PART 2

Matteo returned three nights later.

Sofia noticed him before anyone else did.

The restaurant went quiet.

Not completely.

Just enough.

The kind of quiet that traveled through a room before people realized they’d stopped talking.

She looked toward the entrance.

Matteo Bellini stood there.

Alone this time.

No bodyguard.

No nervous lieutenant.

Just him.

Marco rushed toward him.

“Mr. Bellini, your usual table—”

“She’s working tonight?”

Marco blinked.

“Who?”

Matteo looked across the dining room.

Sofia.

Marco followed his gaze.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

That was all.

Matteo sat at the same table.

Sofia approached.

“You came back.”

He removed his coat.

“I was curious.”

“About the food?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Then about what?”

“You.”

Sofia picked up a glᴀss.

“You already know my name.”

“I know your name.”

“Then what else is there?”

“You studied in Florence.”

Her hand stopped.

Matteo noticed.

“How do you know that?”

“I ask questions.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It usually is.”

She poured the water.

“You’re very direct.”

“You’re very observant.”

“I had to be.”

“Why?”

Sofia looked at him.

“Because people who work for tips learn quickly that noticing things keeps them alive.”

Something in his expression changed.

For a second, the dangerous man disappeared.

There was only a tired man sitting across from her.

Then it was gone.

He ordered dinner.

She walked away.

He came back the next night.

Then again.

And again.

Sometimes he ate.

Sometimes he barely touched the food.

Sometimes he spoke to her for five minutes.

Sometimes he said nothing at all.

But he kept returning.

The staff noticed.

Priya noticed first.

“He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s not.”

“He comes here four nights a week.”

“He likes the restaurant.”

“He never came four nights a week before you corrected his Italian.”

Sofia rolled her eyes.

“He’s a dangerous man, Priya.”

“That wasn’t a denial.”

Sofia ignored her.

But she couldn’t deny one thing.

Matteo had become easier to understand.

Not safer.

Never safer.

Just more human.

He remembered small things.

She hated olives.

He remembered.

She drank coffee without sugar.

He remembered.

She always counted her tips twice before leaving.

He noticed that too.

One evening, after the restaurant had nearly emptied, Matteo remained at his table.

Sofia brought the check.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

“Why do you still work here?”

“Because I enjoy being yelled at by wealthy strangers.”

His mouth twitched.

“Seriously.”

She sighed.

“Bills.”

“How much?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I could pay them.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was offering.”

“Yes, I do.”

She turned away.

Matteo watched her go.

For the first time, something frustrated him.

Not because she had refused him.

Because he wasn’t accustomed to anyone refusing without fear.

Later that night, Sofia left through the rear entrance.

She didn’t notice the black car parked across the street.

She didn’t notice Matteo watching from the back seat.

And she didn’t notice the man standing beneath the awning opposite the alley.

He was holding a pH๏τograph.

An old pH๏τograph.

A pH๏τograph of Sofia’s mother.

And beside her stood a younger man Matteo had not seen in nearly twenty years.

His father.

The next evening, Matteo arrived earlier than usual.

He was different.

Colder.

Sofia noticed immediately.

“You look angry.”

“I am.”

“Should I ask why?”

“No.”

She set down his coffee.

“Good.”

He looked at her.

Then reached into his coat.

He placed a pH๏τograph on the table.

Sofia froze.

Her fingers hovered above it.

She knew that pH๏τograph.

Her mother had kept a copy in a box beneath her bed.

But this one showed something Sofia had never seen.

Her mother was younger.

Much younger.

Standing beside two men.

One she didn’t recognize.

The other—

Sofia’s breath caught.

“That can’t be.”

Matteo watched her carefully.

“That’s my father.”

She looked at him.

“What?”

“My father.”

Sofia stared at the pH๏τograph.

Her mother was smiling.

And the man beside her was Matteo’s father.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Behind them stood a warehouse.

Above the door was a number.

17.

Sofia knew that number.

She had seen it written on one of her mother’s old medical envelopes.

She had ᴀssumed it was an account number.

She had been wrong.

“What is Warehouse Seventeen?”

Matteo’s expression hardened.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Sofia looked at him.

“Why show me this?”

“Because someone sent it to me yesterday.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why would they send it to you?”

Matteo leaned closer.

“Because the man standing beside my father in that pH๏τograph was supposed to have died twenty years ago.”

Sofia’s blood ran cold.

“Who was he?”

Matteo didn’t answer.

He turned the pH๏τograph over.

There was a message written on the back.

Six words.

Ask the waitress what her mother knew.

Sofia stared at the handwriting.

She recognized it.

Her mother’s.

“No.”

Matteo watched her face.

“You know something.”

“I don’t.”

“Sofia.”

She pushed the pH๏τograph away.

“My mother never told me anything about your family.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

She looked up.

And for the first time since they’d met, fear appeared clearly in her eyes.

Matteo saw it.

His entire expression changed.

He reached across the table.

Not touching her.

Just stopping the pH๏τograph from falling.

“Who are you afraid of?”

Sofia swallowed.

“My mother used to tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“If anyone ever asks about Warehouse Seventeen…”

She looked toward the restaurant windows.

“…I was never supposed to tell them anything.”

Matteo went completely still.

Outside, a black sedan slowed beside the restaurant.

Neither of them noticed it at first.

Then the rear window lowered.

A man inside raised a camera.

One flash.

Then another.

Sofia turned.

Too late.

The sedan disappeared into traffic.

Matteo stood immediately.

His voice was no longer gentle.

“Don’t move.”

Sofia stared at him.

“What?”

He picked up the pH๏τograph.

His eyes remained fixed on the street.

“Someone just took our picture.”

Silence.

Then Matteo looked at her.

And Sofia understood.

The pH๏τograph wasn’t merely connected to their families.

It had been designed to bring them together.

Someone had known Matteo would become curious.

Someone had known Sofia would recognize the pH๏τograph.

And someone had just captured the exact image they needed.

A mafia boss.

A broke waitress.

Sitting together over an old pH๏τograph.

Exactly what their most dangerous enemy needed to start a war.

Matteo reached for Sofia’s hand.

This time, she didn’t pull away.

Because outside the restaurant, the first car had already stopped at the corner.

And a second one was turning toward them.