Chapter 4 - The Deal I Never Wanted|
By two in the morning, I had learned three things about Massimo Romano.
He owned more security cameras than most police departments.
His grandmother was apparently more dangerous than half the men working for him.
And when he made a decision, he expected the entire world to rearrange itself around that decision.
Unfortunately for him, I wasn't the entire world.
"I'm going to my shop," I announced.
"No."
"That's not a request."
"Neither was my answer."
We were standing inside a private garage beneath the mansion.
A black SUV waited beside us, its engine running.
Massimo had changed into dark trousers and a fitted black sweater.
I had been given a coat that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
"Someone destroyed my business," I said.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
He stepped closer.
"Then explain it to me."
I swallowed.
"My father left me that shop when he died."
Massimo's expression softened.
"He spent thirty years building it."
I looked away.
"When he got sick, I promised him I'd keep it alive."
My voice cracked.
"I've been failing at that promise for almost a year."
Massimo said nothing.
I wiped my eyes angrily.
"And now some criminal thinks he can smash the windows because I accidentally heard a conversation about a greenhouse."
Massimo looked toward the waiting SUV.
"Get in."
"Massimo—"
"I'm taking you to your shop."
I blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Before you accuse me of kidnapping you again."
"I haven't accused you of kidnapping."
"Yet."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Twenty minutes later, we reached West Madison Street.
My heart broke before the SUV even stopped.
The front window of Miller Blooms was completely destroyed.
Glass covered the sidewalk.
Several flower arrangements had been thrown into the street.
The little wooden sign my father had carved himself lay broken near the entrance.
I opened the car door before Massimo could stop me.
"Sophie!"
I ran across the sidewalk.
My shoes crunched over broken glass.
Inside, water poured from an overturned bucket.
My favorite display shelves had been smashed.
A framed photograph of my father lay facedown beneath a pile of ruined roses.
I picked it up with trembling hands.
The glass was cracked across his smiling face.
That was when I finally started crying.
Not delicate tears.
Not the kind of beautiful crying actresses do in movies.
I cried like someone who had spent too many months pretending everything was fine.
Massimo stood silently beside me.
Then he crouched and helped gather the broken frame.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I looked at him through my tears.
"For what?"
"For bringing this to your door."
"You didn't send me upstairs."
"No."
"You didn't smash my windows."
"No."
"Then why are you apologizing?"
His eyes met mine.
"Because my family's war has reached someone who never agreed to fight it."
Something in his voice made me believe him.
Outside, two black vehicles pulled up.
Several men stepped out carrying toolboxes and plywood.
I frowned.
"Who are they?"
"Contractors."
"At two thirty in the morning?"
"They work unusual hours."
I watched them begin measuring the broken windows.
Massimo turned toward a younger man in a leather jacket.
"Replace everything."
"Yes, boss."
"Same woodwork, same lettering, same interior layout."
The man nodded.
"And make sure the sign is repaired, not replaced."
I looked sharply at Massimo.
"How did you know the sign matters?"
He glanced at the photograph in my hands.
"Because you picked it up before anything else."
My chest tightened.
Then he turned to me.
"I need something from you."
I immediately stiffened.
"Here it comes."
"A temporary arrangement."
"What kind of arrangement?"
"For the next thirty days, you'll pretend we're engaged."
I stared at him.
Then I laughed.
I genuinely laughed.
It was the only reasonable response.
"Absolutely not."
"Let me explain."
"No."
"Sophie."
"You're asking a woman whose business just got destroyed to become your fake fiancée?"
"Yes."
"Do you hear yourself?"
"Frequently."
"Has anyone ever told you you're impossible?"
"My grandmother."
"Smart woman."
Massimo leaned against the counter.
"Tomorrow morning, my family will expect an explanation."
"Tell them the truth."
"The truth is that my uncle tried to frame you, and someone inside this house helped him."
"So call the police."
"I intend to involve the authorities."
That surprised me.
"But Vittorio has spent years building relationships with people who can bury complaints before they're investigated."
I looked at him.
"And pretending we're engaged fixes that?"
"It gives me a public reason to keep you close while we find out what you heard."
I hesitated.
He continued.
"It also stops Adriana's father from forcing a partnership that would give Vittorio control of several family companies."
I folded my arms.
"You're asking me to become a chess piece."
"No."
He stepped closer.
"I'm asking you to become someone they can't quietly erase."
I studied his face.
"What happens after thirty days?"
"You walk away."
"And my shop?"
"Repaired, regardless of your answer."
I looked around the wreckage.
"What about my employees?"
"They keep their jobs."
"And nobody touches them?"
"Not while I have anything to say about it."
I took a long breath.
Then I extended my hand.
"Thirty days."
Massimo looked surprised.
"With conditions," I added.
"Name them."
"No touching without permission."
"Agreed."
"No lying to me about anything that affects my safety."
"Agreed."
"And you don't get to order me around like one of your employees."
His mouth twitched.
"That may be difficult."
"Then we don't have a deal."
He took my hand.
"Agreed."
His palm was warm.
His grip was firm but careful.
For one strange second, neither of us let go.
Then my phone rang.
It was my best friend and shop manager, Hannah.
I answered immediately.
"Hannah?"
Her voice was shaking.
"Sophie, where are you?"
"I'm at the shop."
"Oh, thank God."
"What's wrong?"
She began crying.
"Someone came to my apartment."
My blood froze.
"What?"
"They left a package outside my door."
"What kind of package?"
"A black box."
Massimo's expression changed.
"Put her on speaker," he said.
I obeyed.
"Hannah, don't touch it," Massimo instructed.
"It's already open," she whispered.
Inside the box was a single white rose.
And tied around its stem was a photograph.
A photograph of me and Massimo standing together outside my ruined flower shop.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
THIRTY DAYS WON'T SAVE HER.
