Chapter 4 - The Man Outside Her ApartmentSophia finished her shift at 11:18 p.m.
She avoided Matteo for the rest of the evening, though avoidance was difficult when the owner of the restaurant seemed capable of existing everywhere without visibly moving.
By closing time, he had disappeared.
Sophia was relieved.
She changed into boots in the employee room, wrapped her scarf twice around her neck, and stepped into the January night.
Snow had begun again.
Queens was thirty-five minutes away by subway if everything ran properly.
Nothing in New York ran properly when it snowed.
By the time Sophia emerged from her station, it was nearly 12:20.
Her apartment building stood halfway down a narrow street lined with parked cars wearing thin white roofs of snow.
She noticed the black sedan immediately.
Not because it was unusual.
Because the engine was running.
Sophia slowed.
A figure sat behind the steering wheel.
Her breath caught.
No.
She kept walking.
Don’t panic.
Don’t assume.
People sat in cars.
People waited for friends.
People checked phones.
Then the driver’s door opened.
Preston Hale stepped onto the sidewalk.
Sophia stopped.
Everything around her disappeared.
Snow.
Traffic.
Streetlights.
Six months.
All of it collapsed into one terrible point.
Preston looked almost exactly the same.
Expensive charcoal coat.
Dark blond hair.
Clean-shaven face.
The expression that had convinced hundreds of people he was charming.
“Sophie.”
Nobody called her Sophie anymore.
She took one step backward.
“What are you doing here?”
His smile was gentle.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I know you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You disappeared.”
“I left.”
“Without talking to me.”
“I talked to you for three years.”
His smile weakened.
“Can we not do this on the street?”
“We’re not doing anything.”
Sophia turned toward the building.
Preston moved between her and the entrance.
Her entire body stiffened.
“Move.”
“Five minutes.”
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“Move.”
His jaw tightened.
There.
The real Preston.
The mask always slipped eventually.
“I drove four hours.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You changed your number.”
“Yes.”
“You deleted everything.”
“Yes.”
“You left our apartment.”
“Yes.”
He laughed softly.
“You’re proving my point.”
“What point?”
“That you don’t think rationally when you’re upset.”
Fear became anger.
“I was very rational when I packed.”
“Sophie—”
“You fractured my rib.”
His expression changed.
“I never fractured anything.”
“The doctor disagreed.”
“You fell.”
“You pushed me.”
“You were hysterical.”
Sophia stared at him.
There it was.
His version.
Always.
Every bruise became her fault.
Every insult became concern.
Every closed door became protection.
Every restriction became love.
She stepped sideways.
Preston caught her arm.
Sophia screamed.
Not because the grip hurt.
Because she had promised herself she would scream next time.
The sound ripped through the street.
Preston released her immediately.
“Jesus Christ.”
A man appeared from the shadow beside a parked SUV.
Tall.
Black coat.
Sophia had never seen him before.
He walked toward them with frightening calm.
“Step away from her.”
Preston turned.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man ignored him.
His eyes went to Sophia.
“Miss Bennett, are you all right?”
Sophia stared.
“You know my name?”
Another wave of alarm.
Preston looked between them.
“Who is this?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer changed the stranger’s expression almost imperceptibly.
Preston stepped toward Sophia.
The stranger moved between them.
“I said step away.”
“Mind your business.”
“I am.”
“What?”
Headlights swept around the corner.
A black SUV stopped.
Matteo Ricci stepped out.
Sophia felt disbelief replace fear.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Matteo crossed the sidewalk.
He did not look at Sophia first.
He looked at Preston.
The difference between them was immediate.
Preston was a controlling man accustomed to frightening people who loved him.
Matteo was something else.
Someone accustomed to frightening men who frightened everyone else.
“You’re Preston Hale,” Matteo said.
Preston’s confidence faltered.
“Who are you?”
“Matteo Ricci.”
Recognition arrived.
Sophia saw it.
Not complete recognition.
Enough.
Preston’s posture changed.
“Ricci?”
Matteo stopped several feet away.
“You drove from Boston to stand outside Sophia’s apartment after midnight.”
Preston looked toward her.
“Did you tell him about me?”
Sophia was furious.
“At the moment, I’m wondering how he knows anything about you.”
Matteo accepted the accusation without looking away from Preston.
“She told me nothing.”
Preston laughed nervously.
“So what is this? You have people following my girlfriend?”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Sophia snapped.
Matteo’s voice became very quiet.
“She said move.”
“What?”
“When she asked you to move away from the entrance.”
Preston’s face hardened.
“This is between us.”
“No.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“It stopped being between you when you put your hands on her.”
Sophia saw something frightening in his eyes.
Not wild violence.
Controlled violence.
The kind that was worse because it did not require emotion.
She moved between them before she knew why.
“Stop.”
