CHAPTER THREE

The Warning

Amara didn't go home.

She thought about it.

For exactly three minutes.

Then she looked at the salary on her employment contract and decided she wasn't about to throw away the best opportunity she'd had in months because her boss knew her father's name.

She had bills.

Real ones.

Not the kind rich people complained about over dinner.

Her mother's medical bills.

Rent.

School fees.

And a debt she had been pretending wasn't getting worse.

So she stayed.

By six thirty, most of the office had emptied.

Amara was still at her desk, staring at a spreadsheet that had begun to blur together.

She rubbed her eyes.

“You're still here.”

She looked up.

Elena stood beside her.

“Apparently.”

“You were supposed to leave at five.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Amara pointed toward the screen.

“Because this isn't going to finish itself.”

Elena smiled.

“You're going to fit in perfectly.”

“I thought you said working here was dangerous.”

“It is.”

“Then why does everyone act like I'm lucky?”

“Because you are.”

Amara frowned.

Elena pulled a chair closer.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“Alessia doesn't usually hire people personally.”

Amara's fingers stopped moving.

“What?”

“She has a recruitment department.”

“I know.”

“But she interviewed you herself.”

“I thought that was normal.”

“It isn't.”

Amara looked at her.

“Why?”

Elena hesitated.

“I don't know.”

“That doesn't sound convincing.”

“It isn't.”

Amara leaned closer.

“Tell me.”

Elena glanced toward the hallway.

“You really don't know when to stop, do you?”

“No.”

Elena sighed.

“Fine.”

She lowered her voice.

“Six years ago, something happened involving your family.”

Amara's stomach tightened.

“What?”

“I don't know.”

“But you just said—”

“I said something happened. I didn't say I know what.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because Alessia has an old file.”

“About my family?”

“Yes.”

Amara stared at her.

“Where?”

“In her private archive.”

“Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it exists?”

Elena stood.

“Forget I said anything.”

“Elena.”

“Amara.”

“What happened six years ago?”

Elena looked at her.

“Ask Alessia.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She refused to answer.”

“Then leave it alone.”

Amara laughed bitterly.

“That's your advice?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because curiosity is expensive in this building.”

Before Amara could answer, Elena walked away.

Amara watched her disappear.

Then she looked toward Alessia's office.

The lights were still on.

She shouldn't go in.

She knew that.

She also knew she probably would.

---

The office door was slightly open.

Amara knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

She pushed the door open.

Alessia wasn't there.

Amara stepped inside.

The room was dark except for the city lights shining through the windows.

She walked toward the desk.

She wasn't searching.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She simply wanted answers.

Her eyes moved across the desk.

A laptop.

A glass of untouched water.

Several folders.

Then she noticed something.

A photograph.

It was lying half-hidden beneath a folder.

Amara reached for it.

She froze.

Her father.

She knew him immediately.

Six years younger.

Standing beside another man.

A much younger Alessia stood behind them.

Amara's breathing stopped.

She turned the photograph over.

There was a date written on the back.

September 14, 2020.

Her father's handwriting.

She knew it.

She had seen it on old birthday cards.

Her hands began to shake.

“What the hell?”

“Put it down.”

Amara nearly dropped the photograph.

She spun around.

Alessia stood in the doorway.

Her expression was terrifyingly calm.

Amara held up the photograph.

“You knew my father.”

Alessia closed the door behind her.

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You didn't ask.”

“I did ask!”

“Not this.”

Amara stared at her.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn't lie.”

“You hid it.”

“Yes.”

“At least you're admitting it.”

Alessia walked toward her.

“Give me the photograph.”

“No.”

“Amara.”

“No.”

She stepped backward.

“Tell me what happened.”

“You're not ready.”

“Stop deciding what I'm ready for.”

Alessia's jaw tightened.

“You don't understand what you're asking.”

“Then explain it.”

“I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Both.”

Amara laughed without humor.

“Of course.”

She placed the photograph on the desk.

“You hired me because of him.”

Alessia didn't answer.

“That means yes.”

“It means you don't know enough to draw that conclusion.”

“Then tell me enough.”

Alessia looked at the photograph.

For the first time, something vulnerable crossed her face.

It disappeared almost immediately.

“Your father wasn't the man you thought he was.”

Amara's heart sank.

“Don't.”

“Amara—”

“Don't talk about him like that.”

“He made choices.”

“So did you.”

“Yes.”

The quietness of the answer stunned her.

Amara stared at her.

“What choices?”

Alessia walked to the window.

“The kind that have consequences.”

“What did he do?”

“He trusted the wrong person.”

“Who?”

Alessia turned.

“Me.”

Silence.

Amara felt as though the floor had shifted beneath her.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do to him?”

Alessia's expression hardened.

“Nothing.”

“Then why did he die?”

“I didn't kill your father.”

“I didn't say you did.”

“But you thought it.”

Amara's eyes filled with tears.

“Then what happened?”

Alessia looked away.

“I can't tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because if I tell you everything now, you will hate me.”

Amara swallowed.

“Maybe I should.”

Alessia looked back at her.

“Maybe.”

Something about the way she said it hurt more than Amara expected.

She grabbed her bag.

“I'm leaving.”

Alessia didn't stop her.

At the door, Amara paused.

“Did you ever know my father well?”

Alessia's eyes softened.

“Yes.”

“How well?”

A long silence.

“Enough to know he loved you.”

Amara looked down.

Tears finally slipped down her cheeks.

“And did he love my mother?”

“Yes.”

“Did he love me?”

Alessia's voice was barely above a whisper.

“More than anything.”

Amara wiped her face quickly.

“Then why do I feel like everyone knows something about my family except me?”

Alessia didn't answer.

Amara left.

The door closed.

Alessia remained standing in the middle of the room.

Her eyes returned to the photograph.

She picked it up.

For a moment, she looked at the younger version of herself beside Daniel Quinn.

Then she whispered,

“I should have left you alone.”

Her phone rang.

She answered without looking at the screen.

“What?”

Matteo's voice was tense.

“She's asking questions.”

“I know.”

“You need to stop this.”

Alessia closed her eyes.

“I can't.”

“Why?”

She looked toward the door Amara had just walked through.

“Because she's already becoming the one thing I can't control.”

Matteo went silent.

Then he said something that made Alessia's expression change.

“Someone else knows she's here.”

Alessia's eyes opened.

“Who?”

“We don't know yet.”

“Find out.”

“And if it's who we think it is?”

Alessia's voice became cold.

“Then they won't get anywhere near her.”

“Alessia—”

“Anyone who touches Amara answers to me.”

She ended the call.

Outside the office, the elevator doors opened.

Amara stepped inside.

She didn't notice the woman standing at the opposite end of the lobby.

The woman watched her leave.

Then she pulled out her phone.

“She works for Alessia now.”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“No. Alessia doesn't know I'm here.”

The woman smiled.

“Not yet.”