Chapter 4 TANGLED LOYALTIES

(Sloane POV)

The next three hours were controlled chaos. The Castellano team was understandably livid:incorrect financial information in a press release could impact stock prices, investor confidence, and SEC compliance. I issued an immediate correction, crafted an apology that took responsibility without admitting negligence, and personally called their communications director to do damage control.

"This kind of error is unacceptable," Richard Castellano said, his voice tight. "We trusted Moretti Holdings with sensitive information, and you've compromised that trust."

"I understand completely, and I take full responsibility," I said, even though I hadn't been anywhere near the final file. "I'm implementing new protocols to ensure this never happens again. Multiple approval checkpoints, locked files after final review, automated version control."

"That should have already been standard practice."

He was right. It should have been. But we were a lean department, and I'd trusted the existing systems.

Fatal mistake.

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Castellano. I should have had these safeguards in place from day one. This is on me, and I will personally ensure every future release goes through enhanced review."

A long pause. Then: "I appreciate you taking ownership rather than making excuses. But Sloane? One more incident like this, and we'll be requesting a new communications liaison."

"Understood. It won't happen again."

I disconnected and dropped my head to my desk, exhaustion and stress creating a headache that pulsed behind my eyes.

"Rough morning?"

I jerked upright. Dante stood in my doorway, looking infuriatingly perfect in a navy suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His expression was carefully neutral, but something gleamed in his dark eyes that might have been concern or might have been satisfaction.

"What do you want?" I didn't bother with professional courtesy.

"I heard about the Castellano situation." He entered without invitation, closing the door behind him. "Are you okay?"

"Am I-" I laughed, sharp and bitter. "You accessed that file this morning, Dante. The one with the wrong numbers. So either you changed them, or you saw they were wrong and said nothing. Which is it?"

His jaw tightened. "I accessed the file to review it for our meeting tomorrow.

Communications is handling a major merger-I wanted to understand the scope before our strategic discussion."

"At 6:52 in the morning? Before anyone else was in the office?"

"I'm an early riser. Always have been." He moved closer to my desk, and I caught cedar and something darker. "And I didn't change anything, Sloane. When I reviewed that document, the numbers were already wrong. I assumed they were correct because why would I question your department's work on a routine press release?"

"So you saw incorrect financial information and didn't think to flag it?"

"I saw numbers. I'm not familiar enough with Castellano's revenue projections to know if they were accurate." His voice sharpened. "Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging your work on my second day back?"

"I'm saying it's quite a coincidence that the first major error in my tenure happens twelve hours after you show up."

"Coincidences happen."

"Not to me they don't." I stood, putting us on more equal footing. "Everything in my career has been calculated, earned, fought for. I don't have the luxury of accidents or coincidences. So when something goes wrong right after you appear, I have to ask myself what you're gaining from it."

Dante stared at me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. "You think I'm trying to destroy your career."

"I think you're playing a game I don't understand yet." I crossed my arms. "The coffee, the accelerated meeting, the file access-it's all too coordinated. So tell me, Dante: what's your endgame?"

He was quiet, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Then he did something unexpected: he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and turned the screen toward me.

It was an email, sent at 7:03 AM to Marcus Chen and Giovanni Moretti:

Reviewed Communications press release for Castellano merger. Recommend secondary financial review before distribution-some projections seem inconsistent with acquisition terms. May be formatting issue but worth verification. -DM

I stared at the timestamp. Seven minutes after he'd accessed the file. Eleven minutes after he'd left coffee on my desk.

"I flagged it," he said quietly. "I wasn't certain there was an error, but something felt off. I sent that email before the release went out."

"Then why didn't anyone stop it?"

"Look at the distribution time."

I grabbed my phone, pulling up the disastrous press release. Sent at 7:01 AM.

Two minutes before Dante's warning email.

"Maya sent it early," I whispered. "She was supposed to wait until 8 AM for final executive review, but she sent it at 7:01."

"Which means the error isn't yours or hers-it's whoever changed the file between final approval and distribution." Dante pocketed his phone. "Your assistant is competent. She wouldn't accidentally send something early or with wrong numbers. Which means someone wanted this to go out incorrectly, and they timed it perfectly to slip past safeguards."

The implications settled over me like ice water. This wasn't an accident. This was deliberate sabotage.

"Who would do that?" I asked, though I was already mentally reviewing enemies. Marcus Chen, who'd resented my rapid promotion? Sarah from Legal, who'd wanted the Communications position? Someone else who saw me as a threat?

"I don't know," Dante said. "But I'm going to find out."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than intended. "Why do you care if someone's sabotaging my career?"

He stepped closer, and suddenly my office felt too small, the air too thick. "Because you're mine to protect now."

"I'm not yours anything."

