Rain slid down the windows of Milan's streets like silent tears—an odd comfort to Cathrine as she adjusted her blazer in the mirror. The city was always loud, always moving, but today it felt quieter. Like it was watching.
Her reflection stared back at her: calm, composed, confident. But beneath the surface was fire.
Cathrine tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and whispered to herself, "You're ready."
She had spent years preparing for this day. Degrees. Languages. Experience. Nothing about her was fake—except the name.
Not Romano. Never Romano. That name had been buried the night her father was.
Now, she carried a new identity—clean, untouchable, carefully chosen. Her surname was borrowed, not from imagination but from blood—her mother's blood. A quiet name. A shield.
And today, it would walk into the heart of the company that destroyed her family.
De Luca Enterprises.
The thought made her jaw clench.
The man she was going to meet—Alexandre De Luca—was the son of the man behind it all. He now ran the empire with the same power and ambition. CEO, billionaire, enigma. Some called him ruthless. Some called him brilliant.
Cathrine called him target.
She pulled open the drawer and reached for the old locket resting inside. Her fingers brushed its worn edges. Inside was a photo—her father, beaming, with her tiny self on his lap.
"Papa," she whispered. "I'm doing this for you."
Her mother had warned her. Told her to move on. But how could she?
Her father hadn't just died—he had been eliminated.
The world called it an accident. But in the shadows of the Italian underworld, there were no accidents. Only decisions. Orders. Betrayal.
And the man who had given that order, the one who had turned on her father, had built his empire off that blood.
Cathrine was going to take it all back.
Not with guns.
With silence, patience—and truth.
---
The De Luca Enterprises headquarters towered above the Milan skyline. Cold steel, gold-tinted glass, and a lion emblem that gleamed in the morning haze.
As Cathrine stepped through the rotating doors, her heels echoed on marble. The air smelled of luxury and old secrets.
A receptionist in a cream blazer greeted her with a practiced smile. "Good morning. Name?"
"Cathrine," she said smoothly. "Cathrine... White." The lie rolled easily off her tongue. It had to.
The receptionist typed quickly. "You're expected. Top floor. Elevator to your right."
Cathrine nodded. Her heart beat like war drums beneath her ribs, but her face gave away nothing. She had trained for this. She would not crack.
The elevator doors slid shut behind her, and the city disappeared below. The higher she rose, the closer she came to him.
Alexandre De Luca.
Not just a name, not just a man—but the last wall standing between her and the truth.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened to a floor dressed in quiet elegance. Dark wood. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling glass. A woman in a sleek pencil skirt walked over.
"Miss White?"
Cathrine nodded.
"I'm Gianna, Mr. De Luca's executive assistant. He'll see you now."
Cathrine followed her down a hallway lined with silence. Each step sounded like a countdown.
Gianna knocked once, then opened the tall wooden doors.
Inside was a large office wrapped in morning light. A man stood by the window, his back to them, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of water.
"Miss White is here," Gianna said.
"Thank you," the man replied without turning. "You may leave us."
As the door shut behind her, he finally turned.
Cathrine's breath caught in her chest—but only for a second.
He was younger than she expected. Late twenties, maybe thirty. Tall, composed. His features were sharp—chiseled cheekbones, a defined jaw, neatly trimmed hair. A charcoal suit hugged his form perfectly.
But what struck her was his expression.
Not cruel. Not smug. Just… unreadable. Like a man used to walls, both building them and hiding behind them.
"Miss White," he said. "Have a seat."
She obeyed.
"I've read your application," he began, sliding a folder across the table. "Impressive. Munich graduate. Trilingual. Experience in both corporate and client-facing roles."
Cathrine nodded. "Yes, sir."
"I don't believe in long interviews," he continued. "You're either the right person, or you're not. Time is something I don't like wasting."
His voice was smooth, steady—businesslike. But beneath the control, she sensed something else. Pressure? Sadness?
No. Stay focused.
"This role is demanding," he said. "You'll be managing schedules, calls, contracts. Sometimes you'll travel. Sometimes you'll stay past midnight. This office doesn't believe in comfort zones."
"I don't need one," Cathrine said simply.
That made him pause. For the first time, his lips curled slightly—not quite a smile, but something close.
"Good," he said. "You'll start tomorrow."
She blinked. "That's it?"
"I know what I'm looking for," he replied. "And I trust my instincts."
He stood and walked to the sideboard, pulling out a thin folder.
"Here's your contract. Standard terms. Gianna will handle the signing outside."
Cathrine stood too, reaching for the folder.
"One more thing, Miss White," he said.
She turned.
He looked at her with eyes that, for a moment, felt strangely familiar. Like he saw more than he let on.
"In this office, lies are the only deal-breaker."
Cathrine's fingers tightened around the folder.
"Understood."
He nodded.
"Welcome to De Luca Enterprises."
---
The rest of the day passed in fragments.
She met Gianna again, signed documents, got her ID badge, her schedule, her access card. All while her thoughts swirled like storm clouds.
By evening, she was back in her apartment, the city lights flickering outside her window. The folder lay open on the table beside her untouched dinner.
She poured herself a glass of wine, staring at her new name printed neatly on the ID:
Cathrine White – Executive Secretary to CEO
She had stepped inside.
She had made it.
But something felt off.
Not about the job. Not about the building.
About him.
Alexandre De Luca.
He didn't fit the picture she had built in her mind. He wasn't cold. Or cruel. If anything, he seemed... controlled. Watchful. Wounded, even.
But no. She wouldn't fall for appearances.
She had come here for revenge. To find the truth about her father. To destroy the empire that was built on blood.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A text from an unknown number.
You're not the only one hiding something. Watch your back."
Her breath caught.
She read it again.
Once more.
Her hands began to shake.
She wasn't alone in the shadows.