Chapter 2 - The Photograph
Enzo took the phone from my hand.
His face became unreadable.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“Who knows we’re here?” I asked.
“Too many people.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He enlarged the photograph.
The angle was wrong for someone standing outside on the ground. We were on the third floor.
“Where was that taken from?”
Enzo walked toward the window.
I grabbed his wrist.
He stopped.
For one impossible second, I became painfully aware that I was touching Enzo Relli.
His skin was warm now.
His forearm was hard beneath my fingers.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
I released him immediately.
“Don’t stand in front of the window.”
Something changed in his expression.
Not amusement.
Not irritation.
Surprise.
“You’re worried about me?”
“I’m worried about both of us.”
“Good answer.”
He switched off the lamp nearest the window.
Then the second.
The room fell into shadow except for a small light beside the bed.
He approached the glass from the side.
Another lightning flash exposed the landscape.
A narrow balcony wrapped around part of the old hotel.
Beyond it stood a maintenance structure attached to the neighboring wing.
Someone could have taken the photograph from there.
Enzo pulled the curtains closed.
“Pack your things.”
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere yet.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I want you ready if that changes.”
I looked at the black portfolio.
“What about that?”
His gaze followed mine.
For three hours, he had protected those documents from rain, strangers, and even me.
Now someone else wanted him to open them.
That changed everything.
“Did you put something inside without telling me?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then open it.”
“No.”
“Enzo.”
He turned sharply.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Then help me understand.”
He walked toward the desk.
His hand rested on the portfolio.
“The documents inside concern a transfer of legitimate assets from three companies controlled by my family.”
“Legitimate?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You want tonight to become more complicated?”
“I think we passed complicated when somebody photographed us through a third-floor window.”
Fair.
His fingers found the clasp.
“But the final agreement isn’t supposed to be in this portfolio.”
“What final agreement?”
“One that identifies every beneficiary.”
“And why does that matter?”
“Because someone has been stealing from those companies for eight years.”
I stared at him.
“How much?”
“Enough to kill for.”
My mouth went dry.
“And you brought evidence?”
“I brought bait.”
I stared at him.
“You used a portfolio I was carrying as bait?”
His jaw tightened.
“You were never supposed to be in danger.”
“That sentence usually means somebody knew there was danger.”
“I knew there was risk.”
“Enzo!”
“I had four men following us.”
“Where are they?”
Silence.
That answer was worse than words.
He removed his phone.
No signal.
He tried another number anyway.
Nothing.
The storm had isolated the hotel.
I crossed my arms.
“So we drove into the mountains carrying bait for a thief who steals from your family, your security disappeared, somebody manipulated us into the last available room, and now a stranger is photographing us.”
“Yes.”
“And your professional assessment is?”
“We’ve had better evenings.”
I stared at him.
Then, despite everything, I laughed.
It escaped before I could stop it.
Enzo looked almost offended.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“You’re becoming delirious.”
“I’m your secretary. I recognize your sentences.”
A faint smile appeared.
It transformed his face.
For half a second, he looked younger.
Human.
Then something struck the window.
I jumped.
Enzo moved in front of me.
A second impact followed.
Tap.
Tap.
Not bullets.
Small stones.
He pulled the curtain aside by an inch.
Nothing.
Then he saw it.
A folded piece of paper lay on the balcony.
Someone had thrown it from the neighboring structure.
Enzo opened the balcony door.
Wind exploded into the room.
“Stay back.”
He stepped outside.
Rain hit him instantly.
He grabbed the paper and returned.
I shut the door.
He unfolded it.
Three typed words.
ASK SOFIA MARQUEZ.
My blood went cold.
Enzo looked at me.
I stared back.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I know.”
“You believe me?”
“Yes.”
Immediately.
No hesitation.
That should have made me feel safer.
Instead, it made me wonder what Enzo knew that I didn’t.
“Why?”
“Because if you were working against me, you wouldn’t be standing here terrified.”
“That’s your evidence?”
“No.”
“What is?”
“You had access to my office for eleven months. If you wanted to betray me, you had easier opportunities.”
I hugged myself.
“What do they want from me?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
He opened the portfolio.
The contracts were exactly where I had placed them.
Blue tabs.
Red tabs.
Signature pages.
Everything normal.
Enzo removed the first stack.
Nothing.
Second stack.
Nothing.
Then he stopped.
The interior lining had lifted slightly from one corner.
“That wasn’t like that before,” I said.
He tore the lining carefully.
Something fell onto the desk.
A flash drive.
I stepped backward.
“I have never seen that.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because whoever planted it wants me to believe you have.”
He picked it up using the edge of the towel.
“What’s on it?”
“We’re not finding out on either of our computers.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We stay alive until morning.”
Simple words.
Terrible meaning.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time all night, exhaustion caught up with me.
Enzo watched me.
“You should change.”
“With what?”
He looked toward my overnight bag.
I had packed for a day trip, but my assistant instincts had forced me to include emergency clothing.
“You have something dry?”
“A shirt and leggings.”
“Bathroom.”
I stood.
“And you?”
He looked at his soaked shirt.
“I’ll manage.”
I went into the bathroom.
When I returned several minutes later, wearing an oversized cream sweater and black leggings, Enzo had changed too.
Apparently the feared Enzo Relli traveled with spare clothes.
A fitted black T-shirt.
Dark trousers.
Bare forearms.
Far too many tattoos.
This was not helping.
He had also moved the sofa.
It now blocked part of the door.
“You moved furniture?”
“I improved security.”
“You’re sleeping behind a barricade?”
“I’m not sleeping.”
I looked at the bed.
Then at him.
“You need rest too.”
“I’ll rest when I know who’s outside.”
I sat.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Act like needing anything is a weakness.”
His eyes sharpened.
“You’ve been my secretary too long.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
The storm continued.
Minutes passed.
Neither of us spoke.
Then the lights went out.
Complete darkness.
I heard myself inhale.
“Sofia.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t move.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Metal scraping metal.
The door handle slowly turned.
Enzo’s hand found mine in the darkness.
Then somebody whispered from the other side.
Not Enzo’s name.
Mine.
“Sofia Marquez.”
May you like
The security chain began to move.
Someone outside had a key.
