Page 112 of Filthy Little Fix

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just following orders," he recites. The soldier's mantra.

"It was the kiss, wasn't it?"

He looks away.

I like Luca. He's simple, predictable, loyal. That's why it's so amusing to watch his parameters fail.

"My job is to protect you and the boss," he finally says. "What happens between you two is none of my business."

I nod. I see why Dante trusts him so much.

"Of all the people who could have seen that, I'm glad it was you," I say, before leaning back against the wall. "Thanks for the meds, Luca. And for keeping me alive back there."

Luca doesn't respond. He's also not used to gratitude other than a paycheck.

He clears his throat and looks away.

"Rest, Hays."

He turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I could live like this. It's infinitely better than anything I've witnessed in the last twenty-three years before Dante.

Iwantto get used to this.

The followingdays are a grey avalanche: first, nothing. I was left to marinate. Luca insisted thatDanteinsisted I should rest. A doctor—the same one who fixed my face—visited me daily, and Luca stood guard at the door most of the time so I wouldn't sneak out. Nothing to do but languish and think about Dante.

Then, an envelope arrived. Discreet, on heavy cardstock, with no sender. Inside, a contract with the Volkov logo.

Dmitry, the family diplomat, is efficient. A formal proposal to be the Head of Cyber Security. My eyes scanned the salary: a number with so many zeros it made me dizzy. I almost dropped the paper. It was obscene. Why so much? Why would I need all that money per month? I didn't sign. It didn't make sense; there was no explanation for why I, who can barely wear dress shoes for more than two hours, would need it.

Finally, Luca brought an expensive suit that looked casual. My size. These weren't the light, comfortable clothes he had left me in the past few days. Office suit.

"The IT division will be reintegrated."

It took me a while to understand he was talking about my old job. I'd even forgotten it existed.Reintegratingwas a polite euphemism for saying the last living division would be dissolved, its functions absorbed back into the main Volkov empire. Which meant, for me, the end of my monotonous job there. It also meant, for everyone else, unemployment.

So, today, I'm back at my old workplace.

I hadn't shown up for days without explanation, while being beaten in the Malakovs' basement and held captive by Luca in a luxury hotel. An irony. But my boss was no longer Chad. Anyway, I need to collect my things.

My ribs no longer hurt so much from walking. My eyes have some green outlines, consequences of the broken nose slowly disappearing, and Brenda from the reception is no longer there. I pass through the turnstiles directly. The cameras recognize me.

The only lit floor is IT. The department going to the gallows. Cardboard boxes with corporate remains are everywhere. On the last day, the prodigal son returns home.

Luca had told me before dropping me off at the entrance, "Mr. Volkov wishes everything to be in order by the end of the day." In order, of course. Exterminated.

I walk down the hallway. Some familiar faces turn toward me, brimming with a mixture of resignation and despair. And strangeness. I disappeared for a while. They see me, and I see them. Colleagues. Fired. They think I've also been hit, squeezed out. If not for the reintegration, it would be for not showing up for work for a whole week without notice. And I let them think. There's a certain irony in that. While they sink, I float. To the top.

In the middle of that corporate funeral, I find Nicole. She's sitting in her cubicle, shoulders hunched, a cardboard box in her lap. Her brown hair, usually tied back, is loose and disheveled. She's crying.

The thought—let them sink while I float—hides. It doesn't feel right with her. An anomaly.

"Nicole." My voice is more direct than usual. She was the most dedicated. Even thinking the printer had a virus.

She lifts her head. Her red, swollen eyes fix on me. Surprise. Shame. "Leo? My God, where have you been? And what… what happened to your face?"

Déjà vu. I ignore it.