She Found Who Was Robbing the Don’s Syndicate—Then He Claimed Her Before Everyone
Chapter 2
Three months earlier, Elena had believed the worst thing about working for the Belladonna trading house was the silence.
Everyone in the riverside district knew the name Matteo Belladonna.
He owned warehouses, river barges, taverns, horse stables, and several trading houses stretching from the harbor to the inland roads. Officially, he was a merchant.
Unofficially, men lowered their voices whenever his name was spoken.
He controlled smuggling routes, gambling rooms, protection agreements, and a network of armed men who could make a problem disappear before sunrise.
Yet Elena rarely saw him.
She worked in the accounting room above the main warehouse, surrounded by inkpots, quills, receipts, and heavy books bound in cracked leather.
Her father had taught her figures before he taught her embroidery.
After his death, numbers became the only thing she trusted.
Every morning she copied shipments.
Every evening she balanced accounts.
And every night, she walked home through streets where respectable women were expected to keep their eyes lowered.
Elena never did.
That was why she noticed the first discrepancy.
A shipment of twelve sacks of flour had been recorded as fourteen.
Two weeks later, a shipment of imported coffee showed twenty crates arriving.
The warehouse keeper swore twenty had arrived.
But the riverboat captain’s receipt showed twenty-four.
Four crates had vanished between the boat and the warehouse.
Then came tobacco.
Then salt.
Then cloth.
The missing goods were worth more than a laborer’s yearly wages.
Elena quietly began making copies.
She never accused anyone.
She simply watched.
One rainy afternoon, she found a pattern.
Every missing shipment had been recorded by the same clerk.
Thomas Vane.
Thomas was twenty-six, charming, handsome, and always perfectly dressed. He was the sort of man who remembered every woman’s name and every gentleman’s favorite drink.
Elena disliked him immediately.
Not because of his smile.
Because his smile never reached his eyes.
That evening, Thomas appeared beside her desk.
“You work too late, Miss Moretti.”
“So do you.”
He glanced at the ledger beneath her hand.
“Some numbers aren’t worth losing sleep over.”
Elena closed the book.
“Numbers are never the problem.”
His smile disappeared for half a second.
Then it returned.
“You’re a clever woman.”
“I prefer careful.”
“Careful women live longer.”
He walked away.
Elena watched him disappear through the doorway.
For the first time, she wondered whether her father had been right about one thing.
Numbers did not lie.
But sometimes they led you directly to the people who did.
