DAY TWO
Isabella's heels echoed in the quiet hallway. She dropped some files on Elizabeth's desk, scribbled a quick note on a post-it and pressed it onto the file.
"Good morning, Ma'am," a janitor greeted, wiping down the hallway bench.
She turned, offered a polite smile and a nod of acknowledgement, and walked back into her office. Or rather, former office. She'd chosen Sunday for a reason: fewer eyes, fewer whispers. Quietness.
She stood at the middle of the office and glanced around, a sigh leaving her lips. There were a few open boxes stacked nearby, containing her personal belongings and a couple files. The disorganization gave her a headache, or maybe it was just her brain and body protesting against how hard she was pushing them.
After the coup-dinner on Friday, she'd spent the remnant of the night bringing María up-to-date and packing her belongings. She'd tried not to think about Mateo's video or *his* absence. And then she spent the next day moving back into her Condo, deep-cleaning, scouring the internet and drafting up statements.
And today...
She flopped into the chair behind the desk, leaned her head back and shut her eyes.
*It stings. This is so unfair.*
She stood and walked over to the window overlooking the park area. Xander was leaned on the bonnet of her car, smoking and texting on his phone.
Her eyes skidded to her phone on the desk. The screen was dark.
*Is he talking to him?*
The little conversation she had with Xander the previous day, when he drove her to her Condo, looped in her mind:
*"WHERE IS YOUR BOSS-FRIEND? HOW DOES ONE UP AND LEAVE WITHOUT TELLING EVEN HIS OWN SISTER WHERE HE'S OFF TO?"
"MARÍA KNOWS HE'S HANDLING AN URGENT BUSINESS MATTER RIGHT NOW. I'LL BE IN CHARGE OF YOUR SAFETY ONWARD. LET'S HAVE FUN WHILE AT IT, SHALL WE?"
"WHEN IS HE COMING BACK?"
"NO IDEA, REALLY. IT'S SORTA.. UHM COMPLICATED."
"DID HE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MATEO'S VIDEO? WHO HIRED HIM, MAYBE?"
"UHM. I'M HANDLING THAT TOO. THERE'RE REASONS TO BELIEVE THAT SOMEONE DID INDEED HIRE WADE AND DUARTE, BUT WE DON'T KNOW MUCH, SO WE CAN'T BE TOO SURE. I'M KEEPING AN EYE ON THEM FOR NOW. REST ASSURED."
"HE HANDED EVERYTHING OVER TO YOU...JUST LIKE THAT?"
"UHM...THE BUSINESS MATTER IS QUITE IMPORTANT AND... URGENT?"
"IMPORTANT...I SEE. I PREFER YOU ANYWAY, YOU'RE MORE...FUN."*
She turned away from the window, rubbing the space between her eyes. A throat cleared quietly and Isabella's eyes snapped toward the office door.
"I had a feeling you'd choose to do this today. I was right."
Isabella wasn't sure if she wanted company, hers or anyone's for that matter, especially after that dinner.
"Elizabeth, you didn't need to come in today. What are you doing here?"
Elizabeth walked toward her, arm extended, a brown envelope pinched between her fingers. "To hand this over."
Isabella stared skeptically at it, one eyebrow raised. Elizabeth gestured for her to take it and she did. She Unsealed the envelope and pulled out a file.
It read: Montez Development Initiative — Hotel Catalis Project.
Isabella frowned. *The hotel project file?*
"Why are you the one handing this to me? This isn't even in your job description anymore. Shouldn't you be off briefing *Octopus* or something?"
Elizabeth chuckled at the nickname they'd coined together. She stepped closer. "I applied for a reassignment as Junior Project Manager under your unit the moment I learned you were being transferred. Got the approval yesterday." Isabella's eyes widened. "Knowing you'd want to kick things off immediately, I got in touch with the construction and development division to collect the file."
She met Isabella's shocked eyes and held them. "I'm not letting them eat you alive alone."
