Chapter 5 - The Snake in Cashmere
At 10:00 a.m. that same morning, Camila Castellano arrived at the corporate tower.
Camila was thirty-two, with ash-blonde hair kept neatly in a chignon at the nape of her neck and a voice so quiet and melodic that others instinctively leaned closer to hear her.
Her father, Warick Sutcliffe, controlled Philadelphia’s four largest construction unions and had direct influence over half the politicians sitting in City Hall.
Three years earlier, Warick Sutcliffe and Rafe’s ailing father had decided that Camila would take the Castellano name. Neither Camila nor Rafe had been asked. It was a cold, strategic alliance: every Castellano construction permit passed smoothly through Sutcliffe-controlled union halls, while Sutcliffe transportation contracts moved across the country on Castellano wheels.
Their marriage was an absolute business arrangement. Rafe appeared beside Camila at public galas and political functions, while sleeping on a separate floor of their Lake Forest mansion. Camila accepted the arrangement because what mattered to her was not possession of the man’s heart, but the formidable position beside him.
Camila walked unannounced into Rafe’s private office.
She immediately noticed the cheap, chipped kitchen teacup sitting directly beside his heavy gold pen set on the polished mahogany desk.
Then her sharp eyes noticed something else—something far more disturbing.
Rafe was sitting behind his desk, his suit jacket off, his broad shoulders noticeably relaxed as he reviewed a document. During their three years together, she had almost never seen him look unburdened.
They spent twenty minutes discussing an upcoming union charity reception and the opening of a new shipping pier. Camila spoke gracefully, reviewing the guest list of judges and senators.
While they were speaking, a light knock sounded at the door.
Josie entered quietly, carrying three signed legal folders. She wore her usual plain, long-sleeved navy blouse, a dark knee-length skirt, and no jewelry. Her dark hair was tied low at her neck.
She set the files on the desk, explained in her low, calm voice that legal had signed the final pages, and turned to leave.
Camila had seen the secretary perhaps a hundred times over the past three years. To her, the girl was little more than office furniture—an invisible servant who kept the calendar updated.
But this time, Camila watched her husband.
As Josie walked toward the exit, Rafe’s dark eyes followed her across the entire length of the room, lingering on her slender figure until the heavy oak door clicked shut.
A cold, dangerous realization bloomed inside Camila’s chest.
She recognized that look. It was not casual interest or lust. It was the quiet, intense awareness of a man who had suddenly noticed something precious hiding in plain sight.
Camila continued the conversation about the charity gala without missing a single beat, her smile remaining as sweet as honey.
Ten minutes later, as Sunny Falco escorted her to her waiting limousine in the basement garage, Camila paused beside the rear door.
"Sunny," she asked softly, adjusting her diamond bracelet. "What is the secretary’s full name?"
"Josie Kavanaugh, Mrs. Castellano," Sunny replied promptly.
"Where does she live?"
Sunny hesitated for a fraction of a second, sensing the shift in the air. "Somewhere in South Philly, I believe. Keeps to herself. Very quiet girl."
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"I see," Camila murmured, stepping into the leather interior. "Thank you, Sunny."
It was the first time in three years Camila had ever asked for the name of an employee.