Matteo’s gaze shifted to her.
“I’m handling it.”
“No.”
She pointed at him.
“You don’t get to handle me.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You investigated me, had someone watching my building, and now you appear here like this?”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The honesty almost disarmed her.
Almost.
“That is insane.”
“Probably.”
“You admit it?”
“I’m not going to lie when you’re clearly angry enough already.”
Preston scoffed.
“Sophie, you seriously trust this man?”
She turned.
“I don’t trust either of you.”
That shut both men up.
Sophia looked at Preston.
“You are going back to Boston.”
“I came to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“You owe me an explanation.”
“No, I don’t.”
“We had a life.”
“You had a life. I had permission to participate in it.”
His face flushed.
“That’s dramatic.”
“No. Dramatic was you punching a wall beside my head because I went to dinner with my mother.”
“I was worried about you.”
“You tracked my phone.”
“To make sure you were safe.”
“You controlled my bank account.”
“We were building a future.”
“You decided what I wore.”
“You invited attention.”
Matteo became terrifyingly still.
Sophia continued before he could speak.
“And you told me I was lucky you loved me because nobody else would tolerate how difficult I was.”
Preston stared.
Sophia’s eyes burned.
“You were wrong.”
He laughed cruelly.
“About what? You think Ricci is interested in you?”
Matteo took one step forward.
Sophia lifted a hand without looking at him.
“No.”
Matteo stopped.
That surprised everyone.
Sophia looked directly at Preston.
“I don’t need another man to want me to prove you were wrong.”
Silence.
“I only needed enough courage to leave.”
Preston’s expression hardened completely.
“This isn’t finished.”
“Yes.”
Sophia nodded.
“It is.”
He stepped closer.
The man who had been guarding the building moved instantly.
Matteo did not.
He only spoke.
“If you contact her again, I will make sure every action goes through attorneys and police.”
Preston laughed.
“Police?”
“Yes.”
Something in Matteo’s answer clearly contradicted whatever Preston had heard about him.
“You think I’m afraid of legal threats?”
“No.”
Matteo’s expression remained calm.
“I think you’re afraid of documentation. Men like you usually are.”
Preston’s face changed.
Matteo continued.
“Text messages. Bank restrictions. GPS tracking without consent. Photographs from her urgent-care examination. Statements from neighbors who heard arguments. Building security footage.”
Sophia looked at him sharply.
“You have all that?”
“Some.”
Preston went pale.
Matteo looked at him.
“And I can get the rest.”
The threat was perfectly legal.
That somehow made it more devastating.
Preston turned toward his car.
“This is ridiculous.”
He pointed at Sophia.
“You’ll call me when whatever this is goes wrong.”
“No.”
“You always come back.”
Sophia felt something inside her finally settle.
“Not this time.”
Preston got into the sedan and drove away.
Nobody moved until his taillights disappeared.
Then Sophia turned on Matteo.
“Who is he?”
She pointed toward the stranger.
“His name is Carlo.”
“Why was Carlo outside my building?”
Matteo’s pause answered the question.
“You put security on me.”
“Yes.”
“Without asking.”
“Yes.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“You really have a problem with boundaries.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
“Beginning?”
A faint hint of amusement crossed his face.
Sophia was not amused.
“You don’t get to decide I need protection.”
“I knew Hale was in New York.”
“You could have called me.”
“I did.”
She checked her phone.
Three missed calls from an unknown number.
She looked back at him.
“You could have texted.”
“I didn’t have your permission to use your number.”
Sophia stared.
“You had permission to investigate my entire life but not send a text?”
“When you say it that way, it sounds inconsistent.”
“It is insane.”
“Yes.”
Despite everything, a laugh almost escaped her.
She hated that.
Matteo looked at Carlo.
“Give us a minute.”
Carlo moved toward the SUV.
Sophia hugged her coat around herself.
Snow collected in Matteo’s dark hair.
“What do you want from me?”
The question removed the faint amusement from his face.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“I know.”
“You know my family.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my grandfather.”
“Not personally.”
“But your father did.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Matteo looked toward the apartment entrance.
“Can we talk somewhere warmer?”
“My apartment is not an option.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
He nodded toward a twenty-four-hour café across the intersection.
“Public place.”
Sophia hesitated.
Every instinct said leave.
Another instinct—the one that had grown tired of unanswered questions—said stay.
Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other beneath fluorescent lights with two untouched coffees between them.
Matteo removed his coat.
Without the restaurant around him, he somehow seemed more dangerous and more human simultaneously.
Sophia folded her arms.
“Talk.”
“My father knew Vittorio Bellandi.”
“How?”
“They worked together briefly.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s deliberately vague.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Try again.”
Matteo looked down at his coffee.
“My father operated businesses in Italy and the United States. Some were legitimate.”
“And some weren’t.”
“Yes.”
