The city passed in fragments — glass, steel, blur.
Matteo leaned back against the leather seat of the car, eyes locked on the tinted window.
His reflection stared back at him — long hair, sharp features, unreadable.
His phone lit up in his hand.
He unlocked it with a swipe, pressed a number on speed dial, and waited.
One ring. Two.
"Romano."
A voice answered quickly, breath tight.
"I need an update," Matteo said, tone clipped. "Now."
There was a pause on the other end — faint static, then urgency.
"We've confirmed the breach. Internal. It wasn't a leak. Someone inside is feeding them."
Matteo's jaw tensed. "How close?"
"They've got access to the Milan bid, and possibly the Zurich contract. If we don't shut it down—"
"We will," Matteo cut in. "I want names. No rumors. Facts."
"Yes, sir. We're tracking the logins—"
"Too slow."
His voice dropped lower. Colder.
"Pull everyone off everything else. I want this sealed before morning."
"Yes, Don."
The call ended. Matteo didn't put the phone away. He stared at the dark screen a moment longer before leaning forward to adjust his cuffs.
Then slowly, he leaned forward and adjusted his cuffs. The tie was gone — discarded, forgotten… or maybe not.
He exhaled once. Quick. Controlled.
"Faster," he told the driver without looking up.
The car pulled up in front of the Romano Corp tower — a wall of black glass that seemed to pierce the clouds.
Before the driver could fully stop, Matteo opened the door himself and stepped out.
Long coat trailing behind him, his strides were clean, efficient. Calculated.
Security greeted him instantly — subtle nods, quick steps behind him. No words exchanged.
Inside the building, silence reigned.
Staff didn't dare look up. Phones clicked back into cradles. Even the marble floor beneath his shoes seemed to adjust to the weight of his presence.
At the elevator, his assistant was already waiting.
"Mr. Romano," she greeted softly, eyes alert. "They're in the boardroom. Five minutes ago."
"Make them wait five more," he replied, stepping inside.
"Yes, sir."
The elevator rose — smooth, fast, almost soundless. Matteo's reflection followed him in the glass walls. He adjusted his cuffs again, gaze forward, steel in his bones.
The doors opened.
Two guards peeled off, one stayed close.
At the end of the corridor: double oak doors.
Boardroom.
He walked in.
Twelve heads turned. Some flinched. One — an older man near the end — didn't look up at all.
Matteo took the seat at the head of the table.
"Start talking," he said, voice even.
A young executive cleared his throat. "We've traced three unusual accesses to our secure server. Each one used senior-level clearance."
"Who?" Matteo asked without looking at him.
"We believe it's internal, sir. Someone with high-level permissions."
"Belief isn't proof."
His tone didn't rise. It never did. But somehow, the temperature in the room dropped.
The older man at the end finally spoke.
"You're scaring everyone again, Matteo. You think threats fix everything?"
"No," Matteo replied. He finally looked at the man. "But fear keeps the walls from falling."
He leaned forward slightly, hands folded.
"Someone in this room is feeding our competitors," he said calmly. "When I find out who… they'll wish it was just a threat."
Silence followed. Thick. Heavy.
Outside, the city buzzed on — but inside the boardroom, not a soul dared breathe too loud.
The room was too quiet.
Only the subtle hum of the AC filled the space between glances and heartbeats.
Matteo leaned back in the chair — leather, custom-made, untouched by anyone else. His fingertips tapped the armrest once. Then stilled.
"No one leaves this room," he said flatly. "Not until I know who accessed our core system."
A few executives shifted uncomfortably.
An older man, Mr. Vescari — gray-haired, seasoned, and always the first to challenge — raised a brow.
"Matteo, we've worked together for ten years. You really think one of us would sell you out?"
Matteo turned his gaze toward him, cool and unreadable. "I don't think. I verify."
Silence again.
A younger man — nervous, too polished — cleared his throat. "We… we ran the logs. The breach originated from inside the firewall. Someone had to use a clearance code. Level Five or higher."
"And only seven people have that," Matteo said.
His eyes scanned the room slowly. He knew the names. He didn't need to say them.
No one spoke.
A woman across the table — Ms. Harrow — finally broke the tension. "It could've been cloned access, sir. Faked credentials. We've seen that before."
"Then prove it," Matteo said. "Otherwise you all look guilty."
He stood. The chair creaked softly behind him, the only sound in the tension-heavy room.
"I built this company from ash," he said, voice sharp but calm. "I don't tolerate cracks in the foundation. Not even hairline ones."
His eyes found Vescari again. "You think loyalty is about how long you've sat in that chair? If you've got nothing to hide, you won't mind full audits of your accounts."
Vescari's jaw tightened. "You're going too far."
"No," Matteo said. "I'm going where I must."
He glanced at his assistant.
"Seal all exits. No calls. No messages. This boardroom is on lockdown."
"Yes, sir."
The assistant moved quickly, nodding to the guards who began closing internal channels and encrypting the network.
Matteo looked around once more. "You all wanted to sit at the top," he said. "This is what the air feels like up here. Heavy."
He turned and walked out. Not a word wasted.
The door clicked shut behind him.
No grand slam. Just a soft finality. One that echoed louder than anger.
Matteo walked across the dim space, city lights casting slanted gold bars across the floor. The walls were glass, but the view didn't impress him. It never did. He could own the skyline and still feel trapped beneath it.
He loosened his tie, fingers stiff.
Then, silence.
He let it stretch…
A breath.
Another.
And then — the crack.
His hand swept across the desk.
Papers scattered. A glass hit the floor. Shattered.
He leaned forward, both palms pressed against the desk edge, head bowed. Long hair shielding his face.
His jaw clenched hard. The only sound in the room now was his breath — low, ragged, restrained.
A knock.
He didn't answer.
The door opened anyway. It was Marco, his most trusted aide. Quiet, efficient — knew when to speak and when not to.
Marco stepped inside, pausing when he saw the mess. But his expression didn't shift.
"It's worse than we thought," Marco said calmly. "Encrypted files were copied. Internal reports. Schedules."
"Who else knows?"
"Just us. And the security head. We silenced it."
Matteo straightened up, voice low. "Not enough. Whoever did this wasn't aiming for money. They're playing longer. Dirtier."
Marco stepped closer, tone cautious. "Should I alert your fiancée's security detail?"
Matteo's jaw twitched. Just slightly.
"No."
"But if they're targeting—"
"They won't touch him."
A pause.
"They wouldn't dare."
Marco nodded once, eyes flicking briefly to Matteo's tense stance — not questioning the order, but noting the edge of protectiveness there. A rare thing. Dangerous, too.
Matteo walked toward the massive windows. The city blinked beneath him — alive, indifferent.
"Someone's playing with fire," he murmured. "Let's see how close they're willing to burn."
Marco didn't speak again. He only bowed slightly, then slipped out.
The office fell back into stillness.
Matteo stood there, watching the night.
And this time, he didn't move.