The payment deadline had been extended by three days.
She closed her eyes.
Three days.
She needed another two thousand dollars.
She had already sold her mother's jewelry, emptied her savings, and borrowed money from two former colleagues.
There was nowhere else to turn.
She opened her bank application and stared at the balance.
Then another notification appeared.
An unknown number.
The message contained only one sentence.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR FATHER.
Elena went completely still.
Her father had been dead for seven years.
At least, that was what she had been told.
She read the message again.
Then she deleted it.
But her hands would not stop shaking.
***
The following morning, Adrian arrived in his study at seven thirty.
He had not slept much.
A black coffee sat untouched beside his laptop.
At seven forty-five, someone knocked.
"Come in."
Elena entered.
She wore a fresh black uniform, her hair neatly tied, and no trace of last night's champagne remained on her clothes.
But her eyes were still tired.
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning."
She remained near the door.
Adrian gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
"Sit."
"Thank you."
She sat on the edge of the leather chair.
He studied her for a moment.
"How is your wrist?"
Elena instinctively covered it.
"It's fine."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, sir."
"Elena."
She looked up.
"You don't need to answer every question by telling me you're fine."
Her lips parted slightly.
Then she looked away.
Adrian leaned back.
"Why did you accept a position in this house?"
"I needed work."
"That is obvious."
She said nothing.
"Your previous employer gave you an excellent reference. Your agency's records are incomplete. Your brother's hospital expenses are substantial."
Elena's face tightened.
"How do you know about my brother?"
"It was included in your emergency contact information."
"I didn't give permission for anyone to discuss his medical situation."
Adrian considered that.
"You're right."
She looked surprised.
He continued.
"I should have asked before bringing it up."
For a moment, she did not know what to say.
People in positions of authority rarely apologized to her.
Especially people like him.
Adrian opened the folder.
"I have a question about something else."
"Yes, sir?"
"Your father."
The color drained from her face.
Adrian noticed immediately.
"His name was Daniel Rossi?"
She stared at him.
"How do you know that?"
"Was it?"
"Yes."
Adrian closed the folder.
"How long has he been dead?"
"Seven years."
"How did he die?"
Elena's fingers tightened around one another.
"A car accident."
"Where?"
"Outside the city."
"Who told you that?"
She stood abruptly.
"I don't understand why you're asking me these questions."
"Sit down."
"I came here to work. Not to discuss my family."
Adrian's expression remained controlled.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Silence filled the study.
Elena looked at him, suddenly frightened by her own courage.
"I'm sorry."
Adrian did not reprimand her.
Instead, he asked quietly, "Did your father ever work for the De Luca family?"
Elena stared at him.
For several seconds, she could not breathe properly.
Then she answered.
"He told me he worked in finance."
Adrian looked toward the window.
"That wasn't the whole truth."
"What do you mean?"
"Your father was my father's accountant."
Elena shook her head.
"No."
"He worked for the family for nearly fifteen years."
"No. My father worked at an office."
"He did."
Adrian turned back toward her.
"An office that managed the legitimate side of our family's business."
She stared at him.
Her father had never mentioned the De Lucas.
Not once.
Why would he?
What could possibly connect the quiet man who repaired broken radios in their kitchen to the most feared family in the city?
"You're mistaken," she whispered.
Adrian opened another drawer.
He removed a photograph and placed it on the desk.
Elena approached slowly.
The photograph showed two men standing outside a building.
One was a younger version of Adrian's father, Lorenzo De Luca.
The other was a man Elena recognized immediately.
Daniel Rossi.
Her father.
She picked up the photograph.
Her fingers trembled.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was in my father's private archive."
Elena looked at the date printed on the back.
Seven years earlier.
The same year her father died.
She turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note beneath the date.
For Daniel. For the day the truth finally comes out.
She felt her stomach tighten.
"What truth?"
Adrian studied her.
"That's what I'm trying to discover."
Elena put the photograph down.
"I want to go home."
Adrian did not stop her.
She reached the door before he spoke again.
"Elena."
She paused without turning.
"Did your father leave you anything?"
She swallowed.
"No."
"Think carefully."
"I said no."
She opened the door.
Then she stopped.
Because the unknown message from last night returned to her mind.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR FATHER.
Her hand tightened around the handle.
She turned slowly.
"Why would someone send me a message about him?"
Adrian stood.
"What message?"
Elena hesitated.
"Last night. Someone texted me."
"What did it say?"
She repeated the words.
Adrian's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for someone unfamiliar with him to notice.
But Elena saw it.
The calmness disappeared from his eyes.
"Show me."
She took out her phone.
He read the message.
Then he looked at Marcus's empty chair near the window.
"Who else knows you received this?"
"Nobody."
"Did you reply?"
"No."
Adrian returned the phone.
"Don't delete anything else."
Elena stared at him.
"Am I in danger?"
He was silent for a moment.
Then he answered honestly.
"I don't know."
It was the first answer she had received from him that morning that did not sound like an order.
And somehow, that frightened her more than anything else.
***
At ten thirty, Adrian summoned Marcus.
The adviser entered carrying a thin black folder.
"I found something."
Adrian motioned toward the desk.
"Tell me."
"Daniel Rossi wasn't simply the family's accountant. He was responsible for maintaining records of several private financial arrangements."
"Which arrangements?"
"Some involving Vittorio Moretti."
Adrian's expression darkened.
Marcus opened the folder.