The direct answer startled her.
“Are you telling me you’re actually mafia?”
Matteo’s mouth almost curved.
“That word means many things to many people.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“My family has a criminal history.”
Sophia stared.
“And you?”
Matteo’s eyes lifted.
“I have a complicated relationship with inheritance.”
“That sounds like a rich man’s way of saying yes.”
“It probably is.”
She should have stood and left.
Instead she remained seated.
“My grandfather.”
Matteo became serious again.
“Vittorio handled financial records for my father in Italy.”
“My mother said he owned a vineyard.”
“He did.”
“What else?”
“He discovered that my father’s organization was moving money through companies he believed were legitimate.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“He threatened to expose it.”
“And?”
Matteo looked at her for a long moment.
“My father ordered him killed.”
The words dropped heavily between them.
Sophia’s face emptied.
“No.”
“I don’t know if the order was carried out.”
“My grandfather died in a car accident.”
“That may be true.”
“May?”
“The man assigned to the job disappeared the same week. So did several financial documents.”
Sophia leaned back.
Her hands had begun trembling.
“My mother told me he died instantly.”
“You were told what your family wanted you to know.”
Anger flashed.
“Don’t talk about my family like you understand them.”
“You’re right.”
She stood.
Matteo did not stop her.
Sophia pulled on her coat.
Then she looked down at him.
“What does the blue ribbon mean?”
For the first time, Matteo lost control of his expression.
Sophia saw it.
He knew.
“You heard me on the phone.”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
Matteo stood slowly.
“When I was sixteen, I spent a summer at the Bellandi estate.”
Sophia stopped breathing.
“There was a girl there.”
“My mother?”
“Elena.”
Sophia gripped the chair.
Matteo nodded.
“She wore a blue ribbon around her wrist.”
“Why?”
“I never knew.”
He looked away for a moment.
“The night Vittorio disappeared, your mother gave that ribbon to me.”
Sophia stared at him.
“She told me if anything happened to her family, I should remember it.”
“What happened to the ribbon?”
“I kept it.”
“For twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo’s voice lowered.
“Because that same night, your mother saved my life.”
Sophia’s anger disappeared beneath shock.
Outside the café window, snow fell harder.
Matteo continued.
“There was an attack at the estate. Your mother found me injured near the vineyard wall and hid me inside an old storage cellar until it was safe.”
Sophia could barely speak.
“She never told me.”
“She probably had reasons.”
“What kind of reasons?”
Matteo looked at her.
“The kind we need to discover.”
Her phone rang.
Sophia flinched.
Italy.
The hospice.
She answered immediately.
“Pronto?”
The nurse spoke.
Sophia’s face changed.
Matteo understood before she said anything.
Her grandmother had hours.
Maybe less.
Sophia ended the call with shaking fingers.
“I need to go.”
“To Florence.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The next flight I can afford.”
Matteo pulled out his phone.
“No.”
She glared.
“I knew you were going to do that.”
“There’s a flight at six fifteen.”
“I’m buying my own ticket.”
“It’s sold out.”
“How do you know?”
“I own part of the aviation company.”
Sophia stared at him.
“That sentence is incredibly irritating.”
“There are two seats available privately.”
“No.”
“Sophia.”
“No private plane. No gifts. No mysterious money.”
Matteo was silent.
Then he said, “Fine.”
She blinked.
“Fine?”
“I’ll get you a commercial ticket through a cancellation desk.”
She studied him suspiciously.
“And I’ll pay.”
“Yes.”
“Full price.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
Matteo nodded.
She picked up her bag.
“I’m going home to pack.”
“I’ll have Carlo remain across the street.”
She opened her mouth.
“Across the street,” Matteo repeated. “He will not enter the building. He will not approach you. You can tell him to leave at any time.”
Sophia considered it.
Preston’s face flashed through her mind.
“Across the street.”
“Yes.”
“And he doesn’t follow me inside.”
“No.”
“And you stop investigating me.”
Matteo hesitated.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Matteo.”
It was the first time she used his first name.
The effect on him was immediate and impossible to miss.
“I’ll stop investigating your private life,” he said.
“That qualifier was suspicious.”
“I still need to investigate why you were placed at Bellissimo.”
Sophia slowly nodded.
“That part you can investigate.”
She walked toward the door.
Matteo followed.
When they reached the sidewalk, Sophia stopped.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“If my mother really knew you…”
“She did.”
“And if my grandfather was involved with your father…”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody may have put me in Bellissimo because of you.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“That’s what I think.”
Sophia stared at the snow gathering on the pavement.
For six months, she had believed running from Preston was the beginning of her new life.
Now she wondered if the move to New York had been guided by a hand she had never seen.
She looked at Matteo.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
The truth in his voice frightened her more than certainty would have.
“But I’m going to find out.”
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