"You work for my division. That makes you my responsibility." But his eyes said something else entirely-something possessive and dangerous that had nothing to do with corporate hierarchy.

"I can protect myself."

"I know you can." His voice softened. "But you shouldn't have to. Not from this kind of targeted attack. Not when I can help."

It was the gentleness that undid me. I could handle Dante's intensity, his demands, even his barely concealed hunger. But this-this careful concern that felt genuine-this I didn't have defenses against.

"I need to prepare for tomorrow's meeting," I said, retreat disguised as professionalism. "Unless you'd like to move that up to this afternoon too?"

"Tomorrow is fine." He moved toward the door, and I felt myself relax incrementally. Then he paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Sloane? The coffee-I'll stop if you want me to. But I need you to know why I do it."

"Why?"

"Because for seven years, I've wondered if you still drink it that way. If you still wrap your hands around the cup like you're trying to absorb warmth. If you still take that first sip and close your eyes for just a second, like it's the best thing you've tasted all morning." His voice dropped.

"And this morning, when I walked past your office after leaving it, I saw you through the window. You did all three things. And for just a moment, you looked like that girl on the front steps again-the one I was too fucked up to deserve back then."

My breath caught. He'd watched me? He'd stayed to observe my reaction?

"That's creepy, Dante."

"I know." He met my eyes, unflinching. "But it's honest. And I promised myself if I ever got a second chance, I'd be honest with you. Even when honesty makes me look like a stalker."

"Especially then," I whispered.

"Especially then," he agreed. Then: "I didn't sabotage your work, Sloane. I tried to protect it. Whether you believe that or not is up to you, but it's the truth."

He left before I could respond, closing the door softly behind him.

I sank into my chair, staring at the half-empty coffee cup, at the evidence he'd been right about my habits.

My phone buzzed. Maya: Security footage shows DM in the building from 6:30-7:15 AM. He accessed the file from his temporary office, sent the warning email, then delivered something to your office. Timeline checks out,he couldn't have changed the numbers during that window. Want me to keep digging?

So Dante was telling the truth. He'd tried to flag the error, had actually attempted to protect me rather than sabotage me.

Which meant someone else was targeting my work. Someone with executive access and enough technical knowledge to change files without leaving obvious traces.

I typed back: Yes. Pull access logs for the past month. I want to know everyone who's touched my files, especially after hours.

The response came quickly: On it. Also-you have a lunch delivery. Want me to send it back?

I hadn't ordered lunch. From where?

That French place you love. Gruyère and prosciutto sandwich, side salad, the chocolate tart you always get for special occasions. Card says "Fuel for tomorrow's presentation. You're going to be brilliant. -DM"

Jesus Christ. He remembered my lunch order too? From what, watching me eat in the company cafeteria years ago when we were neighbors and I'd occasionally see him around the neighborhood?

No. That didn't make sense. We'd never had lunch together.

Which meant he'd been asking around. Finding out my preferences, my habits, building a profile.

It should have terrified me. Instead, some twisted part of me felt...seen. After years of being invisible, of working quietly and efficiently without recognition, Dante was paying attention to details no one else noticed.

Send it to my office, I texted Maya. And thanks for handling everything this morning. You did good work.

Just trying not to get us both fired, she replied. You really think someone's targeting you specifically?

I don't know. But I'm going to find out.

I spent the rest of the morning preparing for tomorrow's presentation while simultaneously investigating the file tampering. The access logs Maya pulled were revealing: someone had accessed my files repeatedly over the past six weeks, always after hours, always for brief periods. The user ID was masked, which required IT administrator privileges.

Either someone in IT was targeting me, or someone with enough power had convinced IT to grant them anonymous access.

Neither option was comforting.

By the time lunch arrived(perfectly prepared, exactly what I would have ordered)I'd compiled a list of suspects:

Marcus Chen: Senior VP, threatened by my rapid rise, had the authority to request IT access.

Sarah Chen: Legal department, bitter about losing the Communications position to me, connected to Marcus through surname coincidence that might be actual relation.

David Kozlov: Finance VP, had raised concerns about Communications budget allocation, could want me replaced with someone more... cooperative.

Unknown IT administrator: Self-explanatory.

Elena Ricci: Giovanni's assistant, long-time company fixture, fiercely protective of Moretti family interests. Might view me as unsuitable association for Dante.

That last one was pure speculation, but something about the way Elena had watched me during yesterday's meeting had felt assessing, calculating.

My office phone rang, interrupting the paranoia spiral.

"Ms. Rivera, this is the front desk." The security guard sounded uncomfortable. "Your access card has been flagged for review. I'm going to need you to come down and verify your identity."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Your card shows... there's been suspicious activity associated with it. Multiple building accesses outside normal business hours, areas you shouldn't have clearance for. IT security wants to verify you're in possession of your card and haven't had it stolen."

