Chapter 5 Coldness of a Lion

Chapter 5: Coldness of a Lion

Beauty's POV

“Please, take a seat.”

Marcello’s voice cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. My legs moved without my permission, carrying me to one of the two chairs facing the intimidating panel. Agnes settled beside me, still clutching her portfolio with white knuckles.

I kept my eyes fixed on the polished surface of the mahogany table, afraid that if I looked up, I might lose what little composure I had left. My hands trembled as I placed my resume in front of me, the paper rustling loudly in the quiet room.

“Ms. Marino.” Marcello’s voice was arctic. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

I had no choice. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his dark eyes. They were cold, calculating, completely devoid of the heat I remembered from that night in the hotel room. It was as if he were looking at a complete stranger… or worse, something unpleasant he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.

“Better.” His lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else, but on Marcello it looked predatory. “Now, tell me why you think you’re qualified for the position of my personal assistant secretary.”

My mouth went dry. I’d rehearsed this answer a hundred times, but now the words scattered like leaves in a hurricane. “I… I have excellent organizational skills and…”

“Stop.”

The single word hit me like a physical blow. Marcello leaned forward slightly, his steely gaze never wavering from my face. “I didn’t ask about your skills. I asked why you think you’re qualified. Do you even understand the difference?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. Around the table, I could sense the other interviewers shifting uncomfortably. A middle-aged woman in a navy suit frowned slightly, while a man in glasses cleared his throat and looked away.

“I… yes, I understand,” I stammered. “I believe I’m qualified because…”

“You believe?” Marcello’s voice dripped with disdain. “Belief is for churches and fairy tales, Ms. Marino. I deal in facts. Give me facts.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I could feel Agnes tense beside me, probably wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “My educational background in business administration and my internship experience have prepared me for…”

“Have they?” Marcello interrupted again, his tone growing colder by the second. “Your internship was at a small marketing firm that handles local restaurants. Hardly comparable to running operations for a multinational corporation, wouldn’t you agree?”

The other interviewers exchanged glances. The woman in navy looked distinctly uncomfortable now, her pen hovering uncertainly over her notepad. This wasn’t a normal interview… this was an execution.

“I’m a fast learner,” I said desperately. “I can adapt to any environment and…”

“Can you?” Marcello sat back in his chair, looking bored. “Because from where I’m sitting, you appear to be someone who crumbles under the slightest pressure. How exactly do you plan to handle the demands of working directly for me when you can’t even complete a sentence without stuttering?”

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. I would not cry in front of him. I would not give him that satisfaction.

“I don’t stutter,” I said quietly, finally finding a fragment of my voice.

“Don’t you?” His eyebrow arched mockingly. “Could have fooled me.”

The man with glasses cleared his throat loudly. “Perhaps we should move on to…”

“I’ll decide when we move on,” Marcello cut him off without even looking in his direction. His attention remained laser-focused on me, like a predator toying with wounded prey. “Tell me, Ms. Marino, what makes you think you can handle confidential information? My secretary has access to sensitive business dealings worth millions of dollars.”

“I’m trustworthy,” I managed.

“Are you?” He leaned forward again, and I caught a whiff of his expensive cologne… the same scent that had clung to my skin that morning in the hotel. “How do I know you won’t run to the tabloids the moment you overhear something interesting? How do I know you won’t sell my secrets to the highest bidder?”

“I would never…”

“Never is a strong word from someone I know nothing about.” His voice was soft now, but somehow that made it more terrifying. “You could be anyone. A spy from a competitor. A journalist looking for a story. A gold digger hoping to seduce her way to the top.”

The last words hit me like a slap. I saw something flicker in Marcello’s eyes… a brief flash of something that might have been satisfaction at landing such a direct blow.

“Mr. Venturi,” the woman in navy interjected, her voice strained. “Perhaps we should ask Ms. Mark some questions as well?”

For the first time since the interview began, Marcello’s attention shifted away from me. I felt like I could finally breathe again, though my whole body was shaking with humiliation and rage.

“Ms. Mark,” he said to Agnes, and his tone was completely different… still professional, but not actively hostile. “Tell me about your experience with office management software.”

Agnes, who had been sitting frozen with horror during my interrogation, stammered out an answer about her proficiency with various programs. Marcello listened with polite attention, asked two follow-up questions, and then dismissed her responses with a simple nod.

The entire exchange lasted less than three minutes.

Then his attention swung back to me like the beam of a lighthouse, and I felt pinned beneath its intensity once more.

“Ms. Marino,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that only I could hear clearly. “One final question.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, though every instinct screamed at me to look away.

“Do you always make a habit of leaving your personal belongings behind when you run away from situations that become… uncomfortable?”

The blood drained from my face. He still had my number. The piece of paper I’d left on the table with my name and phone number scrawled across it in my careful handwriting. He’d kept it.

Around the table, the other interviewers looked confused by the cryptic question, but I understood perfectly. This wasn’t about the job anymore. This was personal.

Marcello’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Because if you do, I should warn you… I always return what belongs to me.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​