Isabella stared at her, eyes wide, unblinking. Elizabeth sighed. "I'm sorry about Friday. I couldn't do anything as—"
"I—I know." Isabella cleared her throat. "I know there was nothing you could do. You're an employee, you can't possible say no to the CEO, can you? Everything was just too raw for me to process then."
Isabella sat on the edge of the desk and stared down at the file, her mind whirling. She lifted her eyes to Elizabeth after a few seconds.
"You don't need to do this," she started, brows furrowed in concern. "You do realize this new role pays less than what you were earning as my assistant, right — it should at least be 20-40% pay cut, not to mention the bonuses and privileges attached to being an executive PA."
Elizabeth just chuckled. "Were you just making the estimates in your head?"
"Lizzy," Isabella muttered, the file forgotten in her hands. "Think. This might seem like promotion on paper — Management vs Assistant — but we both know, it's a formal demotion in hierarchy."
"You seem to be forgetting how I got here," Elizabeth pointed out.
"Lizzy, that's not—"
Elizabeth interrupted, her voice quiet but firm. "I was just another salesgirl on the floor of the fashion division when you found me. Folding clothes. Dodging creeps. Invisible to the people who signed my paycheck." She met Isabella's gaze, unwavering. "And then you took over that department. And you saw me."
"You're good at—"
"With all due respect, Señorita Montez, let me speak," Elizabeth scolded gently, and Isabella pressed her lips together.
Elizabeth continued. "You pulled me in. Gave me my first desk job. Then the next. And the next. Every time you climbed, you reached back and dragged me up with you. Assistant merchandiser. Marketing liaison. Then your personal assistant. Then executive PA to the Executive Director of Strategy and Development— you."
She gave Isabella a small smile. Earnest. "I've never forgotten that. So no, this isn't sacrifice. This is me pulling you back. You'll need someone who isn't just loyal but hella competent, and knows exactly how you work."
Isabella swallowed the lump around her throat. "Still, Lizzy. I'm rich, you're not. A deduction in salary is nothing to me, but it would hurt you more than you're letting on."
"You could just pay me bonuses, then," Elizabeth countered. "What? You've done it before. Besides, I love working with you. And *you know* I can't handle working under Octopus."
Isabella shook her head. "After that dinner... I didn't expect anyone to still stand beside me."
"I will. If you'll let me," Elizabeth said. "I saw exactly what they were trying to do." She smiled, unbothered. "But then, we'll bite back. And maybe kick a few teeth in while we're at it."
Isabella's eyes bored into hers. "This is going to be hard, you know that, right."
Elizabeth nodded in understanding. "I know. But we make a power team, I'm sure we'll figure this out. *Together.*"
Isabella smiled at her. *Guess I'm not as alone as I thought. He might not be here, but Lizzy and Mar are. They're enough. They were before he showed up.*
"Okay," Elizabeth clapped. "Now we've got that out of the way, let's get back to packing."
"I'm almost done," Isabella said, pushing off the desk. "Just a few figurines to place in the box."
Elizabeth glanced around and frowned. "You're leaving the rest? Even the vinyl rug?! That was OUR first splurge!"
"He can get rid of them if he so wishes. If we need them, we can just buy another one...also, we're going to construction — don't think fluffy is allowed there," Isabella's voice carried a ting of worry.
Elizabeth hummed, already making for the door. "Skim through the file then, while I clear out my desk."
Isabella skimmed the section containing the personal information on the hotel project's owner.
"Mr. H.D?" She read out loud, brows furrowed, then followed behind Elizabeth and leaned on her desk. "Mr. H.D, you know who that is?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No one does. I just know he doesn't do public anything. Even communication is hell."
"Sounds like real work."
"Tell me about it." Elizabeth glanced at Isabella, who was eyeing her phone. Elizabeth frowned. "Expecting a call?"
Isabella's eyes lifted to her. "What?"
Elizabeth pointed at Isabella's phone. "You have been checking your phone a lot since I walked in."
Isabella blinked. "Oh. I was?" She glanced down again, sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm expecting the internet to erupt again."
