Chapter 1 - The Roses He Ordered DestroyedThe roses arrived before I did.
By the time I stepped through the revolving glass doors of Greco Tower that freezing Monday morning, everyone in the lobby had already seen them.
Three dozen red roses stood in a massive crystal vase beside the reception desk.
Black silk ribbon wrapped around the stems.
Tiny droplets of melted snow still clung to the petals.
And in the center sat a cream-colored envelope bearing one word in elegant black handwriting.
Julia.
My name.
I stopped walking.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
Greco Tower was not the kind of building where people sent flowers casually.
Everything in Lorenzo Greco's world had a purpose.
Every visitor was checked.
Every package was inspected.
Every employee's movements were monitored.
The man who owned the tower didn't tolerate surprises.
Especially not romantic ones.
"Don't just stand there."
Kiara appeared beside me with a coffee in each hand and an expression that suggested she had been waiting for my reaction.
She handed me mine.
"Good morning."
I looked at the roses again.
"Who sent those?"
She smiled.
"If I knew, I'd have already interrogated the florist."
"I didn't order them."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Because you don't buy yourself flowers."
"I could."
"You buy yourself coffee and emergency chocolate."
"That's different."
"Exactly."
I sighed.
Working for Lorenzo Greco had taught me many things.
How to identify a suspicious contract.
How to recognize when a shipment manifest had been altered.
How to tell when a politician was lying.
How to keep a meeting moving when three powerful men wanted to kill each other over a percentage point.
But it had never taught me what to do when thirty-six roses appeared with my name on them.
I reached toward the card.
Before my fingers touched the envelope, the intercom on the reception desk buzzed.
"Julia."
My spine straightened.
I knew that voice.
Lorenzo never shouted.
He never needed to.
His quiet voice had made men twice his age reconsider decisions they had already made.
"Yes, Mr. Greco?"
"The Santoro contract."
"I have it."
"Bring it."
The line went dead.
Kiara lifted an eyebrow.
"That sounded romantic."
"He wants a contract."
"Same thing, coming from him."
I gave her a look.
She laughed.
"Go."
I picked up the folder.
Then I glanced once more at the roses.
"I'll deal with those later."
"You'd better."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, someone else will."
I didn't understand what she meant until an hour later.
At the time, I simply walked toward the private elevator.
The doors opened immediately.
That was another privilege of being Lorenzo's executive assistant.
Or perhaps another form of surveillance.
I stepped inside and pressed the button for the sixty-second floor.
As the elevator climbed, I watched my reflection in the mirrored walls.
Dark hair pulled into a neat bun.
Black pencil skirt.
Cream blouse.
Simple gold earrings.
Nothing remarkable.
I had never considered myself remarkable.
I was simply good at my job.
Very good, according to Lorenzo.
That mattered to me more than I wanted to admit.
For three years, I had worked beside the most feared man in Manhattan.
Officially, Lorenzo Greco was a businessman.
He owned shipping companies, restaurants, luxury hotels, construction firms, private security companies, and enough real estate to make entire neighborhoods disappear beneath his name.
Unofficially, everyone knew the truth.
Lorenzo Greco controlled one of the largest criminal organizations on the East Coast.
Politicians returned his calls.
Judges accepted his invitations.
Businessmen paid attention when he entered a room.
Men who hated him still respected him.
Men who betrayed him rarely got a second chance.
Yet I had never seen him lose control.
Not until the flowers.
The elevator doors opened.
I walked into the executive floor.
The receptionist outside Lorenzo's office stood immediately.
"He's waiting."
"Of course he is."
I knocked once.
"Come in."
Lorenzo stood behind his desk.
His back was toward me.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan looked frozen beneath a gray winter sky.
Snow moved between the buildings like ash.
He wore a black suit with a white shirt and no tie.
His dark hair was perfectly combed.
His sleeves were rolled slightly above his wrists.
I had seen him dressed like that thousands of times.
Yet something about him seemed different that morning.
Or perhaps I was simply distracted.
"Good morning."
He turned.
His eyes found mine.
Then, without greeting me, he said, "The Santoro contract."
I placed it on his desk.
"Everything is finalized except the customs clause."
His eyebrows lifted.
"Explain."
"The shipment from Rotterdam will be delayed if Santoro insists on using their current broker."
"Why?"
"The broker is under investigation."
"I know."
I blinked.
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I wanted to see if you knew."
I stared at him.
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"You passed."
"Thank you."
He opened the contract.
For the next twenty minutes, we discussed shipping routes, insurance liabilities, customs officials, and the possibility that one of Santoro's executives was deliberately creating delays.
This was normal.
This was why Lorenzo trusted me.
I remembered everything.
Every name.
Every deadline.
Every detail.
I knew which politicians could be trusted and which ones needed to be paid.
I knew which restaurant managers were stealing.
I knew which employees had family emergencies and which ones were inventing them.
I knew how Lorenzo took his coffee.
Black.
No sugar.
No cream.
I knew he hated roses.
Or at least, I thought he did.
He closed the folder.
Then his gaze shifted toward me.
"The flowers."
My stomach tightened.
"What about them?"
"Who sent them?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't ask?"
"I was planning to."
"When?"
"After I finished your contract."
"Why?"
"Because the contract seemed more important."
