Chapter Text
Maya Bishop learned two things in her first hours in Texas.
The first was that the heat was not exaggerated. It wrapped around her the moment she stepped out of the airport, heavy, dense, clinging to her skin in a way New York never had. It wasn’t the brief discomfort of a muggy summer day, nor something that could be brushed off with haste and iced coffee. It was like a presence. As if the air itself demanded attention.
The second thing was that she did not belong there.
It didn’t matter how well-tailored her suit was, or how firm her posture remained as she crossed the parking lot toward the car waiting for her. Texas had its own language, silent, observant, and Maya spoke it with an accent that refused to fade. New York still lived in her gestures, in the way she measured distances, in the speed with which she registered faces, escape routes, reflections in darkened glass.
The man waiting for her did not introduce himself by his real name. That was never part of the arrangement.
“Ms. Bishop,” he said, opening the back door. “Thank you for accepting.”
Maya simply nodded, getting into the car without ceremony. She didn’t ask questions at this stage. Questions came later.
The vehicle pulled away smoothly, merging into traffic far too wide for her standards. Everything there seemed larger than necessary: the avenues, the low, sprawling buildings, the sky too open. Maya watched in silence, cataloguing details. License plates, exits, the time between traffic lights.
“The client was pleased with your response,” the man continued, as if reading from a report. “Especially after other names declined.”
That caught her attention.
“How many declined?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the window.
“Enough.”
Maya took a slow breath. It confirmed what she had already suspected. The payment offered wasn’t just high. It was disproportionate. The kind of number that didn’t buy competence — it bought silence.
She hadn’t been hired directly. It was never done that way. The contact had come through Miller, the driver who worked for the end client, someone with resources, influence, and the intelligence not to expose himself.
The proposal had been clear from the beginning: discreet investigation, no official reports, no trail that could be traced back to her.
And above all, no questions about why.
Maya had accepted before hearing all the details. Not out of recklessness, but experience. When people of that caliber sought someone from out of state, someone without local roots, it was because they needed someone who could come and go without leaving ghosts behind.
The car stopped in front of a discreet commercial building, neutral enough to go unnoticed.
“This will be your base,” the man said. “Office, access to files, everything you asked for. My number will be on the desk, call me whenever you want to go to the hotel.”
Maya nodded and stepped out of the car, walking toward the entrance, feeling the weight of the decision settle slowly into place. It wasn’t regret. It was anticipation.
Inside the office, the air conditioning hummed softly, almost respectfully. A large desk, a computer already on, folders arranged with surgical precision. Someone had done their homework.
Maya dropped her bag on the desk and opened the first folder.
The name was there. Not his. Not yet.
Carina DeLuca.
Maya frowned slightly. The file was too clean. Italian. No professional background. No criminal record. No lawsuits, no public stains. Sober photographs, minimal social media presence, no ostentation.
Married for three years. That detail was underlined in the report. Three years wasn’t insignificant. It was enough time to build routines, habits, blind spots. Or complicities.
She turned the pages carefully, absorbing every detail. Addresses. Trips. Social events. A kind of life that raised no suspicion.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
Carina DeLuca fit the stereotype. Beautiful, elegant, perfectly embedded in the image of a respectable Texas wife. The woman beside the right man. The one who appeared in charity photos, at private events, smiling for cameras that never asked too many questions.
That, in itself, was a role.
Maya picked up the second folder and opened it, finally finding his.
Unlike Carina’s, this one wasn’t clean. It wasn’t elegant. It didn’t look like it had been organized to be shown.
The name was printed in simple, almost crude black letters:
Danny Gallino.
She took a breath before turning the first page.
The face that appeared wasn’t what Maya expected. There was nothing excessive about it. No obvious ostentation, no desperate attempt to look powerful. Danny Gallino looked… too ordinary. Dark hair, already thinning at the sides. Unshaven beard. Attentive eyes, difficult to read even in a photograph.
Truly dangerous men rarely looked like villains.
She scanned the basic data. Born in Cuba. Long-established family in the region. Open businesses in perfectly respectable sectors: logistics, construction, freight transport. All legal on paper. All too clean for someone moving that much money.
Maya began to see the pattern.
The accusations never reached him. They came close. Always close enough to rule out coincidence. Former partners dead under unclear circumstances. Employees arrested who never mentioned his name. Investigations shelved for “lack of evidence.”
The kind of man who didn’t need to threaten personally. The system did it for him.
She flipped through the pages faster now, absorbing the whole picture. Maps. Routes. Indirect connections to cartels outside the state. Texas as a strategic point, transit, not destination.
Gallino wasn’t just a distributor. He was an organizer. A facilitator. The kind of figure who allowed chaos to function like a business.
