The Heart of the Empire

Morning came too fast, as if time itself had conspired to push me toward the edge of a cliff. I had barely slept, Marco Vallardi’s voice echoing in my head like a war drum. “Don’t keep me waiting, Sofia.” Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those gray eyes, sharp as blades, and felt the weight of his threat against Nico. My brother—my anchor, my reason not to give up.

For him, I was about to walk into the wolf’s den.

At exactly nine o’clock, the roar of an engine broke the silence of my Brooklyn street. I peeked out the window, my heart lodged in my throat. A black SUV, gleaming under the gray morning light, was parked outside my building. The driver’s door opened, and a woman stepped out with a confidence that seemed to defy gravity. Tall, with short, bright red hair, she wore a leather jacket that screamed rebellion. Not what I expected from a mafia driver.

“Sofia Russo?” she asked, leaning against the hood. Her voice carried a hint of sarcasm, like she knew something I didn’t. “I’m Carla. Come on, the boss doesn’t like delays.”

I nodded, tightening the strap on my bag. I’d put on my best suit—a gray ensemble I wore for meetings with important clients—as if fabric armor could protect me from what was coming. As I walked down the stairs, my mind replayed the night before. The broken door, Enzo’s gun, Marco’s overwhelming presence. And the question that wouldn’t leave me alone: how could my father—the man who taught me to find truth in numbers—have been involved with the Vallardis?

The ride was silent, except for the hum of the engine and the drumming of Carla’s fingers on the steering wheel. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t look like a typical mafia goon. Her movements were precise, almost military, and there was something in her eyes—a spark of cunning—that made me think she wasn’t just here to drive.

“How long have you worked for him?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Carla shot me a look in the rearview mirror, raising one brow.

“Long enough to know you don’t ask questions unless you’re ready for the answers.” She smirked, but it wasn’t a warm smile—it was the kind that hid secrets. “Relax, accountant. If Marco wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be in this car.”

I wasn’t sure if that was meant to comfort me or make me even more nervous. Before I could respond, the SUV pulled up to a mansion on the outskirts of the city. It was a beast of stone and glass, with columns straight out of a European palace and gardens so pristine they looked unreal. But there was something cold about the place, as if the opulence were just a mask hiding something much darker.

Carla led me through a marble foyer, where armed men in dark suits watched every corner. Their eyes followed me, assessing, and I forced myself to hold my head high. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. We climbed a curved staircase and reached a set of carved double doors. Carla opened them without knocking and gestured for me to go in.

And there he was. Marco Vallardi, seated behind a desk that looked like it had been carved from a single block of ebony. Light from a window bathed him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing muscles and tattoos I hadn’t noticed the night before. His eyes lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, the world stopped. There was something in his gaze—a mix of challenge and curiosity—that made me want to run and stay all at once.

“Miss Russo,” he said, his voice a purr that sent a chill down my spine. “Punctual. I like that.”

I crossed my arms, ignoring the heat rising to my neck.

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

A fleeting smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured toward a pile of ledgers and hard drives on the desk.

“Your work starts today. I need you to find every cent your father hid. Offshore accounts, wire transfers, everything. And I need it done fast.”

I stepped closer to the desk, my fingers brushing the leather spines of the books. They were old, with notes scribbled in the margins that I recognized instantly—my father’s handwriting. My heart flipped. Part of me wanted to open them and search for answers, but another part was afraid of what I’d find.

“And if I don’t find anything?” I asked, turning to him. “What happens then?”

Marco stood and circled the desk with a grace that was almost feline. He stopped beside me—too close—his body heat invading my space.

“Don’t disappoint me, Sofia,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Because if you don’t find the money, someone else pays the price. And I don’t think you want that someone to be Nico.”

The mention of my brother hit like a bucket of cold water. I took a step back, my back bumping against the desk’s edge.

“Don’t threaten my brother again,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “If I do this, it’ll be for him—not for you.”

For a moment, something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t regret, but it wasn’t the same icy demeanor from the night before either.

“Interesting,” he murmured, as if solving a puzzle. Then he leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek. “You’ve got fire, Sofia Russo. I hope you know how to use it.”

The air between us was electric, like a single spark could set it ablaze. I forced myself to look away, focusing on the ledgers.

“I’ll need access to your systems,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “And time. This isn’t basic accounting.”

Marco stepped back, returning to his chair.

“You’ll have what you need. Carla will help with access.” He paused, eyes locked on mine. “But a word of warning, sweetheart—don’t try to play me. You won’t like the outcome.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I opened the first book, my fingers trembling slightly at the sight of my father’s signature on the first page. Every number, every note, was a piece of a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve. But there was no turning back. For Nico. For myself. I would find the truth—even if it meant going up against Marco Vallardi and the world he ruled.

Carla led me to an adjoining room, a space filled with screens and servers that looked like something out of a spy movie.

“Welcome to the heart of the empire,” she said, with that half-smile of hers. “Don’t worry—he doesn’t bite. Well, not much.”

I smiled despite myself. There was something about Carla I liked—a kind of camaraderie I hadn’t expected to find here.

“And you? Do you bite?” I asked, raising a brow.

She laughed, a genuine sound that broke the tension.

“Only if provoked. Come on, I’ll show you how this works.”

As she explained the systems, my mind kept drifting back to Marco. To his voice, his nearness, the way he looked at me like he could see straight through me. I didn’t know if he was my enemy—or something far more dangerous. But one thing was certain:

This game was just beginning.

And I wasn’t going to lose.