Chapter 1 - The Bet Mateo Romano Never Intended to Lose
Mateo Romano did not lose bets.
People who knew him understood that as clearly as they understood gravity.
At thirty-nine, Mateo had built his reputation around preparation. He noticed exits before entering rooms. He knew the names of drivers assigned to cars he had never ridden in. He remembered numbers after seeing them once, detected lies before people finished telling them, and considered gambling an activity for men who confused recklessness with courage.
Yet at 8:07 on a rainy Friday morning, Mateo stood in the private dining room of a Manhattan restaurant while his cousin Adrienne Romano smiled at him as though she had just discovered the one weakness no enemy had managed to find.
“You lost.”
Mateo adjusted the cuff of his black shirt.
“I’m aware.”
Adrienne raised both eyebrows. “I want to hear you say it.”
“No.”
“You lost the bet.”
“I heard you the first time.”
Across the table, two of Mateo’s longtime associates suddenly became very interested in their coffee.
Adrienne had been challenging him for months.
She insisted Mateo had become incapable of experiencing an ordinary day.
He disagreed.
She said he couldn’t survive twelve hours without giving orders.
He told her she was being dramatic.
She accused him of having drivers, assistants, security teams, chefs, tailors and advisers controlling every minute of his existence.
Mateo pointed out that managing time efficiently was not a personality defect.
That was when Adrienne made the bet.
If Mateo’s horse finished behind hers at a private charity race, he would spend one entire day with a person of Adrienne’s choosing.
No bodyguards following within sight.
No business meetings.
No disappearing because somebody called him.
And most importantly, he had to do whatever his companion planned, provided it was reasonable and legal.
Mateo had accepted because Adrienne’s horse had lost its last four races.
The animal apparently chose that morning to discover ambition.
Now Adrienne slid a folded piece of paper across the table.
Mateo stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Her address.”
“Whose?”
Adrienne smiled.
“Your punishment.”
Mateo unfolded the paper.
ELENA CARTER.
Underneath was an apartment address downtown.
He looked back at Adrienne.
“Who is she?”
“Someone you wouldn’t normally meet.”
“That description applies to several million people.”
“She works in publishing.”
Mateo waited.
Adrienne added, “Editorial production. Freelance design occasionally. She also helps manage events for a small literary nonprofit.”
“And why her?”
“Because Elena doesn’t care who you are.”
Mateo almost smiled.
Everyone cared who he was once they discovered his name.
Not necessarily because they knew the entire truth about the Romano organization. The public version was impressive enough. Romano Holdings controlled real estate, logistics, restaurants and private investment funds. Mateo appeared in financial magazines, charity photographs and articles discussing New York’s most private businessmen.
The darker reputation existed mostly in whispers.
Adrienne knew all of it.
So did Mateo.
“What did you tell her?” he asked.
“That you’re rich, irritating and you lost a bet.”
“That was unnecessary.”
“The rich part?”
“The irritating part.”
Adrienne laughed.
Mateo checked his watch.
8:11.
He had a conference call at nine, a meeting at eleven and three separate matters demanding attention before lunch.
Adrienne immediately pointed toward his wrist.
“You’re already breaking the rules.”
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“You’re thinking about work.”
“I’m always thinking about work.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
Mateo stood.
Adrienne’s expression softened.
For a moment she was not the cousin teasing him.
She was the woman who had known him since they were children, before responsibility and grief had turned Mateo Romano into somebody who slept four hours a night and trusted almost nobody.
“You might enjoy yourself,” she said.
Mateo gave her a look.
Adrienne sighed.
“Fine. Try not to terrify her.”
“I don’t terrify people.”
One of the men at the table coughed into his coffee.
Mateo looked at him.
The coughing stopped.
Twenty minutes later, a black sedan stopped in front of Elena Carter’s apartment building.
Mateo dismissed the driver for the day.
That had required an argument.
His security chief, Luca Ferraro, had been even less pleased.
“We can keep distance.”
“No.”
“Boss—”
“It’s twelve hours.”
“A lot can happen in twelve hours.”
Mateo had almost laughed at the irony.
Luca treated every change in routine as a security threat.
“Adrienne arranged this,” Mateo said. “She’s the only one who knew the destination until this morning.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“I still don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.”
Mateo stepped onto the sidewalk.
A woman was already waiting beneath the awning.
She was nothing like the person he had imagined.
Elena Carter wore a cream dress patterned with tiny blue flowers beneath a light coat. Her dark brown hair had been pinned into a loose bun, though several curls had escaped around her face. She was curvy, soft-featured and striking in a way that had nothing to do with the severe elegance Mateo usually encountered at formal dinners.
She was also staring at him with open disappointment.
Mateo approached.
“Elena Carter?”
She checked her phone.
“Unfortunately.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You’re Mateo?”
“Yes.”
She looked him over from silver-gray hair to polished black shoes.
Then she looked behind him.
“Where’s your personality?”
Mateo stared at her.
Elena nodded thoughtfully.
“Adrienne warned me.”
“She said you wouldn’t care who I was.”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve known me for approximately twelve seconds.”
“And you already look like you’re mentally reviewing emails.”
Mateo almost reached for his phone.
Elena caught the movement.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Before he understood what she intended, she stepped closer and held out her hand.
“Watch.”
“What?”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Mateo glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist.
It had been a gift from his father.
Almost nobody touched it.
“I’m not giving you my watch.”
“You keep looking at it.”
“I looked at it once.”
“Twice since I walked over.”
Mateo narrowed his eyes.
Elena held out her palm.
“You lost the bet, billionaire.”
“I’m not a billionaire.”
She tilted her head.
“You answered too fast.”
For reasons Mateo could not later explain, he removed the watch.
Elena took it triumphantly and slipped it into her handbag.
“There.”
“You intend to keep that all day?”
“Maybe.”
“It costs more than—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
Mateo stopped.
She smiled.
Something unsettling happened.
He wanted to smile back.
Instead he asked, “What are we doing?”
“Breakfast.”
“I already ate.”
“Then you’ll eat again.”
“I don’t eat twice in the morning.”
“You do today.”
She started walking.
Mateo remained where he was.
Elena looked over her shoulder.
“You coming, Mafia Boss?”
His body went still.
She laughed.
“Oh, relax. It’s the suit. You look like you’re about to either buy the restaurant or threaten somebody’s family.”
Mateo followed her.
“You shouldn’t joke about things you don’t understand.”
“That sounded incredibly mafia-boss-ish.”
He said nothing.
Elena grinned.
And that was how the strangest day of Mateo Romano’s adult life began.
Neither of them noticed the gray sedan half a block away.
Neither noticed the lens appearing briefly above the passenger-side window.
May you like
And neither saw the first photograph being taken.
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