Chapter 3 - THE SHADOW OUTSIDE HER APARTMENT
I left the estate at 1:06 a.m.
A guard escorted me to the parking area but did not follow me home.
Massimo had offered a driver.
I refused.
I wanted my independence, my apartment, my ordinary keys, and the comforting knowledge that the most dangerous man I had ever met was no longer within speaking distance.
By 1:45, I was standing in my kitchen eating cold leftover pasta directly from a plastic container.
My phone buzzed.
Jasmine.
ARE YOU OKAY? SOMEONE FROM THE ROMANO HOUSE ASKED FOR YOUR WORK SCHEDULE.
I stared at the message.
WHO?
DON’T KNOW. SECURITY GUY. SAID IT WAS FOR TOMORROW.
A second message arrived.
ALSO SOMEONE WENT THROUGH YOUR BAG IN THE PREP ROOM. I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU LOOKING FOR YOUR KEYS.
I stopped chewing.
My handbag had been hanging beneath the folding table all evening.
Inside were my wallet, keys, business phone, employee payroll notes, and a small envelope containing photographs of my parents.
I called Jasmine.
“Did they take anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you see their face?”
“No. Hood up. I thought it was one of the night crew.”
I looked toward my apartment window.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Its engine was running.
My heart began beating faster.
“Jasmine, I’ll call you back.”
I hung up.
Then I called the number on Massimo’s business card, which his security chief had slipped into my hand before I left.
He answered on the second ring.
“Sophie.”
I hated that he knew it was me.
“There’s a car outside my apartment.”
“Describe it.”
“Black SUV.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Expensive and threatening.”
“License plate?”
I leaned toward the window.
The SUV pulled away.
“Never mind. It’s leaving.”
“Step away from the window.”
His tone changed.
I obeyed before I realized I was obeying.
“What’s happening?”
“Someone searched your handbag at the estate.”
I froze.
“You know?”
“Security footage.”
“Who?”
“We couldn’t identify them.”
“Then why haven’t you called the police?”
A pause.
“Because I don’t yet know whether the person was acting for someone inside my household.”
“That sounds like an excellent reason to call the police.”
“You’re right.”
I hadn’t expected that answer.
“I’ve asked my attorney to contact a detective we can trust to handle the report without exposing your personal information unnecessarily.”
I sat down.
“Why would someone search my bag?”
“I don’t know.”
“Massimo.”
“Yes?”
“Did your family know I owned the floral company before tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Did they know my name?”
“Most likely.”
“Then somebody could have planned this.”
Silence.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
My hands began shaking.
The man who had pointed a gun at me less than two hours earlier was now the only person speaking honestly about how frightened I should be.
That contradiction made me deeply uncomfortable.
“What do I do?”
“Lock your door. Call emergency services if anyone approaches or attempts to enter. I’ll send you the detective’s contact information.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we find out who wanted you in my bedroom.”
At 8:12 the next morning, Massimo Romano appeared outside my warehouse.
He arrived in a black Mercedes with a driver and one security officer.
He did not come inside immediately.
Instead, he waited beside the vehicle while Jasmine peered through the front window.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“Don’t.”
“That’s him.”
“I know.”
“Why is he here?”
“Complicated plumbing emergency.”
Jasmine looked at me.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
I walked outside.
Massimo was wearing a charcoal suit and a white shirt. His dark hair was neatly combed, his expression unreadable.
In daylight, he looked less like a dangerous criminal and more like an executive who had never encountered a parking ticket he couldn’t make disappear.
“Good morning,” he said.
“That depends.”
“I have some information.”
“Then start talking.”
He glanced toward Jasmine watching from the window.
“May we speak privately?”
“My employees know where I am. You can speak here.”
Something in his expression softened.
“Fair enough.”
He handed me a printed still from the estate’s security footage.
A hooded figure was standing beneath my worktable.
Their face was obscured.
“At 2:15 this morning, someone returned to the floral preparation room and searched your bag again.”
“After I left?”
“Yes.”
“Did they take anything?”
“Apparently not.”
I studied the image.
The figure wore dark shoes and a gray sweatshirt.
Nothing distinctive.
“Why would they come back?”
“We’re checking.”
“Are you going to tell me what you want?”
Massimo took a breath.
“My family has already heard what happened last night.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“My grandmother.”
“Of course.”
“Adriana has heard too.”
I stared at him.
“You told your fiancée I was sleeping with you?”
“I’m not engaged.”
“You’re missing the important part of that sentence.”
He almost smiled.
Then his face became serious.
“I believe whoever arranged your visit to my room expected my family to discover us.”
I went cold.
“Why?”
“To create a public reason for me to reject Adriana.”
“But you already wanted to reject her.”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody is giving you exactly what you want.”
“Or forcing me to accept an explanation they’ve chosen.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The hooded figure.
My bag.
The empty hallway.
I understood just enough to feel sick.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing you aren’t willing to give.”
“That’s new.”
He accepted the criticism.
“My family will be at breakfast in forty minutes. Adriana is expected. I would like you there.”
I stared.
“Absolutely not.”
“You can tell them exactly what happened.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because they won’t believe me now.”
