Fired

Security Operations Center (Inferno Tech)

Isabella’s POV

For four weeks, I had pretended to be a shadow in the room full of monitors.

I arrived early in the office, left late, and kept my head down. I wore oversized sweaters to hide the soft curve of my stomach that was becoming harder to deny.

I pretended to be a quiet girl from a Sicilian village. I had to keep this job.

But today, my morning sickness was awful. My head was spinning, and the lines of code on my screen were blurry.

“Moretti!”

The voice rang out across the floor.

It was Enzo, the floor manager. From day one, he had a problem with me. He hated that a “village girl” from the south was faster at encryption than his senior analysts.

“Guarda questo pasticcio!” Enzo yelled, slamming his hand on my desk. (Look at this mess!)

I looked at my screen. In my exhaustion, I had misrouted a data packet. It was a minor lag that could be easily fixed, but Enzo needed a target.

"I am sorry, sir. I will fix it right now," I said. My voice was trembling from the nausea. I tried to stand up to reset the server connection, but dizziness hit me.

I had to stop, breathe and stand still for a moment. But Enzo noticed it and made it another excuse.

"Sei un'idiota o sei solo pigra?" Enzo sneered, stepping into my personal space. (Are you an idiot or just lazy?)

"I... I just need a moment." I whispered, reaching for the desk to steady myself.

“I… I just need a moment,” I whispered, reaching for the desk to stay upright.

Enzo wasn’t finished. He wanted to humiliate me.

“Fuori dai piedi! Vai a fare il caffè, è l’unica cosa per cui sei portata!” (Out of the way! Go make coffee; it’s the only thing you’re good at!)

Then he reached out and shoved my shoulder.

My low-heeled shoe slipped. I lost my balance and gasped, reaching for something to hold.

I gasped. My hands went to my stomach instinctively.

Not again. The memory of the hospital floor in New York flashed in my mind. The cold. The blood. The loss of Elena.

My eyes squeezed shut as I prepared for the pain of hitting cold hard floor.

But the pain never came.

Instead of cold tile, I hit something hard.

A pair of strong arms caught me by the waist, pulling me back.

The scent of expensive cologne wrapped around me. I opened my eyes, gasping for air.

Enzo had gone pale. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the man holding me. The entire room had gone silent.

I looked up.

I was pressed against a chest so broad it blocked out the light. My head was tilted back, and I found myself staring into a pair of unknown eyes. Those were slivers. Dark, frozen, and devastatingly beautiful.

Dante Galante. L'Oscuro.

It was the first time I saw him so closely. Most of the times, I would stay at least hundred feet away from where he were. I had always assumed his hair was dark. It wasn’t.

It was a deep, burnished brown, threaded with gold where the light caught it. His face was a masterpiece of cold, sharp angles. He didn't look at me yet. He was looking at Enzo.

"S-Signore..." Enzo stuttered. “Lei è qui..." (Sir... you're here..)

Dante didn't let go of my waist. In fact, his grip tightened, pulling me flush against the heat of his body. He felt like an inferno.

"Spiegare." Dante said. The word was a low, vibrating growl. (Explain.)

"Io... io stavo solo dando una lezione alla ragazza. È così negligente...” (I... I was just teaching the girl a lesson. She is so negligent...)

Dante then looked down at me. His gaze traced the line of my throat, then dropped to my hands that I kept on my stomach.

"You were assaulting a woman in my workplace.” Dante said more quietly which made it ten times more terrifying. "And you were doing it to a woman who is clearly struggling to stay on her feet."

Dante finally set me upright before he turned his full attention to Enzo. "Clean out your desk. You’re done."

“Ma, Signore! The project…”

"Out."

Enzo didn't argue. He grabbed his jacket and fled, running for his life.

I stood there, my legs feeling like jelly. I needed to get away from Dante. He was too hot, too observant, too dangerous. I kept my head down, my pulse racing.

"Grazie... Grazie, Signore. Mi dispiace per il disturbo." (Thank you... Thank you, sir. I'm sorry for the trouble.)

I turned to walk back to my desk, but Dante didn't move. I could feel his gaze burning into the back of my neck.

“Il tuo nome?” He asked. (Your name?)

I stopped. He could see my ID badge. He knew.

"Alessia Moretti. Vengo dalla Sicilia." (Alessia Moretti. I came from Sicily.)

He stepped closer, invading my space. Then he looked at my oversized sweater, then at my pale face. "You are fired."