Chapter 13 - The Man in the Gray Coat
Claire answered on the second ring.
“Why are six enormous men following me into Starbucks?”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“You’re okay?”
“I was until one of them ordered a vanilla latte and called me ma’am.”
“Claire.”
“I’m fine, Soph.”
Massimo took the phone from me.
“Get into the SUV.”
“Massimo—”
“Now.”
My sister muttered something insulting under her breath but obeyed.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the estate furious, unharmed, and carrying three coffees.
“I want everyone to understand,” Claire announced as she entered the library, “that normal families do not deploy tactical teams when someone finishes a hospital shift.”
Donna Caterina looked at her.
“Normal families are boring.”
Claire blinked.
“I like her.”
I pulled my sister into a hug.
She stiffened.
“Soph, seriously, what happened?”
I showed her Gabriel’s photograph.
Claire’s humor disappeared.
“That guy was outside the hospital?”
“You saw him?”
“I saw the car. I didn’t notice him.”
Massimo paced toward the windows.
“He wanted us to know he could reach her.”
“No,” Claire said.
Massimo turned.
She pointed at the photograph.
“If he wanted to scare you with access, he would’ve taken a picture closer to me. Maybe through a hospital window.”
I stared at her.
Claire shrugged.
“I watch crime shows.”
Massimo almost smiled.
She continued.
“He posed next to the sedan. He wanted Sophie to recognize him.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“He wants a meeting.”
Massimo’s answer was immediate.
“No.”
My answer came at exactly the same time.
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
I looked back.
Claire slowly stepped away from us.
“I’m going to drink my coffee over there.”
Gabriel Moretti solved the argument himself.
A courier arrived at the front gate carrying an invitation.
Heavy cream paper.
Embossed lettering.
Moretti Capital Foundation.
A private luncheon at the Chicago Athletic Association.
Tomorrow.
One o’clock.
Guest of honor: Sophie Romano.
No mention of Massimo.
“He’s arrogant,” I said.
“He’s baiting you.”
“Same thing.”
Massimo picked up the invitation.
“You’re not going.”
“I am.”
“Sophie.”
“Do you intend to lock me inside your bedroom again?”
His eyes flashed.
I stepped closer.
“This started with my property. My business. My sister. If Gabriel thinks I’m the weak part of this marriage, I want him to keep believing it.”
Massimo studied me.
Then the corner of his mouth moved slightly.
“That sounds dangerously like something my grandmother would say.”
Donna Caterina lifted her cup.
“I heard that.”
The next afternoon, I walked into the Chicago Athletic Association wearing a cream suit, modest pearl earrings, and the sapphire Romano ring.
Massimo sat three tables away.
Gabriel’s invitation had prohibited guests.
It had said nothing about strangers.
My husband had arrived separately and was pretending to read the Wall Street Journal.
Pretending badly.
Gabriel Moretti stood when I approached.
He was younger than I expected.
Maybe forty.
Tall, silver beginning at his temples, immaculate gray suit, expression warm enough to make you forget that wolves also had beautiful eyes.
“Mrs. Romano.”
“Mr. Moretti.”
He kissed the air beside my cheek.
“I’m pleased you came.”
“I’m curious why you photographed my sister.”
His smile remained.
“Straight to business.”
“I arrange flowers for a living. They die quickly. I don’t waste time.”
That amused him.
We sat.
A waiter poured sparkling water.
Gabriel slid a folder toward me.
Inside was a copy of the deed to my original flower shop.
Attached to it was a document dated 1998.
My eyes moved across the pages.
Collateral agreement.
Conditional reversion.
Forty percent equity conversion.
I looked up.
“You’re claiming your family owns forty percent of Romano Logistics?”
“Not claiming.”
He folded his hands.
“Documenting.”
“You burned my conservatory to prove a contract?”
“I had nothing to do with the fire.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
His calmness unsettled me.
Gabriel leaned closer.
“Someone wants you to believe I’m your enemy.”
“Are you saying you aren’t?”
“I’m saying your husband has more than one.”
My pulse tightened.
He removed a second photograph.
This one showed the burned conservatory.
In the background, barely visible through smoke, stood one of Massimo’s longtime security men.
Marco Bellini.
I recognized him immediately.
He had attended our wedding.
Gabriel tapped the image.
“That man entered your records room thirteen minutes before the fire.”
I looked across the restaurant.
Massimo was watching us.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Gabriel smiled.
“The truth.”
“About what?”
He leaned back.
“Who has been stealing from the Romano companies for twelve years.”
My throat went dry.
“And if I refuse?”
“You’ll lose your flower shop.”
He paused.
“Then the conservatories.”
Another pause.
“Then your husband’s company.”
May you like
He looked directly at my sapphire ring.
“And eventually, Sophie, you may lose Massimo too.”
