Chapter 4 - The Lion's Den
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The next morning, Emily arrived at the massive iron gates of the Ferrara estate exactly ten minutes early.
She was wearing a cheap but sharply ironed black skirt and a white blouse, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. The ruined shoes had been dried on a radiator and polished with a black marker to hide the water damage.
Rafe Lombardi was waiting for her at the front door. The security chief was a mountain of a man, his face scarred and his eyes devoid of any warmth.
“Arms up,” Rafe commanded without a greeting.
Emily complied silently. Rafe patted her down with professional, terrifying efficiency, checking for wires, weapons, or recording devices.
“You’re clean,” Rafe grunted, stepping aside. “The boss is in his study. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't touch anything on his desk. And if you make a sudden movement, I will break your arm.”
“Noted,” Emily said, her voice betraying none of the fear churning in her stomach.
She walked down the long, opulent hallway, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian runners. She paused before the heavy mahogany double doors of Santino’s study, took a deep breath, and knocked twice.
“Enter.”
The voice was low, smooth, and resonant.
Emily pushed the door open. The study was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, and a massive fireplace burned warmly in the corner. Santino sat behind a large, antique desk in his wheelchair. He was dressed flawlessly in a dark suit, reading through a stack of thick legal documents.
He didn't look up when she entered.
“Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to a leather chair opposite him.
Emily sat down, keeping her posture perfectly straight.
For ten agonizing minutes, the only sound in the room was the ticking of a grandfather clock and the scratching of Santino’s expensive fountain pen.
Finally, he closed the folder and looked up at her. His dark eyes were piercing, evaluating every inch of her demeanor.
“Enzo tells me you are entirely unqualified for this position,” Santino said flatly. “You have no degree in business administration. You type forty words a minute. Your resume consists of waitressing and folding laundry.”
“That is correct, sir,” Emily replied evenly.
“Then why shouldn't I fire you right now?”
“Because Enzo is a coward who stood by the pool and watched you drown,” Emily stated, holding his gaze without flinching. “And I am not.”
A flicker of genuine amusement danced in Santino’s eyes.
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“Fair point,” he murmured. He slid a thick, leather-bound ledger across the desk toward her. “Let’s see if you can be trusted with more than just swimming, Miss Taylor. Organize the shipping manifests from the last quarter. Find the discrepancy in the Boston route.”
Emily took the heavy ledger. It was a test. And she was going to pass it.