His eyes remained on mine.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
"You're expecting someone?"
"No."
"A man?"
I almost laughed.
"Excuse me?"
"Whoever sent the flowers."
"I don't know who sent them."
"Do you have any idea?"
"No."
His jaw tightened.
It was subtle.
So subtle that most people wouldn't notice.
I did.
I had spent three years studying Lorenzo Greco's expressions.
He was jealous.
The realization shocked me.
Then I immediately rejected it.
That was ridiculous.
He was my employer.
I was his assistant.
Nothing more.
He stood.
"Claudio."
The office door opened almost instantly.
His security chief entered.
"Yes?"
"Remove the flowers from the building."
My mouth fell open.
"Excuse me?"
Lorenzo looked at me.
"You heard me."
"They're mine."
"I know."
"Then why are you throwing them away?"
"Because I don't know who sent them."
"That isn't your decision."
His eyes hardened.
"In this building, it is."
I stared at him.
Something inside me snapped.
For three years, I had obeyed Lorenzo Greco without question.
I had followed orders during emergencies.
I had stayed late.
I had canceled vacations.
I had answered calls at three in the morning.
I had defended his schedule against billionaires, politicians, and criminals.
But this?
No.
"With respect," I said, "if those flowers leave this building, that decision belongs to me—not you."
Silence.
Claudio looked between us.
Lorenzo's expression changed.
Not anger.
Something more dangerous.
Jealousy.
Possession.
Fear.
I wasn't sure which.
Then his gaze moved toward the lobby through the glass wall.
"Claudio."
"Yes?"
"Take them."
Claudio hesitated.
"Sir..."
"I said take them."
I stepped forward.
"Lorenzo."
His eyes snapped back to mine.
It was the first time I had ever called him by his first name while disagreeing with him.
He noticed.
His expression darkened.
"Julia."
"Those flowers were sent to me."
"And?"
"And you don't get to decide who sends me gifts."
Something flashed across his face.
Pain.
Then it disappeared.
"Fine."
He stepped away from the desk.
"Keep them."
I exhaled.
"Thank you."
"But don't open the card."
My brow furrowed.
"Why?"
"I don't trust whoever sent it."
"Neither do I."
His gaze held mine.
"That's not what I meant."
Before I could ask what he meant, his phone rang.
He turned away.
The conversation ended thirty seconds later.
When I returned downstairs, the flowers were still there.
Kiara was waiting.
"Well?"
"He said I could keep them."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"That might be the closest thing to a marriage proposal I've ever heard from Lorenzo Greco."
"You're impossible."
"Open the card."
I stared at it.
Then I reached for the envelope.
The paper was thick.
Expensive.
No return address.
I slid my finger beneath the seal.
The envelope opened.
Inside was a single card.
I unfolded it.
The message was only one sentence.
For the woman who makes every day brighter.
No name.
No signature.
Nothing else.
My skin prickled.
"That's creepy," Kiara whispered.
I nodded.
"Very."
She leaned closer.
"Who knows you're working here?"
"Everyone."
"Who knows you're close to him?"
"I'm not close to him."
Kiara gave me a look.
"You spend more waking hours with Lorenzo Greco than you do with your own family."
"That's because he pays me."
"That isn't what I meant."
I ignored her.
The rest of the afternoon passed strangely.
Lorenzo called me into his office three times.
The first time was about a schedule I had already finalized.
The second was about a report he had already approved.
The third time, he simply looked at me.
"Why are you still wearing the same perfume?"
I blinked.
"What?"
He seemed almost surprised that he had said it aloud.
"Nothing."
Then he dismissed me.
By five-thirty, I was exhausted.
I returned to my desk.
Claudio appeared beside me.
"Mr. Greco wants the flowers removed."
I looked up.
"He changed his mind?"
"No."
"Then why did he tell me I could keep them?"
Claudio's expression remained unreadable.
"Because you argued with him."
I sighed.
"Apparently that's becoming a habit."
"Don't make it one."
Before I could answer, the private elevator opened.
Lorenzo stepped out.
Everyone in the lobby went silent.
He walked directly toward the roses.
I stood.
"Lorenzo."
He ignored me.
"Throw them out."
The guard reached for the vase.
I stepped in front of it.
"Don't."
The guard froze.
Lorenzo stopped.
Our eyes met.
"You gave me permission to keep them."
"I changed my mind."
"That's not how permission works."
His jaw tightened.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
He looked at the card.
His face changed.
"Don't touch it."
I had already reached for the envelope.
My fingers closed around the card.
Lorenzo crossed the space between us in two strides.
"Julia."
I looked down.
Something had been slipped beneath the card.
A second piece of paper.
Smaller.
Hidden inside the fold.
I pulled it free.
There were only seven words.
Ask Lorenzo what happened twenty years ago.
My heart stopped.
I looked up.
Lorenzo had gone completely pale.
He stared at the message as though it were a loaded gun.
Then his eyes moved toward the security cameras.
"Seal the lobby."
Claudio immediately reached for his radio.
Lorenzo looked at me.
"Nobody leaves this building."
"Why?"
His voice dropped.
"Because whoever sent those roses knows a secret that should have died twenty years ago."
May you like
Then the lights went out.
And somewhere inside Greco Tower, a gunshot exploded through the darkness.
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