Maya rested her fingers against the edge of the desk. That explained the silence. The fear. The refusals.
And still, no formal charges. No active cases. Nothing that legally justified her presence there. Carina’s name appeared again further in. Never as a suspect. Never as an accomplice. Always as a wife. As a social façade. As an anchor.
Maya lingered on the couple’s photograph longer than she intended. They were at a charity event. Carina smiled at the camera. Danny kept a discreet hand on her back, possessive without appearing aggressive. A trained gesture.
“Interesting,” she murmured to herself.
There were no clear signs of domestic violence. No complaints. No suspicious hospital records. If Carina knew exactly who her husband was, she hid it very well. Or chose not to see it.
Maya closed the folder slowly.
The plan beginning to take shape was simple only on the surface. Getting close to Danny Gallino meant accepting his rules, his timing, his language. It meant presenting herself not as a threat, but as a solution.
She wouldn’t enter through the door of accusation. She’d enter through the door of usefulness. She had made the first move with calculated care, almost too banal to raise suspicion. An impeccable résumé, sent through the right contacts, no urgency, no insistence, just enough to land on Danny Gallino’s desk as one more option among many.
Solid experience. Absolute discretion. A background that spoke of efficiency without ever sounding ambitious. Maya presented herself exactly as he would want to see her: competent, practical, someone who knew how to stay in her place. Not the best in the room, just the most reliable.
The response didn’t take long. Gallino contacted her a few days later, making it clear he had dismissed the previous attorney without ceremony. Useless, was the word he used, said with casual disdain, as if referring to a broken object. He needed someone better.
Maya listened with the calm attention of someone who had nothing to lose, played dumb, asked the right questions, agreed at the right moments. She accepted the job as if it were just another lucrative contract, when in reality it was exactly what she needed: unrestricted access, enough proximity to observe, investigate and do it from the inside, without raising suspicion.
She picked up the number on the desk and dialed.
“I’ll need more files,” she said when Miller answered. “And I’d like to understand the motivation behind the investigation.”
There was a brief pause on the other end.
“The client doesn’t believe that’s necessary right now. The moment will come eventually.”
Maya smiled faintly, cold.
“Come get me in two hours.”
And hung up.
Alone again, Maya walked to the window. The sun was beginning to set, painting the Texas sky in shades far too warm for someone who came from a city of concrete and urgency.
She didn’t yet know how she would resolve the case, but she knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing about it would be simple.
That night, Maya didn’t sleep much. The hotel room was too comfortable, too quiet for someone used to the constant noise of New York. She spent hours running through everything she knew, adjusting her speech, her posture, even the tone of voice she would use.
In the morning, she dressed with calculated precision. Nothing eye-catching. Nothing submissive. A dark suit, impeccably cut, discreet enough not to compete with the ego of a man like Gallino. The kind of clothing that spoke of competence, not challenge.
The building where his office was located had no visible sign. Even so, it was impossible to miss. Too much security for someone who claimed to have nothing to hide.
Maya was led through wide corridors, decorated with modern art pieces far too expensive to have been chosen for taste. They were symbols. Everything there was a symbol.
When the door opened, she stepped inside without hesitation.
Danny Gallino was standing with his back to her, looking out the window. The city stretched below, small.
“Mr. Gallino,” Maya said, steady.
He turned slowly. In person, he was even harder to read. His gaze assessed before deciding. He didn’t smile right away.
“Maya Bishop,” he replied, his accent heavy. “New York.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Maya said simply.
“I don’t usually bring in outsiders,” he continued, walking toward the desk. “But I looked into you, and I was told you solve problems without making noise.”
Maya held his gaze. “Depends on the problem.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, almost a smile.
“I like that.”
He gestured to the chair across from the desk. Maya sat calmly, crossing her legs with ease. There was no rush. No nerves. If that was what he expected, he would be disappointed.
“You told me you have… legal concerns.”
Danny leaned back slightly, studying her like someone examining a rare object.
“I was told you don’t ask unnecessary questions.”
“That’s true,” she replied. “But I ask the right ones.”
Silence. That was where many failed — filling the void, trying to prove something. Maya simply waited.
“I have businesses,” he said at last. “Too big for mistakes. Too many people trying to be smarter than they should be.”
“And you want protection,” she concluded.
“I want someone who thinks before everyone else,” Danny corrected. “Someone who sees what’s coming before it becomes a problem.”
Maya nodded slowly. “That requires trust.”
He chuckled softly. “Trust is built. Or bought.”
“I’m not for sale,” she said, without aggression.
Danny tilted his head, intrigued. “Everyone says that.”
“Some of us are telling the truth.”
