Four days after Matteo Moretti left a five-thousand-dollar tip on a two-hundred-and-forty-dollar dinner, he returned to Il Cavallo Bianco with no bodyguards, no reservation, and a question that would eventually put Tessa Hart’s life in danger.
Chapter 1
PART 1 — THE OFFER HE NEVER EXPECTED HER TO REFUSE
931 words
But the first thing he noticed was her shoes.
New black nonslip shoes.
Forty-five dollars at a big-box store.
To everyone else in the restaurant, they were ugly work shoes.
To Matteo, they were proof.
She had taken his money.
But she had not transformed herself.
No designer handbag. No new coat. No jewelry. No attempt to look like a woman who had suddenly received more cash in one night than she usually earned in a month.
She had bought shoes that allowed her to stand for ten hours without pain.
For reasons Matteo could not explain, that irritated him more than if she had wasted every dollar.
Tessa saw him the moment he entered.
Her hand stopped over a basket of bread.
David nearly dropped the reservation tablet.
Jenna whispered, “Oh, hell.”
Matteo wore a black wool coat over a dark suit. His hair was damp from the freezing
drizzle outside. Without the two men who usually stood beside him, he somehow looked more dangerous, not less.
There was nobody to absorb attention.
Only him.
He walked toward the rear booth.
His booth.
The couple sitting there saw him coming and immediately began gathering their coats.
Matteo lifted one hand.
“Stay.”
The man froze.
Matteo looked at David.
“Another table.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Instead of demanding privacy, Matteo chose a small table in the center of the dining room.
That frightened David even more.
Tessa picked up a water pitcher.
Jenna caught her wrist.
“Do not go over there.”
“It’s my section.”
“Switch with me.”
“You wouldn’t serve him four days ago.”
“I’ve grown.”
“You almost cried refilling his water.”
“I’ve grown a little.”
Despite herself, Tessa smiled.
Then she walked toward Matteo.
She placed a glass in front of him.
“Still no ice?”
Matteo looked up.
“You
remembered.”
“I remember everyone who insults me in a language they assume I don’t understand.”
That had been their first meeting.
Matteo had spoken Italian to the man beside him, dismissing Tessa as nothing more than a waitress.
Tessa had answered him in flawless Italian.
The expression on his face had been worth more than the tip he eventually left.
Tonight, a faint trace of amusement returned to his eyes.
“Your shoes are new.”
Tessa glanced down.
“Yes.”
“You spent my money.”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“That’s generally considered an inappropriate question for a server.”
“I’m not asking as a customer.”
“Then you don’t get an answer at all.”
For one long second, Matteo studied her.
Then he laughed.
It was low and surprised, as though the sound had escaped without permission.
Several diners looked over.
Apparently Matteo Moretti laughing in public qualified as an event.
He opened the
menu.
“The ribeye.”
“Rare?”
“You remembered that too.”
“I’m excellent at my job.”
There was no false modesty in the statement.
Tessa started to turn.
“Wait.”
She looked back.
Matteo placed one hand over the menu.
“I need someone who speaks Italian.”
“Congratulations. You found approximately sixty million people.”
“Not Italian.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Languages.”
Tessa’s expression changed.
“Hire a translator.”
“I have translators.”
“So this conversation has reached a satisfying conclusion.”
She stepped away.
“Three hundred dollars an hour.”
She stopped.
Matteo saw the calculation behind her eyes.
Not greed.
Arithmetic.
Rent.
Electricity.
Groceries.
Debt.
Three hundred dollars an hour could become something people with money rarely understood the value of.
Breathing room.
“Doing what?” she asked.
“Listening.”
“To whom?”
“People who may lie to me.”
“That sounds like a therapist.”
His mouth twitched.
“Unfortunately, therapists charge more.”
Tessa lowered her voice.
“Mr. Moretti, I’m not interested in being involved in whatever you’re involved in.”
“You don’t know what I’m involved in.”
“I live in this city.”
“Newspapers exaggerate.”
“Men abandoning your restaurant booth before you even speak is not newspaper exaggeration.”
Matteo leaned back.
“Fair.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“A dinner tomorrow night. Private room. Six guests from Italy representing a shipping company negotiating a contract with one of my development firms.”
“Legitimate?”
“Yes.”
“The fact that you added that word made it less convincing.”
“It is legitimate.”
“And you already have translators.”
“They know that.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“I need someone they don’t know is listening.”
Tessa understood.
“You want me to pretend I don’t speak Italian.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Matteo actually looked surprised.
“You haven’t heard the amount.”
“I heard enough.”
“Five hundred an hour.”
“No.”
“A thousand.”
Tessa went still.
Four hours.
Four thousand dollars.
Enough to replace the two tires on her car that should have been replaced months ago.
Enough to reduce the debt her mother had left behind.
Enough to let Tessa open her banking app without feeling sick.
“Nothing illegal,” she said.
Matteo nodded.
“You listen. You serve dinner. If they say something important because they believe you cannot understand them, you tell me afterward.”
“No recording.”
“No recording.”
“No weapons around me.”
His eyebrow rose.
“That may be difficult.”
“Then find someone else.”
He studied her.
“All visible weapons stay outside.”
“All weapons.”
“I cannot guarantee every person entering the building is unarmed.”
“Then I cannot guarantee I’ll enter.”
Silence.
Matteo gave a slow nod.
“Fine.”
“No touching me.”
Something in his expression changed.
Not amusement.
Not arrogance.
Something colder.
“Who touched you?”
Tessa tightened her fingers around the water pitcher.
“That wasn’t an invitation to investigate.”
Matteo’s gaze did not move.
“Who?”
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