*You know exactly why you're doing that. When did you get so used to him? When did silence from him start feeling like something missing instead of something normal? Like abandonment?*
Elizabeth gave her a concerned look. "You've been silent about the scandal. I was worried. That guys video's still trending, you should watch out for the press."
"I don't know what exactly is going on, but if they ask, I have a speech ready."
Elizabeth watched with admiring eyes as Isabella pushed off her desk.
"Let's drop these off at our new office and get to work," Isabella said. "I want to have a pitch ready by tomorrow.
She didn't realize she'd checked her phone again until Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
Still nothing. Still silence.
*******
Dawn was still bleeding into the sky when Harry's phone pinged. He snatched it off the dashboard of the old truck he was sat in, parked outside an old warehouse. Waiting.
5:00 a.m, the screen read.
He hadn't slept. Not really. Not since landing. He Opened his message app. Her text blinked at him again.
Last night, after their conversation about Don Marquez, Xander had told him he was driving her to the office today. Back to work. Already He suspected it was her way of getting Mateo's video out of her head.
*Why else would she return with six months of leave still left on the table?*
The Montez girl would be halfway through her workday by now — probably in some spotless office, surrounded by people who didn't know a thing about blood.
People who could reach her. He could too. He just...didn't.
When he'd asked for Mateo stakeout updates, Xander had answered. Then, with something like an accusation in his voice said:
"She's fighting. Quietly. Thought you'd want to know. And call her. Text her. Anything. Just do something, Man."
Harry scoffed now. *What would I even say? Hey, sorry, I vanished. I'm waist-deep in bodies and betrayal. Hope your first day at office goes well.*
He shook his head, as if that would rid it of the thoughts. Then tapped open Atlas latest texts.
Atlas: Shipment location confirmed. Currently planting the fake cue on you for Vlad to find. Call you later.
*Knew she could crack it.*
Harry Boy: Copy that. Rallying the crew. Talk to you by 0120.
With a smirk, he got out of the truck and strolled to the old warehouse. Pushing open the big, creaking metal door, the voices fought over each other.
The air inside the warehouse was a cocktail of cigarette smoke, sweat and machine oil. They'd dragged in foldable chairs and cracked plastic crates. The long-abandoned mechanic's table at the center had become a war desk — maps, scribbled notes, burner phones and a half-eaten pack of Oreos fighting for space.
One man sat cross-legged on the cold concrete, shirt off, tattoos like battle flags carved into his back, sharpening a blade with unhurried strokes. Another lay on an upturned crate with his feet dangling, eating sunflower seeds and flicking the shells with sniper precision toward a rusted coffee tin.
"Say 'Cece' one more time and I'm putting a bullet in something you love," grunted one of the men sat around fire, arms crossed and eyes glaring at the man across from him.
"Cece," the other man drawled, legs stretched and a cigarette tucked behind his ear, grinning. "What? Thought you liked poetry."
There was a rumble of low laughter from all around, the kind that didn't quite reach the eyes. Tired. Cautious. But still there.
"Man's got his pants twisted over a woman," the second man added, earning himself another bout of laughter.
Harry walked in, boots echoing with the same weight as his silence. The men straightened without standing. Respect, not fear. They'd bleed for him, but they didn't kneel. That's why he picked them.
"Location's confirmed," he said. "The fake out team moves in four."
A flicker of energy passed through the room. Quiet nods. Weapons tucked into holsters. Someone cracked their neck. Another clicked off safety. Men stood, reaching for their gears. Organized chaos.
"Tonight," Harry continued. "Once the fake out team draws the men away from the location, we hit it before Vlad even suspects."
No one cheered. No high-fives. Just a shift in posture — boots planting firmer, shoulders squaring like soldiers called home. The kind of silence that meant good. That meant finally.
Harry's fingers tightened around his device. *I'll finish this. Then… I go back.*
The plan was hasty — one wrong move away from burying him — but he needed to get back to Barcelona.