His gaze stayed on her a few seconds longer than necessary. Then something shifted, not trust, but curiosity.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“I know what I need to know to do my job,” Maya answered. “And I know what I don’t need to pretend not to see.”
He smiled for real this time. “I like you, Miss Bishop.”
Danny stood and extended his hand.
“Welcome to Texas, Miss Bishop.”
Maya shook his hand firmly, fully aware that the simple gesture was the first step toward something much bigger and far more dangerous.
As she let go, one certainty settled in her mind: to reach the truth, she would have to walk straight through the heart of Danny Gallino’s empire.
And nothing — absolutely nothing — would come out of it untouched.
What no one in that building knew was that Maya Bishop hadn’t been brought there merely as a lawyer. The contract that placed her in Texas went far beyond legal counsel or protective maneuvering.
Officially, she operated as a kind of private investigator, someone capable of uncovering truths others preferred to keep buried. Unofficially, however, Maya had already crossed lines that left no one unscathed.
There were people who hadn’t survived her investigations. Men who, once exposed, became risks too great to be allowed to continue existing. The objective never changed: first expose, then end it. Danny Gallino was no different. She was there to dismantle him piece by piece and when everything came to light, to make sure he would never have the chance to rebuild.
The conversation continued in the office longer than Maya had expected.
Gallino spoke calmly, like someone with no urgency at all. He mentioned business in vague terms, talked about the city, about how outsiders tended to underestimate Texas. Maya responded with exact measure, neither too distant nor too engaged. It was a game of mirrors, and they both knew it.
She noticed that he watched her not only when she spoke, but especially when she listened. Assessing whether she interrupted. Whether she justified herself. Whether she showed anxiety.
Maya offered none of that.
At some point, Danny leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and shifted the tone of the conversation with the ease of someone who decided the direction of a meeting without announcing it.
“Where are you staying?” he asked casually.
The question sounded too simple to be innocent.
“At a hotel,” Maya replied. “Near downtown.”
“Which one?”
She gave the name without hesitation. There was no advantage in hiding something so basic. Danny nodded slowly, as if he already knew.
“A hotel can be uncomfortable for someone staying a while,” he remarked.
“It’s only temporary,” Maya said with a shrug.
He studied her for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Come have dinner at my house tonight.”
Maya blinked, surprised, not enough to seem unprepared, but enough to be human. It wasn’t the kind of invitation made so casually, without notice, without preparation. Especially not by someone like him.
“I…” she began, then stopped.
Danny smiled, catching the opening.
“Nothing formal,” he continued. “Just dinner. My wife loves having guests.”
The silence that followed was brief, but heavy. Maya felt the weight of the word wife settle between them. Until then, Carina DeLuca had been only a name on paper. A face in photographs. A theoretical piece on the board.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” Maya said carefully. “It wasn’t in my plans.”
“Plans change,” he replied easily. “Especially when you arrive somewhere new.”
He stood, walking back to the window as if the decision had already been made.
“My wife makes wonderful food,” he added, almost over his shoulder. “She cooks like she’s still in Europe. It’s hard to say no after the first time.”
That made Maya hesitate for a moment. His house. His territory. Carina’s presence. A risk, but also an opportunity too clear to ignore.
The most efficient way to get close to Danny Gallino wasn’t to confront him directly. It was to understand the world he protected. The people he kept close. And, above all, the woman by his side.
Maya took a slow breath, keeping her expression neutral as she organized her thoughts.
“If it’s not an inconvenience,” she said at last, “I accept.”
Danny turned back, satisfied.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll send someone to pick you up at eight.”
He returned to the desk and handed her a simple card, no full address, just a number.
“Call me if you need anything.”
Maya took the card, feeling the invisible weight of what she had just agreed to.
As she stood to leave, one certainty settled into her mind with uncomfortable clarity. This wasn’t just dinner. It was the first door opening.
Maya closed the hotel room door behind her and leaned her back against it for a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t fear. It never was exactly fear. It was anticipation.
The invitation echoed in her mind as something that shouldn’t have happened so soon. Dinner at his house, on the first night. Too large an opening for someone like Danny Gallino, or perhaps a test.
Maya knew both scenarios well. Men like him enjoyed watching reactions when they pulled someone out of neutral ground.
She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside slightly. The city was beginning to darken, the Texas sky taking on deep shades of orange and red, exaggerated, almost artificial. Everything there seemed to operate in excess.
She turned toward the open suitcase on the bed.
Choosing what to wear was never trivial. It never was. It wasn’t just about elegance or social appropriateness, it was about message. What she said without opening her mouth. What she allowed to be read, and what she kept hidden.
