ve kept your little secretary very well hidden. But you made a mistake bringing her to Il Castello. She has a beautiful laugh. It’s a shame it’s going to be the last thing you ever hear.”
“If you touch her,” Berto said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “I will peel the skin from your bones while your uncle watches.”
“Bold words for a man whose empire is built on a house of cards,” David replied. “We have your files, Berto. The ones your sweet little secretary dropped in the hallway last week. She didn’t just drop them. She dropped them right in front of a hidden camera we placed in the corridor. We have every offshore account, every shipping route, every name.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. The folders. The cold office. My clumsy fingers.
May you like
It hadn't been an accident. They had engineered the entire thing.
“See you soon, Anna,” David whispered, and the line went dead.
