The Invitation

Sofia’s POV

The morning light sliced through the blinds, too bright for the few hours of sleep I’d managed. My coffee steamed beside my laptop, bitter and black, just how I liked it. Shadow was curled up on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, oblivious to the weight of the war I was planning.

I typed Moretti Global Holdings into the search bar, my fingers tapping with the same focus and calmness they used to pull a trigger. Pages upon pages of results filled the screen, news articles, financial reports, charity galas. All polished and well written. A perfect façade.

Roberto Moretti, a monster in a suit, patriarch, kingmaker, the man at the top of the chain that had strangled my family twelve years ago. I’d been dismantling his empire piece by piece, one alliance, one “accident” at a time. But I’d always been on the outside, watching and waiting.

Roberto Moretti’s empire was a fortress, guarded not just by men with guns, but by influence and money. 

The Moretti name had a way of swallowing entire search results, page after page of acquisitions, political donations, luxury real estate deals. I skimmed, eyes sharp, discarding the fluff until I hit something useful, Moretti Global Holdings. Not just a criminal empire’s respectable façade, but a corporate giant with its fingers in half of the continent's ports and supply chains. Breaking in from the outside would be suicide. I needed another way, a closer way. 

A press release sat in the corner of the business news site, almost too insignificant to catch the eye. 

“ Leonardo Moretti – The Enigmatic CEO of Moretti Global Holdings seeks a new executive secretary”.

His picture filled the screen. Sharp suit, even sharper eyes and Dark hair slicked back, jaw set in a way that said he was used to being obeyed. He was younger than I'd expected, twenty-six. The billionaire heir of the Moretti Legacy, the article said, born to lead. The golden boy.

Then I saw it, an opening. A new position posted just last night: Executive Assistant to the CEO, I checked the date, dropped last night.

I leaned back in my chair, a slow smile curling at the corner of my lips. The universe had a strange way of cooperating when I was patient enough. This wasn’t just an entry point, it was an invitation.

I closed the tabs, my mind already sketching the plan. To kill the father, I’d have to get close to the son, very close.

Camille Martins, the name I’d worn through every takedown, the face that had smiled through boardroom traps and gala assassinations would apply. She’d fit the résumé, the references, the spotless background. A direct line into the Moretti inner circle.

A few minutes later, Camille’s résumé was already open on my screen.

Four years of fabricated work history, a paper trail as spotless as fresh snow. Degrees that belonged to women who didn’t even know I’d borrowed their identities. A list of references that could answer any question without hesitation… because they were me.

I slid a USB drive from the false bottom of my desk drawer. Every forged certificate, every polished recommendation letter, every proof of Camille’s existence lived here. This wasn’t the first time she’d walked into a lion’s den, and it wouldn’t be the last.

As I clicked “Apply,” my reflection stared back from the darkened corner of the laptop screen. For a second, I caught sight of the girl I used to be, the girl who’d screamed for her brother’s life while monsters laughed. I shut the thought down, hard. This wasn’t about who I used to be. This was about the last name on my wall.

When the confirmation email appeared, I closed the laptop, the sound of the lid snapping shut ringing like a gunshot in the quiet.

Roberto Moretti wouldn’t know it yet, but the countdown had started.

I spent the rest of the day in quiet motion.

Cleaning the apartment until the scent of lemon polish filled the air. Feeding shadow his second meal, he purred, rubbing his head against my palm as though he knew I’d done something dangerous last night. I tried to read, but the words blurred. I tried to nap, but the ceiling fan’s slow spin kept counting down the hours I didn’t want to think about.

By the time the sun dipped low, painting the city in amber light, I couldn’t sit still anymore. I traded my loose shirt for a black dress, pulled a coat over it, and slipped an umbrella into my bag. I didn’t need to check the forecast, I could smell the rain in the air.

The columbarium sat at the edge of the city, quiet, almost forgotten. The marble walls reflected the dim yellow of the path lamps, each niche holding a name, a set of dates, and a story no one was left to tell.

I found them easily.

My father. My mother. My little brother, Matteo.

I pressed my fingers against the cool stone, tracing the etched letters as though they could feel me. “I’m close,” I whispered. My voice cracked, but I kept speaking. “It’s almost over. Just one more name.”

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and heavy.

The first raindrop hit my cheek as I bent to place fresh white lilies in front of their plaques. By the time I stepped back, the sky had opened. Water ran down my coat, clung to my hair. I didn’t move. I wanted the rain to wash away the taste of blood from last night, the sound of that man begging. But it didn’t.

I stayed until the lilies were soaked, until my skin went cold, allowing the rain to cover the tears strolling down my face. Only when lightning split the sky above me did I turn to leave, my heels clicking against the wet pavement.

As I walked away, the world felt heavier, not from the rain, but from the truth that no matter what came next, they died so I could live and I couldn’t bring them back.

But I will make sure Roberto Moretti joins them.