Maya ran her fingers over a few pieces before deciding. Nothing too formal. Nothing that screamed professional. She also wouldn’t make the mistake of looking too casual. In the end, she chose something simple: a sober dress, appropriate length, firm fabric. Mid-height heels. Hair pulled back in a practical but intentional style. Minimal makeup. Enough to look polished, never vulnerable.
In the bathroom mirror, she studied herself with critical attention. Adjusted the discreet necklace, checked her posture, her expression. She didn’t want to look anxious. She didn’t want to look impressed. She wanted to look comfortable.
Before leaving the room, she picked up the wine she’d bought earlier. Maya had learned early on that one never arrived at someone’s home empty-handed, especially when that someone was used to being served.
She slipped her watch onto her wrist and checked the time. Punctuality was a language too.
A few minutes later, the intercom rang.
“Ms. Bishop?” the receptionist’s voice sounded polite enough to be anything but casual. “There’s a driver waiting for you in the lobby.”
“Thank you,” Maya replied. “I’m coming down.”
She hung up, took one last deep breath, and left.
The elevator descended in silence, her reflection multiplied across the metallic walls. Maya kept her gaze steady, her body relaxed. There was no reason to show tension now. This was part of the plan, even if it had happened sooner than expected.
In the lobby, the driver was waiting beside a dark, large, impeccably clean car. He introduced himself with a brief, respectful nod and opened the back door without saying more than necessary.
Maya got in and carefully set the wine beside her.
The car pulled away smoothly. The city gradually faded as they moved onto wider, less illuminated roads. The route seemed deliberately designed to be difficult to memorize. Maya observed everything in silence: the timing between turns, the pattern of gates, the absence of clear signage.
When they finally arrived, she wasn’t surprised.
The mansion stood set back from the road, protected by high walls and gates discreet enough for the size of the property. The exterior lighting was soft, strategically placed to reveal only what was necessary.
Invisible security, but present. From a trafficker of that caliber, Maya expected nothing less.
The car stopped. The driver stepped out first and opened the door for her. Maya got out calmly, holding the wine, her heels striking the stone ground with a firm, dry sound. She took in the façade at a glance: classic lines, wide columns, large windows. Everything about the place communicated old power, established money, absolute control.
She walked up to the main entrance and rang the bell.
The door opened seconds later, revealing an older woman in a discreet uniform, posture straight. A housekeeper. Her eyes assessed Maya with contained curiosity.
“Good evening,” Maya said. “I’m Maya Bishop.”
The woman nodded immediately.
“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome. Please, follow me.”
Maya stepped inside, guided down a wide corridor that was too quiet. The interior of the house was just as impressive as the exterior — perhaps more so. Artwork on the walls, furniture chosen with discernment, nothing overly decorative. Luxury that didn’t need to prove itself.
“Mr. Galino is in the living room,” the woman informed her.
“Thank you.”
Maya was left alone for a few seconds before moving forward.
The living room was spacious, with tall windows and a partial view of the garden outside. Danny Gallino sat in a dark leather armchair, a cigar between the fingers of one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. He looked perfectly at ease, as though the house were a natural extension of his body.
When he saw her, he stood.
“Miss Bishop,” he said, offering a slow smile. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” Maya replied, stepping closer. “I brought something for dinner.”
She held out the wine. Danny took the bottle, studying the label with genuine interest.
“Good choice,” he commented. “My wife will love this.”
There was something about the way he said it that didn’t sound like mere politeness.
“Come,” he said, gesturing with his head. “I want you to meet her.”
They walked side by side through the house, past more corridors, until they reached the kitchen.
The kitchen was immense, an open space, marble countertops, professional-grade appliances. A place that blended function with display. Maya immediately realized it wasn’t merely decorative. Real cooking happened there.
And then she saw her.
Carina stood with her back turned, focused on something on the stove. She wore a fitted dress that traced her body with dangerous precision, fabric hugging her curves with unapologetic confidence. It was an intense look, deeply feminine, almost provocative, and yet natural.
Pure Texas, but with something else beneath it.
Danny approached first.
“Mi amor,” he said.
Carina turned. Her face was even more expressive than in the photographs, alert, vivid eyes, a smile that appeared quickly, openly. She stepped forward without hesitation, greeting Maya with warmth that was almost too much for a stranger.
“Nice to meet you,” Carina said, kissing her twice on the cheeks, catching Maya off guard with the immediate physical contact. “You must be Maya.”
“Yes,” Maya replied, adjusting quickly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Danny handed the wine to his wife.
“A gift from Miss Bishop,” he said.
“Oh,” Carina smiled at Maya. “Thank you so much. That’s very kind of you.”
“I hope you like it,” Maya replied.
