Chapter 4 - DON’T STOP
The elevator stopped between floors.
Total darkness.
No emergency lights.
No hum.
No ventilation.
Nothing.
Mia’s body reacted before her mind did.
Her breath caught.
Her hand reached for the wall.
“Marco?”
“I’m here.”
His voice came from somewhere close.
The dark turned distance into guesswork.
Mia hated it.
“What happened?”
“Power cut.”
“To the building?”
“Maybe.”
“That is not comforting.”
“No.”
She heard movement.
Then Marco’s hand found her wrist.
Not gripping.
Touching.
“Mia.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Thank you, physician.”
Her voice shook.
He moved closer.
“Breathe.”
“Don’t tell me to breathe.”
“Then keep talking.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Keep talking.”
His voice was low.
Near.
“You’re holding your breath.”
She realized she was.
Mia hated enclosed spaces.
Not dramatically.
Not enough to avoid elevators.
Enough that total darkness made an old memory rise.
Twelve years old.
Police at the house.
Her mother pulling her into the pantry because reporters were outside after her father’s death.
Dark.
No air.
Don’t make noise.
She pressed both palms against the wall.
Marco’s hand moved from her wrist to her forearm.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
“This is a terrible job.”
“Good.”
“You have alarming hiring practices.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother may be conspiring with your executive officer.”
“Yes.”
“You have blood in your desk.”
“Unfortunately.”
“My mother is hiding with a man everyone thinks is in Europe.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing.”
“No.”
That almost made her laugh.
Her breathing eased.
Then a metallic sound came from above.
Marco went still.
Mia heard it too.
Something in the shaft.
Not power failure.
Movement.
He pulled her closer.
Hard enough that her shoulder hit his chest.
“Hey—”
“Quiet.”
His voice changed.
Not fear.
Assessment.
A scraping sound.
Then another.
Someone was forcing the outer elevator door on a floor above or below.
Marco’s arm moved around her.
Mia felt his coat.
The solid line of his body.
His breath near her hair.
“Do you have a gun?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
He shifted.
“Keep talking.”
“What?”
“Softly.”
“Why?”
“So I know where you are.”
The answer did something strange to her chest.
Another metallic bang.
Mia’s instincts scattered.
So she talked.
About anything.
“My mother hates tulips.”
Marco’s arm tightened slightly.
“Why?”
“She says they die badly.”
“That is specific.”
“She’s specific.”
“Continue.”
Mia swallowed.
“I failed algebra in ninth grade.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I was bored.”
“Worse.”
“I once stole a bottle of wine from my aunt’s wedding.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“Criminal.”
“Says the man carrying a gun in an elevator.”
“Fair.”
The scraping stopped.
Silence returned.
Marco whispered near her ear:
“Don’t stop.”
The words were different now.
Not flirtation.
Not command.
A tether.
Keep talking.
Stay here.
Let me know you are alive in the dark.
Mia continued.
“I hate olives.”
“Wrong.”
“There is no wrong.”
“There is.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yes.”
His hand spread across the middle of her back.
Not intimate exactly.
But not not intimate.
The darkness removed excuses.
Mia could feel his heartbeat.
Steady.
Faster than usual.
That surprised her.
“You’re scared.”
His body went still.
“Yes.”
The honesty silenced her.
Marco tightened his arm.
“Don’t stop.”
So she spoke again.
“My father used to sing in the car.”
“What?”
“Old Motown. Badly.”
Marco breathed out.
“My mother sang opera.”
Mia blinked.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“I assumed crime bosses were raised by wolves.”
“Common misconception.”
“What did she sing?”
“Everything.”
His voice softened.
“She died when I was nineteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Another sound.
Below them this time.
A door.
Then a man’s voice.
Faint.
“Mr. Vitali?”
Marco relaxed by one degree.
Security.
The emergency hatch opened above.
A flashlight beam cut down.
Mia closed her eyes against it.
Marco did not immediately let go.
Neither did she move.
Then reality returned.
The dark.
His arm.
Her face inches from his chest.
Mia stepped back.
“Professional.”
Marco’s mouth twitched.
“Very.”
The darkness lasted long enough for the conversation to stop feeling like distraction.
Mia felt Marco’s hand against her back.
Steady.
Not tightening.
She realized he was counting her breaths with his thumb.
A small movement each time her ribs expanded.
“You do this often?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Calm panicking employees in dead elevators.”
“No.”
“Shocking.”
“I usually avoid elevators with employees.”
She laughed softly.
The sound surprised her.
Marco lowered his head slightly.
“Better.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“I can’t see your face.”
“You sound smug.”
“Talent.”
Another metallic scrape came from the shaft.
Mia’s body tightened again.
Marco whispered, “Tell me about Hartwell.”
“Why?”
“Because you get angry when you talk about them.”
“Anger helps?”
“For you.”
She thought.
“Hartwell had a conference room called Integrity.”
Marco breathed out.
“That is terrible.”
“It had frosted glass.”
“Worse.”
“And a framed quote about accountability.”
“Criminal.”
“You are literally a crime boss.”
“Formerly aspiring to legitimacy.”
“Very different.”
