When I accidentally called the mafia boss “darling” in his office, all four guards in the corridor fell silent at once

The moment the door of Dante Russo’s office locked itself, I realized that my escape from my past was over. I immediately saw Dante’s hands — both were placed on the desk, as though he were apologizing for my fear with his own body.

“Open the door,” I said.

“I already opened it.”

The lock really did open, but I still could not move. Four armed men stood in the corridor. The shortest of them held a silver radio, whose green light was flashing nervously.

“That man is still in your eyes,” Dante said.

My stomach clenched.

“My past is none of your business.”

“You’re right.”

“Then don’t ask me.”

“I won’t ask. I’ll simply tell you that if someone comes against you, I will close the door to him, but I will always leave it open for you.”

Those words frightened me more than the locked door. Safety always came with one condition. First the door was locked, and then I was told that all of this was happening for my protection.

Four months earlier, Marcus Hale had told me the same thing when he had clasped his fingers around my wrist.

“You won’t run away until we finish talking.”

It was raining then too. I was also wearing a cheap watch on my left wrist, with a small metal fish hanging from its leather strap. My father had given it to me in childhood and told me that the fish meant swimming against the current. On the night of my escape, the strap tore, but I kept the fish. Since then, I had carried it in my pocket.

Dante glanced at my fingers.

“You still wear it?”

“What?”

“That little fish.”

My heart stopped.

“Are you watching my belongings?”

“No. You took it out yourself when you got scared.”

I looked into my hand. I had not noticed when I had clenched the little piece of metal.

Dante added quietly:

“You don’t know me, Sophie. That is good. But I promise you one thing: you will not be obliged to stay with me.”

“And why do you want me to stay?”

He made me wait several seconds before answering.

“Because I heard your name twice today. Once from a restaurant employee and a second time from a man who does not usually call my people.”

A cold shiver ran up my neck.

“Who called you?”

This time Dante looked away.

“They found a camera in your room.”

My breath caught.

“What did you say?”

“Not in my office. In your apartment.”

A short rasp came from the radio in the corridor. All four guards straightened at once.

Dante opened the desk drawer and reached for the black folder placed inside. His fingers moved exactly toward the small lock, which I still did not dare to open…

Dante placed the folder in front of me, but did not open it immediately. Outside, the city noise was muffled, as though all of Manhattan had held its breath.

“You decide first,” he told me.

“What?”

“Do you want to see who was watching you?”

“If you know who it is, why are you asking me?”

“Because sometimes the truth leaves no door on the other side.”

His voice was calm, but I gripped the little metal fish in my hand so tightly that its edge sank into my skin.

“Open it.”

Dante took hold of the lock. At that exact moment, his phone lit up. Only one word appeared on the screen: “North.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“A person who calls me with bad news when it is already too late.”

He answered.

“Speak.”

Several words came from the other side. Dante’s face immediately hardened.

“Close all the bridges,” he said. “Send their names to the airports. And do not let anyone leave this building.”

He ended the call.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked.

For the first time, Dante looked at me as though he needed not an answer from me, but permission.

“Marcus Hale.”

The folder’s lock opened.

Beneath the very first page, my real surname was written.

But the most frightening thing was that Dante said to me quietly:

“You did not make this record yourself…”

Dante took a small memory device from the folder and connected it to the computer on the desk. My old apartment’s living room appeared on the screen. On the wooden floor lay the brown bag with which I had fled the hospital.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“In one of Marcus’s warehouses.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Because my people found it there.”

The recording began.

Marcus was standing in the room. My old street could be seen through the window behind him. His voice was clearly audible.

“The girl must disappear from the city,” he was saying. “If she tells the police anything, we must find the recording.”

The second man asked:

“And if we do not find it?”

Marcus chuckled.

“Then we will convince Sophie that he is still the person she should return to.”

I gripped the chair because the strength left my legs.

“This… this is his voice.”

“Yes,” Dante said.

In the recording, Marcus placed a file on the desk. The camera filmed his hand up close, with a gold-colored watch on his wrist.

“The story about her fall in the hospital is already prepared,” he continued. “If necessary, everyone will say that she is unstable.”

I could hear the sound of blood in my ears.

“When did you find this?”

“Three days ago.”

“And you did not tell me immediately?”

Dante lowered his head.

“I wanted you to be protected first.”

“No. You wanted me to live by your rules.”

Pain passed across his face, but he did not argue with me.

“Both may be true.”

The recording continued. Marcus picked up the phone.

“If she goes to Dante Russo, she will die with him,” he said. “We will be outside the building this morning.”

Silence fell over the room.

Then Dante’s phone rang. He answered, listened, and lost color.

“What happened?” I asked.

He turned the screen toward me.

The message contained a photograph of my childhood home. Beneath it was written: “Do not forget to bring Sophie alone.”

Dante closed the folder.

“Now I must ask you to stay here.”

“And if I don’t stay?”

“Then the whole city will turn into a search for you.”

I went to the window. Far away, against the gray morning sky, the red lights of police cars came on.

Dante said quietly:

“But Marcus does not yet know that his words have gone out live…”