“Do you like Italian food?” Carina asked, animated.
“I do,” Maya answered. She noticed Carina’s strong accent and tilted her head, her tone innocent. “Are you Italian?”
“I am,” Carina replied, smiling even wider. “It shows, doesn’t it?”
“A little,” Maya admitted.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Carina said. “Let’s go to the living room.”
Before leaving the kitchen, she turned to a cook assisting her and gave a few quick, confident instructions, like someone accustomed to commanding that space.
Then the three of them returned to the living room. Carina walked beside her husband, his hand resting at the small of her back as he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh softly, affectionately.
And Maya knew, with uncomfortable clarity, one thing: that woman was not just a detail in Danny Gallino’s life.
She was the center of it all.
The room felt different now that all three of them occupied it. Before, when Maya had entered alone, everything had been about power — the dark leather, the heavy wood, the smell of alcohol and cigar thick in the air. With Carina present, there was another layer. Something more alive. More human. And therefore more dangerous.
Danny walked over to the built-in bar and poured himself another whiskey before turning to Maya.
“Can I offer you something?” he asked. “Wine, water, whiskey…”
“Water is fine for now,” she replied.
He nodded and gestured for one of the staff members to approach. Maya noticed that Carina didn’t sit immediately. She moved around the room naturally, straightening something here, lightly touching her husband’s arm as she passed, as if it were habitual.
Carina finally sat in an armchair near Maya’s, crossing her legs with ease. The dress rode up a few centimeters, revealing just enough to draw attention without seeming intentional.
Maya registered the detail and immediately looked away. Carina knew exactly how she occupied space.
“So,” Carina said, leaning forward slightly, “you came from New York, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Maya replied. “I arrived yesterday.”
“That must have been a shock,” Carina commented with a smile. “Texas tends to be… intense.”
“That’s a good word for it,” Maya agreed.
Danny watched the exchange in silence, drawing calmly on his cigar. It was clear he enjoyed seeing his wife handle social interactions. He liked watching how she moved with new people, how she tested boundaries without seeming invasive.
“What brought you here?” Carina asked, direct but not hostile.
Maya had expected that question.
“Working for someone like your husband can advance my career,” she replied.
“Danny spoke very highly of you,” Carina said, casting a quick glance at her husband. “He said you’re… interesting.”
“I try to be,” Maya replied with a half-smile.
The staff member returned with the water. Maya thanked her, holding the glass with both hands for a moment.
“Do you plan to stay long?” Carina asked.
“As long as necessary,” Maya said. “I’m still understanding the full scope of the work.”
“Texas does that to people,” Carina remarked. “You never quite know what you’re getting into until you’re already in it.”
Maya held her gaze a second longer than socially neutral. There was something there, a quick, curious spark, almost evaluative. Carina didn’t seem unaware. Maybe she never had been.
“Dinner should be almost ready,” Carina said, standing. “Shall we go to the table?”
The dining room was as impressive as the rest of the house. A long table, sturdy chairs, lighting carefully arranged to create intimacy without darkness. Everything seemed designed to host important people.
Maya sat where she was indicated, posture open, attentive. She observed how Danny positioned himself at the head of the table, how Carina took the seat beside him without ever seeming decorative. They functioned as a unit, at least on the surface.
The food began to be served. Elaborate dishes, rich aromas. Clearly Italian. Maya noticed the care Carina put into every detail, the way she explained the dishes with quiet pride.
“Cooking calms me,” Carina said at one point. “It’s a way of keeping something that’s mine.”
Maya noticed Danny watching his wife closely, but there was something difficult to define in his gaze. It wasn’t tenderness, not exactly. Possession, perhaps. Pride in having a woman like that at his side.
“Do you like to cook?” Galino asked Maya.
“No,” she replied. “My work tends to consume most of my time.”
“Has it always been that way?” Carina asked, curious.
“Not always,” Maya said. “But I learned to adapt.”
Dinner continued with seemingly casual conversation. Travel. Cities. Cultural differences. Danny spoke little, but when he did, everyone listened. Carina filled the spaces easily, bringing lightness, laughter, movement.
And still, Maya felt it. Something was off. Not in Carina, but in the way Danny reacted whenever Maya and his wife seemed to find a rhythm of their own. A sharper look. A calculated silence. As if he were constantly measuring invisible distances.
When dinner ended, Carina stood to arrange dessert.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, lightly touching Maya’s arm as she passed.
The contact was brief, but enough to send a shock up Maya’s spine.
Danny observed the moment with eyes a little too attentive.
“You adapt quickly,” he commented once they were alone at the table. “People like you usually take longer.”
“Maybe I’m tired of resisting,” Maya replied.