My blood went cold. "I have my card right here. I've been in my office all morning."

"Can you bring it down? They want to check the chip, make sure it hasn't been cloned."

This was getting worse by the hour. First the file tampering, now my security access was compromised?

"I'll be right there."

I grabbed my card and headed for the elevator, mind racing. If someone had cloned my access card, they could enter and exit the building as me. Could access my office after hours, my computer, my files.

The elevator doors opened on the twenty-seventh floor, and Dante stepped in.

Of course.

"Going down?" he asked mildly, as if we hadn't had an intense conversation an hour ago.

"Security issue with my access card," I said tightly. "Apparently I've been accessing areas I don't have clearance for."

His expression sharpened. "When?"

"I don't know. They just called."

"I'm coming with you."

"That's not necessary-"

"It's absolutely necessary." The elevator descended, and Dante pulled out his phone. "Catherine, get IT security on the line. We have a potential breach involving Communications Director access credentials."

"Dante, I can handle-"

"This isn't about your capability, Sloane.

This is corporate security protocol." But the protective edge in his voice suggested otherwise. "If your card has been compromised, it affects the entire company. This needs executive oversight."

We reached the lobby, where two security guards and an IT specialist waited. The IT guy-young, nervous, clutching a tablet like a shield-stepped forward.

"Ms. Rivera, I'm Brandon from IT Security. Can I see your access card?"

I handed it over, watching as he scanned it with a handheld device. His frown deepened.

"This card shows access to the executive floor last night at 11:47 PM. Were you in the building then?"

"No. I left at 6:30 PM yesterday."

"And the thirtieth floor at 2:14 AM this morning?"

My stomach dropped. The thirtieth floor was executive suites. Giovanni's office.

The secure file room where acquisition documents were stored.

"Absolutely not. I was home asleep."

Brandon tapped his tablet, pulling up security footage. "We have video of someone using your card to access restricted areas, but the footage is corrupted. Just static where the person's face should be."

"That's convenient," Dante said coldly. "Someone sophisticated enough to clone her card and corrupt security footage. This is a serious breach."

"We're investigating, Mr. Moretti." Brandon shifted uncomfortably under Dante's stare. "But we need to deactivate Ms. Rivera's current access and issue her a new card. For security."

"Do it," I said. "But I want a copy of all access logs associated with my old card. Every entry, every exit, every door opened."

"That's confidential security data-"

"Ms. Rivera's credentials were used to access confidential areas," Dante interrupted. "She has every right to that information. Send the logs to both of us by end of day."

Brandon looked like he wanted to argue but knew better than to challenge a VP. "Yes, sir."

The new card took twenty minutes to process:twenty minutes of standing in the lobby while employees walked past, whispering, wondering why the Communications Director was being handled by security. Professional humiliation at its finest.

Dante stayed the entire time, a silent presence that felt both protective and possessive.

When we finally headed back upstairs, he followed me into the elevator.

"You don't have to babysit me," I said once the doors closed.

"Someone is systematically targeting you," he said flatly. "Wrong numbers in your press releases, your security access compromised, your files accessed after hours. This isn't random, Sloane. This is coordinated."

"I know that."

"Do you know who?"

"I have theories."

"Share them."

I looked at him,at the genuine concern in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had formed fists like he was restraining himself from... what? Comforting me? Hunting down whoever was responsible?

"Why do you care?" I asked again, because I needed to understand. "You've been back for thirty-six hours. You don't owe me protection or concern or-"

"I owe you everything," he cut me off, his voice rough. "Seven years of apologies I'll never be able to adequately give. So yes, Sloane, I'm going to help you whether you want me to or not. Because maybe I can't fix what I did to you back then, but I can damn well make sure no one else gets the chance to hurt you now."

The elevator reached my floor, doors sliding open.

I should have walked out. Should have maintained distance, kept this professional, protected myself from whatever complicated game he was playing.

Instead, I heard myself say: "Marcus Chen. Sarah Chen. Possibly Elena Ricci. Those are my primary suspects."

Dante's expression went cold, calculating. "I'll look into it."

"Carefully," I warned. "If you start investigating C-suite executives on your second day, it'll raise questions."

"Let them raise questions." He stepped out of the elevator, holding it open so I could exit. "I didn't spend seven years learning corporate warfare to be subtle when someone's attacking what's mine."

"I'm not-"

"My division," he corrected smoothly. "My responsibility. My problem to solve."

But his eyes said mine in a way that had nothing to do with corporate hierarchy and everything to do with possession.

I walked back to my office feeling unsettled, protected, and more confused than ever about whether Dante Moretti was my salvation or a different kind of destruction entirely.

The lunch he'd sent waited on my desk, still warm in its elegant packaging.

I ate every bite, hating myself for how good it tasted.