Chapter 6 - SIX MONTHS OF SURVEILLANCE AND HIS BETRAYAL
Two days later, investigators found the first real piece of evidence.
A former nightclub property owned by one of Massimo’s companies had been used as an unauthorized surveillance site.
The building had been closed for renovation.
Police obtained access after a maintenance contractor reported suspicious equipment inside.
Rachel called me when the detective recovered photographs.
She insisted on accompanying me to the station.
Massimo met us there.
The detective laid the photographs across a conference table.
My knees weakened.
There I was.
Leaving the warehouse.
Buying groceries.
Carrying coffee.
Locking my apartment.
Visiting my mother.
Walking to my car.
Dozens of photographs.
Some taken five months earlier.
Some six.
A few dated before my company had even submitted a proposal for Isabella’s birthday celebration.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“They were watching me.”
Rachel rested a hand near mine.
“Yes.”
I looked at Massimo.
His face had gone terrifyingly still.
“Before I knew you.”
“Yes.”
“Before I entered your bedroom.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at the detective.
The detective placed another photograph on the table.
Elena, the housekeeper, meeting Carlo Vitali outside a bank.
Then another.
Carlo speaking to a man identified as Vincent D’Amato.
Massimo’s senior operations adviser.
The same man who had helped organize the proposed marriage agreement.
I stared.
“Elena worked for Carlo.”
The detective nodded.
“We believe she was recruited to gain access to the Romano household.”
“And me?”
The detective looked uncomfortable.
“Your company may have been selected as an avenue of access.”
I turned toward Massimo.
“Did you know?”
He looked at me.
“I suspected there was something wrong after the security footage.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. I did not know about the surveillance before today.”
“Did you use the situation anyway?”
He was silent.
I felt my stomach drop.
“Massimo.”
“At first,” he said.
The answer hurt more than I expected.
He continued.
“When my family found you in my bedroom, I let them believe something that wasn’t true because it gave me a way to delay the engagement.”
I stared.
“I was terrified.”
“I know.”
“You pointed a gun at me.”
“I know.”
“And then you used me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
Rachel shifted beside me.
The detective quietly gathered the photographs, giving us a moment.
I looked at Massimo.
“Did it ever occur to you that I was a person and not a convenient explanation?”
He looked as though I’d struck him.
“Yes.”
“When?”
His voice was low.
“Too late.”
I turned away.
He didn’t stop me.
That mattered.
Because for weeks, every powerful person involved had treated my choices like minor details.
Adriana’s family wanted to use me.
Massimo had initially allowed the misunderstanding to serve him.
His security people wanted to decide where I went.
The press wanted to decide what I was.
And I was exhausted from explaining that I belonged to myself.
I moved out of the estate the next morning.
Not because the danger had ended.
Because I needed distance.
Rachel arranged a short-term apartment through a security company not affiliated with the Romanos.
Jasmine helped me move.
I left the roses behind.
Three days later, a reporter approached me outside my warehouse.
“Miss Miller, were you romantically involved with Massimo Romano?”
“No comment.”
“Did his family pressure you to leave?”
“No comment.”
“Are you aware that financial records suggest your company made payments to a Romano household employee?”
I stopped.
“What records?”
The reporter held up a printout.
Three transfers.
Twenty-five thousand dollars each.
From a business account bearing my company’s name to an account allegedly controlled by Elena.
I felt cold.
“Those aren’t mine.”
“Would you care to explain?”
“I’ve never made those payments.”
“Then why are they appearing in financial documents provided to our newsroom?”
“I don’t know.”
I called Rachel before answering another question.
By afternoon, the story was everywhere.
FLORIST LINKED TO ROMANO HOUSEHOLD PAYMENTS.
SECRET GIRLFRIEND OR PAID INFORMANT?
My business phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Two wedding clients canceled.
A third asked whether I was involved in organized crime.
Jasmine cried in the office.
I sat at my desk staring at numbers that appeared to have been fabricated using my company information.
Rachel contacted the bank.
The account number on the printout was not ours.
The routing number belonged to an institution we’d never used.
The transfers were fake.
But by the time the bank confirmed that, the damage had begun.
I called Massimo.
He answered immediately.
“Sophie.”
“Did you see the records?”
“Yes.”
“They’re fake.”
“I know.”
I froze.
“You know?”
“The numbers don’t match your company’s banking information.”
“Then why didn’t you say something publicly?”
“Because I wanted to confirm where they originated before releasing a statement.”
“Massimo.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you believe I sold information about you?”
A pause.
Not long.
Maybe three seconds.
But I heard it.
And after everything we’d been through, it was enough.
“Sophie, I believe someone is trying to make me think that.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I need to understand why your company was selected months ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“You know why I was selected.”
“Not completely.”
I looked toward Jasmine.
She was wiping tears from her cheeks while answering a customer complaint.
I suddenly understood something.
Massimo could survive doubting everyone.
He had built his life around it.
I couldn’t.
Not when the consequences landed on ordinary people who depended on me.
“You were willing to put guards outside my door because you thought someone might hurt me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“But a fake bank transfer is enough to make you wonder whether I betrayed you.”
“Sophie—”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You don’t get to call this protection when what you’re really protecting is your ability to trust nobody.”
He said nothing.
I took a breath.
“Congratulations, Massimo.”
“On what?”
“You survived me too.”
I ended the call.
For the next hour, I worked.
That sounds ridiculous given what happened next.
But I didn’t know what else to do.
I answered emails.
Approved payroll.
Called a bride whose wedding flowers had arrived late.
Reorganized invoices.
May you like
Ordinary tasks.
The only things I could still control.