He smiled, satisfied with the answer.
When Carina returned with dessert, the conversation softened again. She explained the dish with contained enthusiasm, talking about ingredients, a family recipe, the exact point of sweetness. Maya realized it was one of the few moments when Danny Gallino’s wife seemed truly relaxed. Cooking wasn’t just a hobby, it was territory.
“I hope you like it,” Carina said, setting the plate in front of Maya.
“I’m sure I will,” Maya replied, sincerely.
And she did. The flavor was intense, balanced, the kind that lingered long after the last spoonful. Maya praised it, and Carina’s smile came quickly, proud.
“I told you,” Danny remarked with a half-smile. “My wife is a goddess in the kitchen.”
Carina rolled her eyes in an almost childish gesture, but didn’t contradict him.
When dessert was finished, Danny set his napkin on the table and stood naturally.
“Miss Bishop,” he said, looking at Maya, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk a bit more about work in the office.”
Carina frowned immediately.
“Now?” she asked, her lips forming a small, almost involuntary pout.
“It won’t take long,” he replied, already walking away. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She sighed, then nodded. “Alright.”
Maya stood, casting one last glance at Carina before following Danny down the corridor. The office was located in a more isolated wing of the house, far from the social areas, a clearly reserved space.
As soon as the door closed, the atmosphere changed.
“Too many people are trying to be clever,” Danny said, getting straight to the point. “People who’ve worked for me for years… and who may be forgetting who pays the bills.”
“And you want me to find out who they are,” Maya concluded.
“I already know tha. I want you to investigate,” he corrected. “Quietly. No noise.”
“That means observing patterns,” Maya said. “Conversations, financial movements, small breaks in routine.”
“Do whatever you need to do,” Danny replied. “As long as no one notices.”
The conversation went on for long minutes. He spoke about business without ever saying too much. Maya asked calculated questions, letting him believe he was in control. It was an old game for both of them.
At some point, Danny leaned back in his chair and shifted the tone.
“What did you think of my wife?”
The question came out of nowhere.
“She seems very kind,” Maya replied. “Gentle.”
Danny nodded slowly.
“Carina spends a lot of time alone,” he commented. “I work too much. Maybe… you could keep her company.”
Maya let out a brief, almost disbelieving laugh.
“I wasn’t hired to be anyone’s friend,” she said. “I’m here to work.”
His expression hardened for a moment.
“You work for me,” he replied, flatly. “And that includes keeping my wife… comfortable.”
Maya held his gaze.
“I’ll think about your request,” she said, neutrally.
The silence that followed was heavy.
“I can walk you out,” he said, standing up, bringing the conversation to an end.
“No need,” Maya replied, already walking away. “I know the way.”
She crossed the corridor alone and returned to the living room, finding Carina seated on the couch, legs crossed, a glass of wine in her hand.
Carina looked up the moment she noticed her.
“Leaving already?” she asked.
“Yes,” Maya replied. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Carina stood and stepped closer, walking her to the door.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“At a hotel.”
“That can’t be very comfortable,” Carina commented, lightly touching Maya’s arm.
The touch was casual… or maybe it wasn’t. Maya raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised. She couldn’t tell whether that was simply Carina’s way or if all women in Texas were like that.
“It’s enough,” she replied.
“I really enjoyed meeting you,” Carina said with a smile as they stepped outside.
“The pleasure was mine,” Maya answered. “Dinner was delicious.”
Carina’s smile shifted.
“Everything I do is delicious,” she said, in a tone Maya couldn’t immediately interpret.
Or maybe she could and didn’t want to admit it.
The car pulled up in front of the house at that moment. They said goodbye with one last look, heavy with something still undefined.
The following morning, Maya arrived at Danny Gallino’s office before the sun was fully up.
She liked arriving early. It was when places hadn’t yet been contaminated by too many voices, when spaces revealed more than they intended. The building was quiet, the air still too cool for Texas standards, and it gave her a few precious minutes of observation before the day truly began.
Danny was already there.
He didn’t seem surprised to see her. On the contrary, his posture was different from the day before. Looser. Less defensive. The previous night’s dinner had done its job. Maya felt it in the way he greeted her, with a brief, almost familiar gesture.
“Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Well enough,” she replied.
He nodded, tossing a folder onto the desk.
“These are the people I mentioned last night,” he said. “One man, two women. I want you to watch them. See who talks too much, who avoids too much, who moves differently when they think no one’s watching.”
Maya opened the folder and memorized the faces quickly.
“Do they know I’m here?” she asked.
“They know you work for me now,” Danny replied. “They don’t know why.”
Perfect.
