Chapter Three: The Résumé

Leonardo's POV 

The rain hadn’t stopped since last night. From the 47th floor of Moretti Global Holdings, the city below looked like a watercolor painting someone had left out in a storm, blurred, streaked, and still somehow alive.

Inside the boardroom, however, there was nothing soft or romantic about the atmosphere.

“Gentlemen,” I said, leaning forward with both hands flat on the table, “if I have to explain one more time why cutting corners on quality control will cost us more than it will save us, I’ll start replacing chairs in this room with someone who listens.”

A few of them shifted in their seats. Not because they were afraid of just me,but because they were afraid of the name I carried. Moretti. A name heavy with both legitimate empire and shadow empire.

We went another fifteen minutes, hashing out final numbers for the Venice contract. I let them think they had won a few points,ego was cheap to feed.

When I finally dismissed them, the silence in my office felt like oxygen after holding my breath. The rain tapped against the glass wall like impatient fingers.

A knock came at the door. “Come in,” I called.

The HR manager, Maria, stepped inside, a thin leather folder in her hands. “Signor Moretti, I have the final applicants for the executive assistant position. You asked me to bring them directly to you.”

I took the folder without looking up immediately. “How many?”

“Four.”

I flipped it open. The first résumé was fine, degree from Milan, five years with a law firm, glowing references. The kind of person who could do the job. And the kind of person I’d forget existed in a week.

The second was the same. The third had a little more color, fluent in three languages, decent corporate experience but still nothing unusual.

Then I saw the fourth.

Name: Camille Martins.

Education: Business Administration, University of Florence.

Skills: Administrative management, corporate strategy, data analysis.

Experience: Assistant to multiple high-profile executives. Discretion, adaptability, multilingual.

Impressive enough. But it wasn’t the qualifications that made my fingers pause on the page, it was the photo clipped to the top corner.

She was smiling faintly. The kind of smile that could be polite or dangerous, depending on the angle. Her hair was different. Softer. Styled in a way that didn’t belong to the girl in my memory. But her eyes……

I knew those eyes.

Those eyes had been haunting me for years. In my dreams, in my quiet moments, they appeared, staring straight at me, not accusing, nor pleading. Just… there. Watching.

I didn’t know the context, but I remember that night so well, even when I don't want to. I knew of the feeling that came with them, a sinking, heavy weight in my chest, as if I had been judged and found wanting.

And now, here they were, on glossy paper, smiling like they’d never seen me before.

“Any preferences, Signor?” Maria asked.

I closed the folder slowly. “Schedule interviews for tomorrow. I’ll meet them personally.”

“All four?”

“Yes. All four.”

When she left the room, silence wrapped around me. I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping against the armrest, eyes still fixed on the closed folder.

Camille Martins.

A somewhat weird name for that face.

I didn’t believe in coincidences, and I sure as hell didn’t believe in fate. But I knew when someone was about to disturb my carefully built order.

She had already done it without even stepping into my office.

And tomorrow, I’d look into those eyes again, this time without the safety of paper and distance.

I don't know who this woman is, but somehow those eyes had left my nightmares and found their way into my office. And I intend to know why.