Chapter 1 - The Five-Thousand-Dollar Insult
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 without bodyguards, without a reservation, and without warning.
The first thing he noticed was Tessa Hart’s shoes.
New black nonslip shoes.
Nothing fashionable. Nothing expensive.
Forty-five dollars from a discount store on the edge of the city.
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 allowed it to change her.
No designer handbag.
No new coat.
No diamonds around her neck.
No attempt to transform herself into the kind of woman who belonged among the wealthy people seated beneath Il Cavallo Bianco’s crystal chandeliers.
She had simply purchased shoes that allowed her to survive another ten-hour shift without limping home.
For reasons Matteo could not explain, that bothered him.
It should not have.
He had spent more than five thousand dollars on watches he wore once.
He had tipped bartenders more than Tessa earned in a month.
Money was something Matteo Moretti had stopped thinking about years ago.
But four nights earlier, Tessa had looked him directly in the eyes after he insulted her in Italian.
He had assumed she could not understand him.
That assumption had been his first mistake.
His second mistake had been thinking money could erase the first.
It had not.
Tessa saw him the moment he entered.
Her hand stopped above a basket of bread.
Across the dining room, David, the nervous manager, almost dropped the reservation tablet.
Jenna, another waitress, followed Tessa’s gaze and whispered, “Oh, hell.”
Matteo removed his black wool coat.
His dark suit was immaculate. His black hair, damp from the freezing drizzle outside, had been pushed back from his face.
Without the two security men who normally followed him everywhere, he somehow looked more dangerous.
There was nobody else to absorb the attention.
Only him.
He walked toward the rear booth.
His booth.
A wealthy couple was already sitting there.
The man recognized Matteo and immediately started gathering his wife’s coat.
Matteo raised one hand.
“Stay.”
The man froze.
Matteo looked toward David.
“Another table.”
David blinked.
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Matteo chose a table near the center of the restaurant.
That frightened David more than anything.
The rear booth offered privacy.
The center table meant Matteo wanted to be seen.
Tessa picked up a water pitcher.
Jenna grabbed her arm.
“Don’t.”
“It’s my section.”
“Switch with me.”
“You wouldn’t serve him last time.”
“I’ve matured.”
“You almost cried while refilling his water.”
“I’ve matured 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.”
A faint expression touched Matteo’s mouth.
Not quite a smile.
“Your shoes are new.”
Tessa looked down.
“Yes.”
“You spent my money.”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“That’s generally not considered an appropriate question for a server.”
“I’m not asking as a customer.”
“Then you don’t get an answer at all.”
For several seconds, Matteo simply stared at her.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
Quietly.
It was the sound of a man who had forgotten what spontaneous amusement felt like.
Several nearby guests turned their heads.
Matteo Moretti laughing in public was apparently unusual enough to attract attention.
He opened the menu.
“The ribeye.”
“Rare?”
“You remembered that too.”
“I told you. I’m excellent at my job.”
There was no false modesty.
Tessa turned away.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
Matteo closed the menu.
“I need someone who speaks Italian.”
“Congratulations. You found approximately sixty million people.”
“Not Italian.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Languages.”
The amusement disappeared from Tessa’s face.
“Hire a translator.”
“I have translators.”
“So this conversation has reached a satisfying conclusion.”
She started walking again.
“Three hundred dollars an hour.”
Tessa stopped.
Matteo saw something change behind her eyes.
Not greed.
Calculation.
Three hundred dollars meant electricity.
Rent.
Groceries.
A minimum payment on the debt collectors still calling about her mother’s medical bills.
A month of gasoline.
Perhaps two.
“Doing what?” Tessa asked.
“Listening.”
“To whom?”
“People who may lie to me.”
“That sounds like a therapist.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“Therapists cost 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 leave restaurant booths before you even speak. Newspapers didn’t invent that.”
Matteo leaned back.
“Fair.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“A dinner.”
“You’re currently having one.”
“Tomorrow night. Private dining room. Six guests from Italy. They represent a shipping company negotiating a legitimate contract with one of my development firms.”
Tessa raised an eyebrow.
“Legitimate?”
“Yes.”
“The fact that you added that word made it significantly less convincing.”
“It is legitimate.”
“And you already have translators.”