Throughout the morning, she watched them move through the office. She approached naturally, introduced herself, made neutral comments, offered small compliments. Nothing forced. Nothing inquisitive.
They fell too quickly, as always happened when people underestimated someone.
Meanwhile, Maya stayed close to Danny whenever possible. Not hovering, but available. She answered when called. Listened when he spoke. And he spoke more than he had the day before.
Trust was already being built.
Danny sat at the main desk while Maya worked from a corner of the office, settled into a small sofa with her laptop balanced on her knees and a few notes spread around her. A strategic arrangement — visible, but not invasive.
That was when the door opened without warning.
Maya instinctively looked up and saw Carina walk in carrying several shopping bags, some nearly slipping from her arms. The sound of her heels echoed through the wide space before her voice did.
“Amore, I didn’t know you had company today,” she said, amused. Her eyes met Maya’s. “Hi, Maya.”
Maya replied with a slight nod, automatic, before she even realized she’d done it.
Danny stood up immediately.
“Mi amor,” he said, moving toward her. “You went shopping?”
“I did,” Carina replied. “I was bored at home.”
Maya had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.
Danny glanced at the bags with calculated interest.
“Is there anything in there for me?”
“Maybe,” Carina smiled sideways. “If you don’t mind… there are a few things here I haven’t tried on yet. Can I use the office bathroom?”
“Of course,” Danny replied. “Ask Maya’s opinion if you want. I’ll be out for a while.”
Maya looked up, surprised. “My opinion?”
Danny raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you understand fashion?”
Maya let out a short, involuntary laugh.
“Enough to get by,” she replied.
Carina smiled, shaking her head. “Let the poor woman work. You can go. Later, at home, I’ll show you everything properly.”
Danny kissed his wife’s cheek before leaving, casting one last look at Maya.
When they were alone, Carina adjusted the bags in her arms.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”
“Not at all,” Maya replied.
Carina disappeared into the bathroom, leaving behind a faint trail of perfume.
The office fell silent again. Maya went back to work, but now with heightened focus. She used the time alone to go beyond the obvious. She opened files, cross-referenced information, observed patterns.
At one point, she stood up and, with as much care as possible, opened one of the drawers in Danny’s desk. Nothing flashy.
She was standing by the bookshelf when she heard the bathroom door open.
She turned quickly and saw Carina step out wearing fitted pants and a light blouse, partially unbuttoned. Her hair was slightly messy, as if she’d run her fingers through it without thinking. There was something unguarded about the image,almost too intimate for a workplace.
“Oh,” Carina said, surprised. “I didn’t know you were still here. I thought you’d already left because of how quiet it was.”
“No,” Maya replied, clearing her throat discreetly. “I’m still working.”
Carina tilted her head, watching her with curious attention.
“I was about to go out for lunch,” she said. “Would you like to join me?”
Maya assessed the situation for a second. Risk. Opportunity. Strategy.
“Sure,” she finally said. “Why not?”
Carina’s smile widened, genuine.
The restaurant was just a few blocks from the office, discreet, elegant enough not to draw attention. They went in Carina’s car, leaving Maya openly stunned when she realized the woman was driving a Porsche.
Carina went in first, greeting the waiter by name, like someone who came there often. Maya watched the gesture in silence.
They sat at a table by the window. The midday light filtered in, gilding the space in a way that felt almost too intimate for a meeting that, technically, shouldn’t exist.
“You seem like someone who doesn’t usually stop for lunch,” Carina commented, flipping through the menu.
“I eat when I remember,” Maya replied.
Carina smiled, understanding.
“I used to be like that too. Before.”
The order was simple. Carina spoke to the waiter in Italian for a brief moment, and Maya raised an eyebrow slightly.
“I was genuinely surprised to learn you’re from Italy,” she said casually.
“I am,” Carina replied, her smile tinged with nostalgia. “Born there. Raised there.”
“And you ended up in Texas.”
“Yeah,” Carina said, resting her chin on her hand. “Life likes to take strange turns.”
Maya nodded, not disagreeing.
“How did you and your husband meet?” she asked, keeping her tone light, almost indifferent.
Carina blinked, surprised, for just a second.
“He was traveling,” she said. “Came to Italy for work. We met by chance. A dinner, a small place… love at first sight, as they say.” She laughed at herself. “It sounds cliché when I say it out loud.”
“It’s beautiful,” Maya commented.
“We were together for six months before getting married,” Carina continued. “It was fast. Intense. Everything felt very right.”
There was a brief pause. A silence too small to be comfortable.
“And you?” Carina asked. “Have you always lived in New York?”
Maya took a sip of water before answering.
“I spent a lot of time there,” she said, and nothing more.
“Family?” Carina pressed gently.