“Wonderful.”
“And because I’d rather know who’s watching you before we contradict the story.”
I crossed my arms.
“You are asking me to play your girlfriend.”
“For breakfast.”
“No.”
“Then we tell the truth.”
I paused.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
He looked toward the warehouse.
“But either way, I need to make sure you’re safe.”
His willingness to accept my refusal unsettled me more than another demand would have.
I considered the photographs, the strange SUV, the searched handbag, and the fact that someone inside his mansion had known exactly where to send me.
Then I thought of Jasmine.
My employees.
The business I’d spent five years building.
I wasn’t going to let powerful strangers turn me into an invisible piece on their chessboard.
“One breakfast,” I said.
Massimo studied me.
“One breakfast.”
“I decide what I say.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t touch me without asking.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t invent an entire romantic history.”
He hesitated.
“Massimo.”
“Agreed.”
“And afterward, you tell your family what really happened.”
He nodded.
“I’ll correct the story.”
I opened the warehouse door.
Jasmine looked between us.
“What’s happening?”
I sighed.
“Apparently I’m going to breakfast.”
She looked at Massimo.
“With him?”
“Unfortunately.”
Massimo inclined his head.
“Good morning, Jasmine.”
Her mouth fell open.
He knew her name.
I was beginning to understand that Massimo Romano knew far too much about people before they knew anything about him.
At nine sharp, I entered the Romano dining room.
The table could have seated twenty people.
Only six chairs were occupied.
Isabella Romano sat at the head, wearing a lavender silk blouse and enormous pearl earrings.
Caterina sat beside her.
Two older men occupied the far end.
Massimo pulled out a chair for me.
Every eye followed the movement.
I sat down.
Immediately, Isabella smiled.
“Sophie, dear. How lovely.”
“Good morning.”
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
“Milk?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“How long have you known my grandson?”
I nearly inhaled my coffee.
Massimo answered before I could stop him.
“We met at the Langford charity gala.”
That was technically true.
I had designed the floral arrangements.
He had apparently attended.
Isabella leaned forward.
“And you’ve been seeing each other since?”
I looked at Massimo.
He looked back.
“Not exactly,” I said.
Caterina’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we met professionally, and last night was a misunderstanding.”
Isabella looked amused.
“A misunderstanding that involved his bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“At midnight?”
“Unfortunately.”
“While he was wearing a towel?”
I closed my eyes.
“That detail does seem to be making the rounds.”
Massimo lowered his espresso cup.
“Grandmother.”
“What? I’m eighty-five, not blind.”
One of the older gentlemen laughed.
Caterina didn’t.
She leaned toward me.
“Miss Miller, do you understand how embarrassing this is for our family?”
I felt my face heat.
“With respect, Mrs. Romano, I was directed to the wrong room while trying to clean water off a dress I’d ruined saving the flowers your family ordered.”
Silence.
I continued.
“I didn’t arrange this misunderstanding. I didn’t invite photographers. I didn’t ask anyone to assume anything about me.”
Caterina opened her mouth.
I looked directly at her.
“And I certainly don’t appreciate being treated like a scandal when I was doing my job.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Isabella laughed.
Not a polite little chuckle.
A full, delighted laugh.
“Oh, I like her.”
Massimo stared into his coffee.
But I saw the corner of his mouth move.
Caterina looked furious.
Then the dining-room doors opened.
A tall blonde woman entered wearing an elegant cream dress and carrying a handbag that probably cost more than my first delivery van.
She was beautiful.
Not simply pretty.
Beautiful in the polished, effortless way that suggested she’d been trained since childhood never to look surprised.
Her eyes moved from Isabella to Caterina.
Then to Massimo.
Then to me.
The room changed.
“Adriana,” Massimo said.
“Massimo.”
She smiled.
“I heard an interesting story.”
I wanted to crawl beneath the table.
Adriana Vitali approached and extended her hand.
“Sophie Miller?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
“Adriana Vitali.”
Her handshake was cool and firm.
“I understand you had quite an evening.”
I forced a smile.
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite subject.”
She glanced at Massimo.
“Is the story true?”
Before he could answer, I said, “No.”
Adriana looked back at me.
I continued.
“I walked into the wrong room while looking for a bathroom. Your household staff can confirm there was a plumbing problem. Mr. Romano made an unfortunate assumption in front of his family.”
Massimo did not interrupt.
Adriana studied me carefully.
“Then there is nothing between you?”
I glanced at him.
“Nothing romantic.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“And yet he brought you to breakfast.”
“Because someone searched my belongings after I left the estate.”
That changed her expression.
For the first time, she looked genuinely surprised.
“Someone searched your things?”
“Twice.”
Caterina turned toward Massimo.
“Why am I hearing this now?”
He put down his coffee.
“Because I’m trying to establish who had access to the service corridors.”
Adriana’s smile returned, but something in her eyes had cooled.
“How unfortunate.”
I sat down.
For the rest of breakfast, she barely looked at me.
May you like
That should have relieved me.
Instead, I had the unnerving feeling that I had disappointed someone by refusing to play a role I had never agreed to.
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