“They know that.”
He watched her carefully.
“I need someone they don’t know is listening.”
Tessa understood.
“You want me to pretend I don’t speak Italian.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Matteo looked surprised.
“You haven’t heard the amount.”
“Three hundred.”
“Five hundred.”
“No.”
“A thousand.”
Her breath stopped.
One thousand dollars an hour.
Matteo saw the weakness.
“I need four hours.”
Four thousand dollars.
Tessa thought about her bank account.
Rent was due in nine days.
Her car’s two front tires had been replaced last month because the mechanic told her driving another week could kill her.
Her mother’s remaining hospital debt sat like a stone on her chest.
Four thousand dollars could create something Tessa had not experienced in years.
Breathing room.
And breathing room was a luxury poverty rarely allowed.
“Nothing illegal,” she said.
Matteo nodded.
“You serve dinner. You listen. If they say something important in Italian because they think you cannot understand them, you tell me afterward.”
“No recording.”
“No.”
“No weapons around me.”
His eyebrows rose.
“That may be difficult.”
“Then find someone else.”
He studied her.
“All visible weapons remain outside.”
“All weapons.”
“I cannot guarantee every person entering the building is unarmed.”
“Then I cannot guarantee I’ll enter.”
Silence.
Matteo slowly nodded.
“Fine.”
“No touching me.”
His expression hardened.
“Who touched you?”
“That wasn’t an invitation to investigate.”
“Who?”
Tessa stared at him.
Something about the speed of his reaction unsettled her.
“Why do you care?”
Matteo did not answer immediately.
Finally he said, “Because men who ignore boundaries usually ignore more than one.”
It was not the response she expected.
Tessa shifted the tray beneath her arm.
“One thousand an hour.”
“Yes.”
“Four hours maximum.”
“Yes.”
“Paid before I leave.”
“Yes.”
“And if anything feels wrong, I walk out.”
Matteo’s gaze did not move.
“You walk out.”
Tessa extended her hand.
“Then we have a deal.”
Matteo looked at her hand.
For half a second, he seemed almost amused.
Then he shook it.
His hand was warm.
Firm.
Controlled.
No unnecessary pressure.
No dominance game.
Tessa pulled away first.
“Tomorrow. Eight?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Where?”
“My residence.”
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Matteo sighed.
“The dinner is at Moretti House.”
“No.”
“It’s an estate, not a dungeon.”
“I’m sure that sentence has reassured many women.”
He almost smiled again.
“Private dining room at the Moretti Grand Hotel, then.”
“That I can accept.”
“Seven thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
She turned away.
“Tessa.”
She looked back.
Matteo’s voice was quieter.
“Do not tell anyone why you’re there.”
“What am I supposed to tell them?”
“That I hired you as temporary service staff.”
“You did.”
“Then technically, you’ll be telling the truth.”
Tessa walked toward the kitchen.
She could feel his eyes on her.
Jenna intercepted her.
“What did he want?”
“A waitress.”
“You already are one.”
“For a private dinner.”
Jenna’s eyes widened.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s four hours.”
“At his place?”
“At the Moretti Grand.”
“That’s still his place.”
“Four thousand dollars.”
Jenna went silent.
Exactly the reaction Tessa expected.
Then Jenna said, “Four thousand dollars can’t help you if you end up dead.”
Tessa rolled her eyes.
“You watch too much television.”
“And you don’t watch enough.”
But when Tessa walked home after midnight, Jenna’s warning followed her.
The freezing drizzle had turned to sleet.
She pulled her coat tight and walked three blocks to where her twelve-year-old Honda waited beneath a broken streetlamp.
Something white was tucked beneath the windshield wiper.
At first she assumed it was a parking ticket.
Then she saw the handwriting.
Her heart stopped.
The note contained only one sentence.
Written in Italian.
Non ascoltare domani sera.
Do not listen tomorrow night.
Tessa looked around the empty street.
Nobody.
Only rain.
Cars.
Dark windows.
She turned the paper over.
Nothing else was written.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One text message.
Four thousand dollars is not worth dying for.
Tessa’s fingers went cold.
And for the first time since Matteo Moretti had made his offer, she understood something he had not told her.
May you like
Someone already knew exactly why he had hired her.
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