Aliona Lucia Vasilisa Monti Mikhailov, once an innocent five-year-old princess of the Monti family, is now the Donna of the Russian mafia and wife to Amir and Axton Mikhailov. Kidnapped as a child and shaped into a ruthless assassin, she has grown i...
I sit propped up against a mountain of pillows in my room, a laptop balanced precariously on my legs. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton, and every movement sends a wave of fatigue through my body. Still, I type furiously, ignoring the ache in my temples. My to-do list doesn't care that I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
"Achoo!" My sneeze sends my papers flying off the bed. "Ugh."
There's a knock on the door before it swings open. Papà steps in, a tray in his hands laden with soup, tissues, and a steaming cup of tea. "Bambina," he says sternly, setting the tray on my nightstand. "You need to rest."
"I'm fine," I insist, waving him off as I continue typing. "I have deadlines."
Papà crosses his arms, his imposing figure blocking the light from the hallway. "You are not fine. You look like you should be in a hospital."
"I don't have time for that," I reply, not looking up. My tone is flippant, but the pounding in my head begs me to stop.
"Aliona," he warns, his voice low and firm.
Before I can retort, Silvio pokes his head into the room. "She's still working?" he asks Papà, incredulous.
"She doesn't listen," Papà grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just like her brother."
As if on cue, a loud groan echoes from the other side of the house. "Aliona!" Massimo's voice is muffled but clear. "I need more tissues!"
Silvio sighs and disappears, muttering about how he's not anyone's butler. Renato follows a moment later, carrying a thermometer and a bottle of medicine. "Stubbornness must be genetic," he says, shaking his head as he enters.
Papà leans over and closes my laptop with a firm click. "That's enough."
"Hey!" I protest, glaring at him. "I'm in the middle of something important."
"Your health is more important," he counters. "Do you want to get worse? Because at this rate, you will."
"I'm perfectly capable of working," I argue, though my slurred words and bleary eyes betray me.
Papà doesn't budge. Instead, he picks up the laptop and carries it out of the room. "You can have this back when you've rested."
"You're treating me like a child!" I shout after him, but my words are met with silence.
Renato hands me the thermometer. "Humor us, Aliona. Just take your temperature."
I huff but comply. The result is not promising. Renato raises an eyebrow. "See? Not fine."
"Fine," I mumble, sinking into the pillows. "But only for an hour."
Downstairs, I hear Papà scolding Massimo, who seems to be in a similar state of denial about his condition.
Hearing Papà's heavy footsteps retreat down the hall, I toss off the blanket covering me. The cool air sends a shiver through my feverish body, but I don't let it stop me. I take the opportunity with Massimo away from his office, I need to get the file.
Sliding out of bed, I grab my laptop bag and tiptoe toward the door, pausing to listen for any sign of Silvio or Renato. Silence. Perfect.
Opening the door just a crack, I peek into the hallway. Clear. I slip out, clutching my bag to my chest, and make my way toward Massimo's office. My socks muffle the sound of my steps on the polished wood floor. My head throbs with each movement, but I grit my teeth and keep going.
When I reach the door, I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching. Satisfied, I turn the handle and step inside.
Massimo's office is a testament to his meticulous nature—shelves lined with perfectly organized books, a desk devoid of clutter, and a faint scent of leather and cologne lingering in the air. I make my way to his chair, plop down with a groan, and fire up my laptop.
I connect my laptop to Massimo's PC and insert the sniffer drive Nikhil gave me. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I wait for the drive to load, my heart racing.
The drive clicks to life, and a small window pops up on the screen. I hesitate for a moment, the weight of what I'm about to do settling over me. One wrong move, and I could be caught, but I push the fear aside. Nikhil wouldn't have given me the drive if he didn't trust me to handle it.
The program finally starts. Lines of code and directories flash across the screen, one after another. It's working. My pulse quickens as I sift through the endless stream of data, searching for the one clue that could lead me to the truth. Then, I see it—an encrypted file, buried deep within the system. This has to be it. The key to everything.
I download the file, my fingers trembling as I disconnect the sniffer drive. Packing up my laptop and slipping the drive into my pocket, I move quickly, careful to leave no trace. My heart pounds in my ears as I glance around the room one last time, making sure everything looks undisturbed.
Just as I'm about to leave, a cold chill creeps down my spine. Something feels off. The air seems heavier, charged with tension. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I glance over my shoulder.
Footsteps. Faint, but growing louder. My chest tightens, my breath catching in my throat.
Before I can think, before I can act, the door bursts open with a force that makes me jump. Tobias stands there, his dark silhouette framed in the doorway. His eyes narrow as they sweep across the room, methodically taking in every detail before locking onto me.
For a single heartbeat, time stops.
"What are you doing in here?" His voice is calm—almost too calm—but there's a deadly edge beneath it, sharp enough to cut glass.
Panic surges through me, freezing my thoughts. My body wants to move, to run, but I'm rooted to the spot like a deer caught in headlights.
"I... I was just..." The words tumble out, weak and unconvincing. My mind scrambles for an excuse, any excuse, but nothing comes.
Tobias takes a step into the room, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. The faint creak of his polished shoes on the floor is the only sound as he moves closer, his sharp eyes scanning every detail with practiced precision.
His gaze flickers to the desk—an object of Massimo's pride. The chair, slightly pushed back, is the first thing that catches his attention, its position an obvious deviation from his precise order. His brow furrows, the faintest twitch of irritation tightening his features.
Then, his eyes dart to the desk surface, where the faint imprint of my laptop remains on the pristine leather mat. It's subtle, but not subtle enough for someone who spilizes in finding clues. His jaw tightens, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind, piecing together the story before I can even think of a way to explain.
Finally, his gaze snaps back to me, sharp and unrelenting, pinning me in place like a spotlight on a fugitive. The weight of his stare is suffocating, pressing down on me like a physical force, making it hard to breathe.
Then his eyes drop to my hand. My laptop is still clutched tightly against my chest, as though holding onto it will somehow shield me from his growing fury. The flicker of realization in his expression is subtle but unmistakable, his brows narrowing just slightly, his jaw tightening with cold calculation.
- Please Continue To Chapter Fourteen -
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