Dominic disappeared from the seventy-second floor that afternoon.
Nari never asked where he went.
She wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
But his final sentence stayed with her.
They told me she wouldn't last a week.
That meant somebody had noticed her.
For most of Nari's life, invisibility had protected her.
Now visibility had made her a target.
Alessio doubled the security around her apartment.
She hated it.
“I don't need men following me to the grocery store.”
“Yes, you do.”
“That's not your decision.”
“It is when people may target you because you work for me.”
Nari stared at him across his desk.
“That's exactly the kind of sentence that makes normal people quit.”
“Are you quitting?”
“No.”
“Then we're done.”
“We're absolutely not done.”
He looked up.
Nari pointed at him.
“You don't get to control my life because you're worried.”
Something shifted in his face.
It was small.
But Nari had spent her childhood studying small changes in dangerous men.
This wasn't anger.
It was fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
That realization unsettled her more than anger would have.
“Fine,” Alessio said. “One security officer.”
“None.”
“One.”
“Only during work travel.”
“And home.”
“No.”
“Nari.”
“Alessio.”
They stared at each other.
Finally he rubbed his face.
“You're exhausting.”
“You hired me.”
That almost-smile appeared again.
“Yes.”
“I did.”
Their relationship changed after that.
Slowly.
Not romantically at first.
It became something more basic.
Trust.
Alessio began asking what she thought before meetings rather than after them.
Nari began challenging him when she believed he was wrong.
Nobody else did that.
One evening, after fourteen hours of negotiations, Alessio found her sitting alone in the conference room.
Her shoes were off.
She was rubbing one aching foot.
He placed two coffees on the table.
Nari looked at him.
“You know bribery is illegal.”
“Then don't tell anyone.”
She took the coffee.
For several minutes they sat silently.
Then Alessio asked, “Why eight languages?”
Nari looked at the skyline.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
So she told him.
Not everything.
Enough.
Her mother had moved constantly.
Moscow.
Marseille.
Beirut.
Rome.
Berlin.
Temporary apartments.
Temporary boyfriends.
Temporary promises.
Nari learned Russian because one man shouted in Russian before becoming violent.
She learned French because her mother worked nights in Marseille and Nari spent afternoons around market vendors and dockworkers.
Arabic came from Beirut.
Italian from Rome.
German from a year in Hamburg.
Mandarin from a family who took them in for several months after her mother disappeared for nearly a week.
Portuguese came later, through work and friendships.
English had eventually become home.
“I learned to listen before people realized I understood,” she said.
Alessio was quiet.
“That's why you noticed Navarro.”
“Probably.”
“And why you notice lies.”
Nari shrugged.
“When you're a kid, understanding the mood in a room can be useful.”
Alessio didn't ask her to explain.
She appreciated him for that.
Then she asked, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why do ten armed men stand outside while you drink coffee?”
His expression became guarded.
Nari smiled.
“See? Linguistic fingerprint.”
He laughed softly.
Eventually, he told her enough.
His father had built the organization.
Alessio had inherited enemies along with money.
Trust was expensive.
Weakness was more expensive.
“And loneliness?” Nari asked.
He looked at her.
“What does that cost?”
For once, Alessio Franks had no answer.
The moment broke when his phone rang.
His expression changed as he listened.
Then he stood.
“What happened?”
“Your apartment.”
Nari's coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth.
“What about it?”
“Someone broke in.”
The room tilted.
“Was anything taken?”
“No.”
That was worse.
Alessio's jaw tightened.
“They left something.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
Nari went cold.
“Taken when?”
“This morning.”
Someone had photographed her leaving the diner.
Written across the picture in French were five words.
Alessio didn't need a translator this time.
Nari had taught him enough.
The cleaning woman talks too much.