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The Lie That Cost Seventeen Sleepless Nights The silence in Berto Castellano’s office did not just hang in the air; it suffocated. / Chapter 6 / 6

Chapter 6 - The Secretary’s Checkmate

The gunfire subsided.

Berto stood up from behind the bar, his gun pointed at Emilio Marcone, who was now alone, his hands raised, his guards dead or fleeing. Leo lay on the floor, clutching his bleeding hand, groaning.

“It’s over, Emilio,” Berto said coldly. “Your men are dead. Your nephew is unconscious. And your empire is currently being seized by my associates in Brooklyn as we speak.”

Emilio stared at Berto, his face pale with fear. “How? How did you know?”

“You thought you were playing chess,” Berto said, stepping closer, his boots clicking on the marble floor. “But you forgot who keeps my board organized.”

He looked at me.

I stepped out from behind the bar, holding the 9mm pistol I had stolen from the guard. I pointed it straight at Emilio’s chest, my hand perfectly steady.

“Never underestimate a secretary,” I said. “We know where all the bodies are buried. Because we’re the ones who schedule the funerals.”

Berto let out a loud, booming laugh—a real, genuine laugh that echoed through the ruined ballroom.

Ten minutes later, the police sirens wailed in the distance. Berto’s loyal men flooded the room, cleaning up the mess with professional speed.

We stood on the balcony of the Crimson Chandelier, the cool night air blowing through my hair. The city lights of New York stretched out before us, glittering like a million diamonds.

Berto stepped up behind me, wrapping his heavy wool coat around my shoulders. The warmth of his body pressed against my back.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“My thumb hurts,” I said, showing him my slightly swollen joint. “But otherwise, I think I’m okay. Although... I think I deserve a raise.”

“You can have the company,” Berto whispered, his hands coming around my waist, pulling me tight against him. “You can have my heart. You can have everything, Anna.”

I turned in his arms, looking up into his dark, mesmerizing eyes. “No more lies, Berto?”

“No more lies,” he promised. “From now on, you’re not my secretary.”

“Then what am I?”

Berto leaned down, his lips brushing against mine, a sweet, possessive promise of a future we both had fought to keep.

“You’re the boss,” he whispered.

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