“Complicated,” Maya replied short, but polite.
Carina noticed. Her smile shifted almost imperceptibly, becoming more careful.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t,” Maya replied. “I just… don’t talk much about myself.”
Carina nodded slowly. “I understand.”
Lunch continued more quietly after that. Carina spoke more than Maya, filling the space with stories about Italy, adapting to Texas, cultural differences. Maya listened, attentive, always keeping a safe distance.
And Carina noticed. She didn’t push. Didn’t insist. She simply observed, like someone who understood boundaries or was used to respecting them.
When they were done, Carina paid the bill before Maya could react.
“Consider it a thank-you for your company,” she said.
Maya didn’t argue.
The car glided through the streets smoothly, the air conditioning set low,too low to break the silence that had settled between them. Carina drove with one relaxed hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, while Maya watched the city pass by the window as if calculating invisible escape routes.
“Can you drop me off at the hotel?” Maya asked.
Carina blinked, surprised. “You’re not going back to the office?”
“I have some things to take care of,” she replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie.
Carina nodded without pressing. She tapped the GPS screen, entered the hotel address while Maya spoke, and went back to driving.
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Maya felt strangely uneasy. Not because Carina had done anything wrong — quite the opposite. That was what unsettled her. Carina seemed… good. A woman who didn’t match the man she slept beside every night.
And Maya wasn’t there to form bonds. She wasn’t there to like anyone. Least of all the wife of the man she would, sooner or later, have to destroy.
When the car stopped in front of the hotel, Maya turned in her seat to thank her and found Carina already looking at her.
“Thank you for lunch,” Maya said. “And for the ride.”
“Thank you for the company,” Carina replied with a soft smile. “We could do this again.”
Maya let out a short, almost imperceptible breath.
“I… I’m not very good at this.”
“At lunches?” Carina asked, confused.
“At people,” Maya corrected. “Especially women.”
Carina raised an eyebrow, curious.
“Why?”
Maya shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… can’t.”
Carina tilted her head slightly, studying her.
“That’s a shame,” she said. “I really enjoyed your company. You’re easy to be around, even when you pretend you’re not.”
Maya held her gaze a second longer than she should have.
“I’m not good at friendships,” she murmured, wanting to end the conversation.
Carina leaned in a little, crossing a boundary Maya normally wouldn’t allow. Carefully, she lifted her hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from Maya’s face, tucking it behind her ear.
“You’re very beautiful,” Carina said, almost like a confession. “With a face like that, I’m sure you’re good at friendships and… other things.”
There was a suspended second in the air. A moment far too dangerous for either of them.
Maya swallowed, unbuckled her seatbelt, and opened the car door, stepping out before she could say something she shouldn’t.
“See you, Carina,” she said, already outside.
Carina smiled and started the car again. Maya watched her drive away, her breathing uneven.
“What the fuck was that?”
The office was steeped in silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic sound of pages being turned. The desk lamp cast a yellowish glow, creating long shadows along the walls, shadows that seemed to shift as Maya moved through the folders.
Danny Gallino was not a local man. That much became clear far too quickly.
There were hand-marked maps, fragmented financial reports, names repeated across different countries. Cuba emerged as a key point: a port, an import front, a base that served both as a passageway and a refuge. In Mexico, the operation was more straightforward, routes, armed contacts, an almost military structure.
There were also mentions of another Central American country, less documented but clearly strategic. A headquarters far from American eyes, far from any jurisdiction that truly mattered.
Maya made mental notes, cross-referencing dates, names, figures. Gallino didn’t improvise. He built empires with patience.
By the time she noticed the hour, the city’s soundscape had already changed. That was when the computer signaled the arrival of a new email. Maya frowned before opening it.
The information wasn’t about Galino. It was about Carina.
The photos appeared one by one. Some clearly older, others recent. Carina entering hotels, accompanied. In some images, men. In others, women.
Maya felt a strange mix of professional satisfaction and something harder to name.
“So you’re not that innocent after all,” she murmured to herself.
There was one image in particular that made her stop.
Taken through a partially open hotel window. Carina was sitting on the bed, naked, a cigarette in her hand, another woman beside her, just as unclothed.
Their posture was relaxed, the woman kissing Carina’s shoulder while the Italian smoked, unbothered.
Maya looked away for a second. Not out of modesty, but unease.
She opened the reply and typed quickly.
“What exactly do you expect me to do with this?”
The response came too fast.
“Carina DeLuca is not just what she appears to be. This changes the approach. Don’t underestimate her, get closer. She could be a valuable ally.”
She closed the laptop harder than she meant to. Maya leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the office. It complicated everything. And at the same time, made the game far more interesting.