Game of Truth.(chapt.12)

Alessia's POV

The glass doors of Romanov Industries slid open with a whisper, and I stepped inside as if I belonged. As if my mind wasn't unraveling thread by thread. The marble beneath my feet gleamed like it had no idea the world could fracture overnight, that a ghost from the past could slip into the present and stain it with questions.

I clothed my armor nicely—power suit sharp, heels firm, face expressionless. But inside, I was disintegrating.

The ascent in the elevator had been quiet, save for the soft thrum of machinery and the muffled boom of my heart within my ribcage. My reflection in the mirrored walls was sleek, poised. But I wasn't. Last night's revelations hadn't rattled me just—had uncovered cracks deep into the center of everything that I'd thought I'd known. Matteo. Elena. Nikolai.

I arrived at the boardroom a few minutes early, catching the eye of the men already seated. A few nodded in polite greeting, some smiled warmly. Daniel smiled encouragingly from his position halfway down the table. I nodded once, crisp and professional, before taking mine.

The meeting was in session.

Numbers swirled on the screen—projections, slumps, trends. Phrases like market penetration and profit margin floated in the air like specters with the skeletons of graphs. I memorized them all, but my thoughts went beneath the surface, weighing not just data—but motives.

Finally, I pushed forward and talked. "We've been safe," I declared, gaze moving slowly around the board members. "But safety isn't what the market gives you. No longer. What it gives is boldness, visibility, relevance."

There was silence. Silence that needed listening.

"I want a complete marketing overhaul. A complete brand revitalization for our new product. Social media campaigns, influencer outreach, strategic partnerships—substantial content, not just flashy ads. And we're going to need a product roll-out. Something that shouts innovation and consumer trust. Something real."

The room shifted. Whispers. A muted hum of interest.

One of the older board members raised an eyebrow. "That's… quite an initiative."

Yes, "I said, my voice even. "But needed. We've ridden on autopilot long enough. Let's remind the market why Romanov is in charge."

There was a moment of silence.

Then Daniel smiled faintly, the kind that gave away pride despite himself. "I agree."

The others nodded. Slowly, but resolutely. One by one.

I eased back. Facade intact. Pulse normal. But underneath. I was holding the fragments together by sheer willpower.

Hours ticked by, and I sat in my office, the late morning sun spreading across the shining desk. I sat for a moment, staring at my phone, then reached out and made the call.

He answered on the third ring.

"Miss De Luca," the voice was gruff but full of life. "Been a while."

"Too long," I whispered. "Can you be here in thirty?"

"I'm already on your floor. Was here to meet a friend. Saves me the fuel. Knock knock.”

I looked up just as the knock came.

Of course he was.

I let him in.

Vincent Moreau. Private eye. The best of his kind , untrackable, and far too good at uncovering stuff people'd rather not have uncovered. We'd worked together years earlier on a corporate spying scandal. He hadn't changed much—going gray at the temples, leather jacket still looking as if it'd spent too many hours in the shadows.

"Still playing both sides of the chessboard, I see," he growled as he sat down.

"And better at it than anyone else," I told him, managing a ghost of a smile.

We didn't have time for pleasantries.

"I need two cases investigated. Now."

He raised an eyebrow. "Proceed."

I pulled out two files and nudged them down the table. "The man in this photograph," I told him, poking the one of Matteo out front of the school.

“Ain’t he your ex?” Vincent asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah yeah, as I was saying, he was declared dead four years ago. He wasn't."

Vincent's eyes ran over the photo. "That's. interesting."

"I need to know where he was. Who he was with. And why he's suddenly alive now and the little boy he always has by his side.”

"And the second?"

I laid Elena's case file—what there was of it. The official account. "My sister," I said, and my voice was almost breaking. "Elena. Her death was an accident. But none of what she did in the days before she disappeared made any sense. I want this case reopened."

He exhaled. "That might be trouble. Word is, Nikolai Volkov himself sealed that file. Quietly, forever."

I edged closer. "Then open it."

"Alessia, it doesn't work that way—"

"I don't care how it works," I snarled. "Just wait."

I picked up my phone again. Made another call. A few names. A few favors in debts. I called in markers I'd kept hidden all these years. Quiet power in whispered words.

When I hung up the phone, I gazed at Vincent. "You'll be getting access by today's end. Legal clearance. I've already routed the papers."

He stared back at me for a moment. "You actually believe Volkov is behind this?"

I paused.

"I don't know," I confessed. "But if my speculation is even halfway accurate. he didn't just help my ex disappear. He orchestrated it. And maybe. perhaps my sister, too."

Vincent said nothing. But something in his eyes shifted. A flicker of understanding. Or maybe warning.

"I'll look into it," he said finally. "But you need to be careful. If Volkov really did bury these things, he's not going to like someone digging them up."

I nodded. "That's why I hired you."

He left a short time later, a shadow melting out into the bright sunlight.

And I was alone again.

I leaned against the window, looking down into the city. My own face in the glass appeared to be drained. Hardened. There was still the mask, but I could see it beginning to break.

What are you playing at, Nikolai?

Why resurrect Matteo now? Why fake his death to begin with?