The Man in the gray suit
Thirty-two floors above the chaos of Century City, LA, the sun caught the chrome letters etched across the glass tower — A. M. C. C.
Sofia's empire.
Down along Wilshire corridor to Century Boulevard, traffic was already snarling, horns blaring, engines rumbling, a morning symphony of impatience. On the sidewalks, people hurried toward their offices, faces set, movements sharp like they were being chased by the day itself.
Inside however, the world was different. A.M.C.C. was all glass, steel, and quiet power. The cubicles were made of smart glass — transparent one moment, opaque the next — shifting like moods at Sofia's command.
The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and lavender cleaning polish — the scent of productivity, of control. Her control. Every detail in this place was hers, from the monochrome art on the walls to the rhythm of the espresso machine two doors down.
On her desk, a half-drunk cappuccino had already gone cold beside a stack of client files marked confidential. Another day, another scandal waiting to be erased.
Sofia adjusted her blazer, smoothed a hand over her desk, and spoke softly:
"Glass, opaque."
At once, her office walls shimmered from clear to frosted, muting the shapes of people outside. She exhaled slowly, savoring the quiet.
But even in the silence, her father's voice echoed in her mind — He'll drop by your office tomorrow. Give him a chance, hmm?
Her jaw tightened. She'd barely slept thinking about that call. She didn't need another "consultant," especially not one her father handpicked. Every time Giovanni Russo tried to "help," chaos brewed.
Just then, a knock.
"Come in," she called. Danielle, her secretary, stepped in. A 5'2, petite and slender woman, with curves in all the right places. Her face small, round and dusted with freckles.
Despite her delicate appearance, Danielle had a deep voice, her voice carried a striking baritone –deep and calm– a contrast that always caught people off guard. Sofia knew Danielle's diagnosis — Polycystic Ovary Syndrome(PCOS) —was responsible for making her voice deep.
"Good morning, ma'am." Danielle said, holding a digital tablet close on one hand and another hot cup of cappuccino. Sofia's favourite beverage.
"Morning, Danielle. What's on the schedule?"
"Two clients confirmed for eleven and one. And…" she hesitated slightly, scanning her notes. "Your father's… associate is here. He says you're expecting him."
Sofia stilled.
Of course, he didn't waste time.
She forced a polite smile. "Send him in."
Danielle nodded and turned, her heels clicking softly against the marble. As the door opened again, Sofia caught sight of him — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored gray suit that somehow looked more like armor than clothing.
He paused at the doorway, eyes scanning the office in one slow, assessing sweep.
Everything about him was composed — from the precise line of his suit to the calm in his observative gaze.
Sofia felt it immediately. His aura — the subtle authority of someone who had seen too much and learned to say very little about it.
"You must be Mr. Kane," she said, her voice steady but cool.
He stepped inside, the soft thud of his shoes barely audible on the polished floor. "Elias Kane," he replied, tone low and even. "Your father said you were expecting me."
Her brow arched. "Expecting," she repeated. "That's one word for it."
He didn't react.
He was someone that worked in silence; the type that would coax the other person into spilling secrets to fill that silence.
Sofia didn't move either. She held his gaze, studying him. She had seen people of this sort. With the kind of business she runs, she too had mastered the art of observative silence.
She studied the features of his face, her brows furrowed. His nose was permanently crooked. Heaven knows how many blows to the nose this man had endured. His face had known hardship. Faint scars faded along his jaw. But one mark stood out, a thin line – just two inches below his left lower eye lid. It looked like a knife wound. Whoever did this had really come close to permanently rendering Kane blind in his left eye.
"You worked for my father before?" she asked finally.
Kane shook his head once. "No. This is the first time."
"Then you should know," she said, walking around her desk and leaning lightly against it, "I run things differently here. AMCC isn't the kind of business that requires… your kind of background."
He nodded slightly. "Understood."
"Good."
Another silence. The air between them was thick with mutual calculation — two people measuring the other's reach.
Then Kane's gaze flicked briefly to the view behind her, the sprawl of LA under the morning light. "Impressive setup," he said.
Sofia's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "I pride myself on it."
He looked back at her.
A small hum of the air-conditioning filled the gap that followed. Then she straightened. "My father said you'd be working under a consultancy cover. I'm still deciding if I'll allow that."
"I'm not here to interfere," Kane said.
"I don't need a bodyguard, And if I know my father, you are never just a consultant." she said, more to herself than to him.
"Stay out of my lane."
"I won't make that promise, Miss Russo. I was sent to keep you safe." Kane replied.
She blinked, his bluntness caught her off guard.
Sofia pushed off the desk, circling slowly toward the window. "Tell me, Mr. Kane… are you always this charming with your employers?" She rolled her eyes, making her intent for sarcasm obvious.
"I don't intend to charm, it's not my style. Ma'am." Kane retorted.
Was this man trying to get on her nerves?
"Fine," she said finally. "You'll have an office two doors down. Danielle will handle your clearance. Try not to scare my staff."
Kane gave a small nod, almost a salute. "Yes, ma'am."
As he turned to leave, Sofia found herself watching the cut of his shoulders, the steady rhythm of his steps. A man carved from discipline and silence.
When the door closed behind him, she exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. Somehow, this conversation had exhausted her.
"Glass," she whispered. "Transparent."
The city flooded back into view — bright, chaotic, unstoppable.
Just like the storm she'd just let in.