Chapter 5: The Code in the Spreadsheets

"Leo"

Making that coffee was, without question, the hardest precision test of my life. My hands shook so violently it felt like I was holding a jackhammer instead of a metal tray. When I entered Vittorio's office, I placed the cup of black coffee on his desk with the delicacy of someone handling a ticking bomb.

Not a single splash. Victory.

He didn't even thank me — just gave a subtle nod. I returned to my glass desk in the corridor and dove headfirst into the papers from the black leather folder.

At first, those codes and shell company names might as well have been ancient Greek. But after drinking my own coffee and starting to plug the data into the computer, the numbers began talking to me. Financial math had always been my superpower. Where the rest of the world sees only figures, I see patterns.

I spent hours typing furiously, ignoring my exhaustion and Enzo's watchful gaze. He remained stationed near the elevator like a gargoyle in a suit.

"Found it..." I whispered to myself around four in the afternoon, my eyes gleaming in the screen's reflection.

I hadn't just figured out how the government was tracking the accounts — I'd uncovered a glaring flaw in the very diversion route Vittorio's senior accountants had been using. Someone on the inside was being incredibly careless. Or worse: someone was stealing from the Don.

I grabbed the printed reports, drew a deep breath, and knocked on the door to the president's office.

"Come in." Vittorio's voice carried through the wood.

I walked in and set the organized papers on his desk. Vittorio put down his gold pen and crossed his arms, leaning back in his leather chair.

"Finished already? Or are you here to tell me the work is too complex for a junior analyst?"

"Not only did I finish, Don Vittorio, but I discovered that your problem isn't the government." The courage came from a place I didn't even know existed. I pointed to a chart I'd generated myself. "The trail the federal revenue service was following was left on purpose. One of the shell companies in Switzerland has been skimming two percent off every maritime export transaction. This isn't a script error. Someone is siphoning your money and pinning the blame on a supposed tax investigation to cover the shortfall."

The silence that fell over the room was suffocating.

Vittorio leaned forward and picked up the pages. His gray eyes scanned the charts and audits I'd prepared. His jaw clenched in a way that made me step back on pure instinct. The aura of danger he radiated in that moment was almost tangible.

"Enzo!" Vittorio called, his eyes never leaving the paper.

The door opened instantly, and the massive bodyguard stepped in.

"Yes, Don Vittorio?"

"Bring the head accountant back to the building. Now. And make sure he doesn't try to leave the city."

Enzo gave a single nod, his expression dark, and left, closing the door behind him. I swallowed hard, realizing that my spreadsheets had probably just signed someone's death warrant in the underworld. The panic came flooding back.

"S-sir... if that's everything, can I go back to my desk?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Vittorio rose slowly. He walked over to me, and for a second I thought he was going to threaten me for knowing too much. Instead, he stopped right in front of me. The closeness made me notice just how mesmerizing those gray eyes were up close.

"You did in a few hours what an entire team of grown men failed to catch in months, Leo," he said, his voice lower, almost an intimate tone that made my stomach flip. He reached out and, with a surprisingly gentle touch, straightened the collar of my blue blazer. "I told you I'd protect you if you accepted my offer. But it seems you're the one protecting my empire today."

My cheeks burned instantly. I must have looked like a bell pepper, that's how red I was.

"It's... it's my job, sir," I stammered, staring at anything that wasn't his mouth.

"Go home, Leo. Get some rest." Vittorio stepped back, reverting to his usual cold composure, though his gaze lingered on my face a beat too long. "Tomorrow will be a long day. And buy some premium food for your cat — on me."

I left the office with my heart pounding like a samba drum line. I was officially entangled with the mafia, dealing with diversions worth millions, and receiving praise from the most feared Don in the city. When I got home and Mingau came meowing around my legs, I collapsed on the couch. My life would never be the same again.

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