Tessa stared at Matteo.
Chapter 2
PART 2 — THE DINNER WHERE NOBODY WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW SHE UNDERSTOOD
1,375 words
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she said quietly, “That question is exactly why I almost said no.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“You did say no.”
“And then you offered four thousand dollars.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
She picked up the water pitcher.
“Tomorrow. Seven?”
“Seven.”
“I serve dinner. I listen. I tell you what I hear. Then I leave.”
“Yes.”
“No investigation into my life.”
Matteo leaned back.
“That sounds very specific.”
“It is.”
“Fine.”
Tessa started walking away.
Behind her, Matteo said, “Miss Hart.”
She turned.
“If anyone makes you uncomfortable tomorrow, you leave.”
There was no mockery in his voice now.
Tessa searched his face for the trap.
She found none.
“That includes you.”
A pause.
Then Matteo nodded.
“Especially me.”
The following evening, Il Cavallo Bianco closed its second floor to the public.
David told the staff there was a private
corporate dinner.
Nobody believed him.
At six-thirty, two black SUVs arrived.
At six-forty, another sedan stopped outside.
Men in tailored coats entered one by one.
No one raised their voices.
No one needed to.
Tessa stood in the service corridor wearing her normal uniform.
Matteo had suggested a different server’s jacket.
She refused.
“If they’re supposed to think I’m nobody,” she had said, “why would I dress differently?”
That answer had earned another one of those strange looks from him.
The private dining room held eight chairs around a long walnut table.
Matteo sat at one end.
Six Italian businessmen filled the sides.
The seat at the opposite end remained empty.
The men introduced themselves in English.
Lorenzo Bellandi, silver-haired and smiling.
Raffaele Conti, heavyset, expensive watch.
Enzo Marchetti, younger than the others and noticeably more observant.
Three more executives whose names Tessa memorized immediately.
They represented Bellandi Maritime, a
European shipping company seeking access to new commercial facilities connected to Moretti Development.
On paper, everything sounded boring.
Warehousing.
Port access.
Customs processing.
Long-term leases.
Exactly the sort of conversation capable of putting a normal person to sleep.
That was probably intentional.
Tessa poured wine.
Lorenzo barely looked at her.
Perfect.
Raffaele asked for sparkling water in English.
Tessa nodded politely.
Enzo watched her for half a second longer than necessary.
Not perfect.
She continued serving.
For the first twenty minutes, everyone spoke English.
Matteo asked questions.
Lorenzo answered.
Numbers were discussed.
Documents moved across the table.
Tessa replaced plates and kept her expression empty.
Then coffee arrived.
That was when the language changed.
Lorenzo leaned toward Raffaele and said something quietly in Italian.
Tessa heard every word.
“His lawyers changed the indemnity clause.”
Raffaele did not look at Matteo.
“So?”
“So we move the liability through the subsidiary.”
Enzo
responded, “Only if he signs before Friday.”
Tessa continued pouring coffee.
Her pulse increased.
Nothing criminal yet.
Aggressive business, perhaps.
But Matteo had hired her because he expected lies.
And these men had just waited until they believed nobody could understand them before discussing information they had intentionally omitted in English.
Matteo glanced at Tessa.
She gave him nothing.
That had been the agreement.
No signals.
No reactions.
Nothing that could expose her.
Dinner continued.
Twenty minutes later, Lorenzo excused himself to take a call.
Raffaele leaned back.
In Italian, he muttered, “Moretti is more cautious than his father.”
Enzo smiled.
“His father would already have signed.”
“He’ll sign.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Lorenzo returned to the table.
He answered before sitting.
“Then DeSantis will make sure he does.”
Tessa almost stopped moving.
Almost.
Matteo had mentioned a man named Luca DeSantis during a phone call before the guests arrived.
She remembered because Matteo’s tone had been different.
Not commanding.
Trusting.
DeSantis was apparently his chief financial officer.
One of the people reviewing the contract.
Tessa placed a dessert plate in front of Enzo.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
She smiled professionally.
He smiled back.
But his eyes did not.
The conversation returned to English.
Matteo asked about insurance requirements.