His chest moved under her cheek.
He was laughing.
Quietly.
Mia had not expected his laughter to feel like this.
Rare.
Private.
Human.
Then his voice lowered.
“I knew your name before today.”
She went still.
“You said you read my file.”
“Before the agency file.”
Mia pulled back slightly.
“How?”
“Daniel’s notebook.”
Her heart changed.
“He wrote about me?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Marco hesitated.
“Say it.”
“He wrote: M.C. sees what management teaches everyone else not to see.”
Mia swallowed.
Daniel had known.
Maybe not her.
But her work.
That felt oddly intimate.
“Anything else?”
Marco’s arm shifted.
“He wrote that you would either leave Hartwell or force Hartwell to remove you.”
Mia laughed without humor.
“Accurate.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you asked for me.”
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
Marco went silent.
The dark made silence heavier.
“Mia.”
“What?”
“I saw your photograph.”
She froze.
“That is a terrible answer.”
“I know.”
“What about it?”
“I wanted to meet the woman Daniel trusted.”
Relief.
Then:
“And?”
Marco exhaled.
“And I thought you were beautiful.”
Mia forgot about the elevator for one entire second.
“That is wildly inappropriate.”
“Yes.”
“You are my employer.”
“Yes.”
“Temporary employer.”
“Hopefully.”
“Do not say hopefully like that.”
“How?”
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Another scrape sounded.
The moment broke.
Marco pulled her closer again.
“Keep talking.”
Mia whispered, “You are impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Arrogant.”
“Yes.”
“Possibly criminal.”
“Definitely.”
“Terrible boundaries.”
“Improving.”
Mia’s fear eased again.
Not because danger disappeared.
Because the dark contained another person who was not pretending it wasn’t dangerous.
She kept speaking until light finally broke through above them.
They were pulled out through the top of the elevator
They were pulled out through the top of the elevator into the eleventh-floor service corridor.
Security reported the main power system had been manually disabled.
The backup too.
Someone had accessed the basement electrical room using a master credential.
Adrian had one.
So did Marco.
Luca.
Facilities director.
And the previous assistant.
Elena.
Mia leaned against the wall.
Marco watched her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stared.
He corrected.
“Honest.”
“Still annoying.”
“Yes.”
One guard approached.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found something in the elevator shaft.”
He held up a small black device.
Not explosive.
A signal jammer.
Mia recognized enough from television to guess.
Marco’s expression hardened.
“Who placed it?”
“We don’t know.”
Mia looked at the device.
Then at the camera above the service corridor.
“Was the elevator camera working?”
The guard checked his phone.
“No.”
“Convenient.”
Marco looked at her.
“What are you thinking?”
Mia thought about Adrian’s phone.
The message.
KEEP MARCO BUSY.
The elevator power cut had done exactly that.
While someone else moved toward Bridgeport.
“My mother.”
Marco was already moving.
They took the stairs.
Eleven flights.
Mia regretted every life choice by floor seven.
Marco did not appear winded.
She resented him for it.
In the garage, three cars waited.
Mia got into the first.
Marco followed.
No argument.
They drove toward Connecticut.
Halfway there, Mia’s phone rang.
Luca Vitali.
Marco looked at the screen.
Mia answered on speaker.
“Luca.”
A man breathed.
Then:
“Mia, your mother is safe.”
Marco leaned forward.
“Luca.”
Silence.
Then Luca said, “Brother.”
His voice was younger than Marco’s.
Warmer.
Tired.
“You’re supposed to be in Rome,” Marco said.
“I needed Adrian to think that.”
“You succeeded.”
“Good.”
“Why is he helping you?”
“He isn’t.”
Marco’s face changed.
Mia frowned.
“The message on his phone came from L.”
“Not me.”
“Then who?”
Luca hesitated.
“Elena.”
Mia looked at Marco.
“No.”
Luca continued.
“She has been feeding Adrian information.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Elena warned us about you.”
“She should.”
“Why?”
“Because I stole Daniel’s second archive.”
Mia’s stomach dropped.
“From my mother?”
“No. From Hartwell.”
“What second archive?”
“The one Daniel never told Elena about.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed.
Luca said, “Listen carefully. Your mother has the evidence that clears Robert Callaway.”
Mia stopped breathing.
“And the archive I have proves who actually ordered the convoy hit.”
“Who?”
Luca went quiet.
Then:
“Marco’s father gave the order to divert it.”
“We know.”
“That isn’t the order I mean.”
Marco’s face changed.
Luca continued.
“The attack was authorized by someone at Hartwell.”
“Who?”
“Elise Callaway knows.”
Mia stared at the phone.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“She worked records.”
“No.”
Luca’s voice softened.
“She was Daniel Reed’s supervisor.”
Mia’s stomach dropped.
Another hidden identity.
Another life behind the life.
“Why would she hide that?”
“Because after your father died, she made a deal.”
“With who?”
“Hartwell.”
Mia stopped breathing.
Luca said, “Your mother helped them bury the file.”
The car seemed to lose speed though it did not.
Marco looked at her.
Mia could not look back.
“Why?”
May you like
Luca answered before she asked.
“To keep you alive.”
