Humiliated by a mafia boss about her appearance just before midnight, the plus-size accountant bravely retaliated, forcing him to immediately lock his office door so he could hear her expose the traitor.
Nora placed the red leather-bound notebook on the walnut table. The sound was small but sharp, cutting through the murmuring of the dark-suited men surrounding her. In Rafe Caruso’s world, women were often silent, submissive decorative objects. He was accustomed to seeing them cower or force a smile in response to his razor-sharp sarcasm. But Nora Bell wasn’t that kind of woman. She’d spent fifteen years in finance, facing the most cunning executives, sifting through thousands of pages of forged documents to expose corruption. She took a deep breath, feeling the coldness of the room settle on her chest, then lifted her head. The crystal chandelier’s light reflected in her unwavering gray eyes. “Never speak to me in that tone again,” Nora said. Her voice didn’t tremble. It was so deep, quiet, and clear that every whisper in the private dining room of the five-star hotel instantly died down. Rafe Caruso froze. His arrogant half-smile stiffened. He took another step forward, his tall, muscular figure looming over her, carrying the scent of expensive cigarettes and the somber aroma of cedar wood. “What did you say?” Rafe narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering to the dangerous tone of someone accustomed to giving orders and taking lives. “I said, never speak to me in that tone again,” Nora repeated, staring directly into the deep black eyes of the city’s most notorious mafia boss. “You hired me because I’m the best auditor your money can buy, not for you to comment on my appearance. If you want a model to stand here and beautify your team, call an escort service. And if you want to know who’s siphoning off twelve million dollars from your casino in the South, then shut your mouth and let me do my work.” The room fell into a vacuum. The three bodyguards in the corner simultaneously placed their hands on the butts of their guns under their vests. Rafe’s personal assistant’s face was ashen. No one—especially an unarmed woman, an oversized accountant in a simple business dress—had ever dared to speak to Rafe Caruso like that. Rafe looked Nora up and down again, but this time not with contempt, but with the cold scrutiny of a predator that had just discovered something unusual. He subtly raised his hand to signal those around him. “Get out,” Rafe ordered, his eyes still fixed on Nora. “But, Mr. Caruso…” the assistant stammered. “Everyone. Get out.” The room quickly emptied. The hurried footsteps faded away, leaving only the two of them in the vast space. Click. Rafe walked to the thick oak door, turning the classic brass key. The mechanical lock clicked shut, trapping both of them inside the office, which was filled with warm, yet stifling, golden light. He slipped the key into his trouser pocket, turning back to look at Nora, his earlier faint smile now completely gone, replaced by a terrifyingly serious expression. “Aren’t you afraid of me, Miss Bell?” Rafe said, slowly advancing toward the desk where Nora stood. “Do you know who I am? I can make you disappear from this city with a snap of my fingers. No one will ever find your body.” Nora didn’t back down. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, standing upright. “I know exactly who you are, Mr. Caruso. You’re desperate. If you weren’t desperate, you wouldn’t have sought out an independent auditor like me. And if you wanted to kill me, you would have done so before locking the door. The fact that you locked the door only proves one thing: you don’t want anyone else to hear what I’m about to say.” Rafe stopped just a step away from her. The distance was so close that Nora could see the faint, small scars on his angular jawline, and the fleeting surprise in his eyes. “You’re quite confident, aren’t you?” Rafe said in a low voice. “That’s not confidence. That’s data,” Nora pulled out an oak chair and sat down naturally without waiting for his permission. She opened her red leather notebook, turning to a page marked with a small ribbon. “I’ve spent the last three days studying the Caruso Corporation’s financial reports that your assistant sent me. And this is what I found.” Nora tapped her finger on the neatly printed lines of numbers: Year Reported Revenue (USD) Actual Cash Flow (USD) Deficit Difference (USD) 2024 $45,000,000 $42,500,000 $2,500,000 2025 $52,000,000 $47,000,000 $5,000,000 Q1-2026 $15,000,000 $10,500,000 $4,500,000 “They didn’t just steal from you,” Nora looked up at him. “This has been going on for almost three years. Initially, it was just small amounts, legitimized under the guise of ’emergency operating expenses’ or ‘asset depreciation.’ But by the beginning of this year, when he was busy with territorial disputes in the North, this guy started getting bolder. The deficit skyrocketed.” Rafe bent down to look at the ledger. His expression shifted from cold to serious. He leaned his hands on the table, leaning closer to Nora. “Who…”
“What?” “The fake invoices were issued by a shell company called Apex Logistics. Guess who signed off on all of Apex Logistics’ transactions at your office?” Nora pushed a photocopied document with a scrawled handwritten signature toward him. Rafe stared at the signature. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his face twitching. “Marcus.” “That’s your dear cousin,” Nora said casually. “The one you just put in charge of the entire new casino. He’s not stupid; he knows how to distribute the money through intermediary accounts in the Cayman Islands.” But he made a fatal mistake: he forgot that I could trace the IP addresses of his bank transactions back to his penthouse apartment in the heart of District 1. Silence fell over the dining room once again, but this time it carried a completely different pressure. It was the pressure of a brewing storm. Rafe Caruso stood up straight, sighed, and ran his hand through his neatly gelled black hair. The inherent ruthlessness and brutality of the mafia seemed to be suppressed beneath a thoughtful facade. He looked at Nora—the full-figured woman whom five minutes earlier he had described as “the dessert cart cleaner.” Now, in his eyes, she was the only one who possessed the key to saving his crumbling financial empire. “I owe you an apology, Ms. Bell,” Rafe said, his voice softening, though still retaining its inherent authority. “I underestimated you.” “I don’t need your apology, Mr. Caruso.” “I need minimum respect to do my job,” Nora closed the notebook with a sharp thud. “And of course, my fee has just doubled because of the danger of this mission.” Rafe was silent for a second, then suddenly burst into laughter. His deep, warm laughter echoed through the locked room. It was the first time in months that the cold-blooded mafia boss had actually laughed. “Double?” Rafe stepped closer to the door, pulled the key from his pocket, and unlocked it. He opened the door wide, turning to look at her with a completely different gaze—a gaze full of respect and a touch of admiration. “I’ll pay you three times as much, Miss Bell. On one condition.” “What condition?” “You must be the sole person managing all my personal accounts from now on. And…” Rafe tilted his head slightly, a knowing smile playing on his lips, “whenever you want dessert, the hotel kitchen will always be open exclusively for you, day or night.” “I’ll pay.” Nora smiled faintly, a confident and proud smile. She stood up, picked up the red leather notebook, and walked through the door he had just opened. “Deal it, Mr. Caruso.”