Lorenzo answered smoothly.
Tessa walked into the service corridor.
Only then did she exhale.
Four thousand dollars suddenly felt very small.
Jenna waited downstairs near the kitchen.
“What are they talking about?”
“Shipping.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Tessa hated how easily the lie came out.
Jenna narrowed her eyes.
“You look pale.”
“I’ve been working since noon.”
“Tessa.”
“I’m fine.”
She returned upstairs.
The final course had been cleared when the Italians switched languages again.
This time Enzo spoke first.
“The South Harbor inspection?”
“Handled,” Raffaele answered.
“And the manifests?”
“After the signature.”
Lorenzo lifted his wine.
“By the time Moretti knows what passed through his facilities, the documents will carry his authorization.”
Tessa felt cold.
This was not merely a bad contract.
They were planning to use Matteo’s company.
Whatever they intended to move through those facilities, they expected his signature to place responsibility on him.
Then came the sentence that changed the entire evening.
Raffaele asked, “And DeSantis?”
Lorenzo smiled.
“He gets the remaining half when Moretti signs.”
Tessa lowered a plate.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Matteo’s own executive was being paid.
A man he trusted was selling him out.
Tessa moved toward the door.
“Cameriera.”
She stopped.
Enzo had spoken to her in Italian.
Waitress.
She turned.
He held out his empty glass.
Then, still in Italian, he said, “More wine.”
Tessa looked at the glass.
She had spent the entire night responding only when addressed in English.
A trap.
She let half a second pass.
Then gave him a confused smile.
“I’m sorry?”
Enzo repeated it in English.
“Wine.”
“Of course.”
She poured.
His eyes stayed on her face.
When she finished, he intentionally let his fork fall onto the floor.
Metal struck wood.
Tessa looked down automatically.
Enzo said something quickly in Italian.
A joke.
Something obscene about waitresses.
Raffaele laughed.
Tessa did not react.
She bent to pick up the fork.
But when she stood again, Enzo was still watching her.
Too closely.
The dinner ended at ten-thirteen.
Handshakes.
Polite smiles.
Promises to review language before Friday.
Tessa waited in the service corridor until the guests began leaving.
Matteo remained inside with two attorneys.
She had almost reached him when a voice came from behind her.
“Miss?”
Enzo.
Tessa turned.
He stood alone near the staircase.
“You were our waitress tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
“Cleveland.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really.”
He smiled.
“Family?”
The question made something tighten in her stomach.
“My shift is over.”
She stepped around him.
Enzo moved just enough to block the passage.
Not touching her.
Remembering the rule, perhaps.
Or testing how much he could do without breaking it.
“You seemed very interested in our conversation.”
“I was interested in doing my job.”
“In English?”
Tessa met his eyes.
“I don’t understand the question.”
Enzo’s smile disappeared.
Then he spoke in rapid Italian.
“You understand me perfectly.”
Tessa forced her face to remain blank.
He stepped closer.
Behind him, the staircase door clicked shut.
“You looked at DeSantis’s name,” he said in Italian. “Only for a second.”
Tessa’s pulse thundered.
“I’m sorry, sir. If you need something else, I can find the manager.”
Enzo watched her.
Then he suddenly switched to English.
“No.”
His smile returned.
“I think I found what I needed.”
He walked away.
Tessa remained still until the staircase door closed behind him.
Then she moved.
Fast.
Matteo was standing at the table when she entered the private room.
He looked at her face once.
The attorneys were immediately dismissed.
The door shut.
“What happened?”
Tessa swallowed.
“You have a problem.”
Matteo’s expression went completely still.
“How large?”
“Large enough that four thousand dollars is no longer enough.”
He almost smiled.
She did not.
“Your guests are planning to use your signature to put something through South Harbor under your authorization.”
The amusement vanished.
Tessa continued.
“And somebody inside your company is helping them.”
“Who?”
She looked directly at him.
“Luca DeSantis.”
For the first time since she had met him, Matteo Moretti looked genuinely shocked.
Then someone knocked on the private dining room door.
Three slow knocks.
Matteo looked toward it.
Tessa whispered, “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.”
The handle began to turn.
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