Matteo tapped the printed crest.
“At first, I thought the pattern was decorative.
Then I saw it on your laptop last week.
These leaves are arranged like route markers.
Their angles correspond to streets.
Their sizes indicate time windows.
The small break in the border identifies buildings with limited security.”
Iris looked at the tiny gap her client had made her widen during revision fifteen.
He had called it visually necessary.
She had argued that it weakened the balance of the design.
He had threatened to replace her.
“My client sent every change,” she said.
“I only drew what he described.”
“That is why he used you,” Matteo replied.
“You had no connection to him beyond an ordinary design contract.
If anyone found the file, it would look like client work.”
Britney sank onto the arm of the sofa.
“And when he was finished?”
Matteo’s silence answered before his voice did.
“He would remove the person who could identify every change.”
Iris looked toward the door.
The fear came first.
Then anger replaced it.
The client had insulted her, withheld payment, and kept her awake for nights while using her talent to hide something dangerous.
Every demand she had obeyed had helped strangers track homes and businesses.
She closed the folder.
“I need my computer.”
Matteo shook his head.
“You need to leave.”
“I need the revision history.”
“You can retrieve it later.”
“The system keeps every comment, upload, timestamp, and deleted attachment.
If he used my files to send instructions, the proof is there.”
“There are men outside who know your address.”
“And there are men inside who think telling me what to do counts as protection.”
The words landed.
Matteo’s expression remained controlled, but something shifted behind it.
Iris stepped closer.
“You said you watched me.
How long?”
“Since the first delivery.”
“That was one week ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I saw the crest.
I ordered my people to find out who commissioned it.”
“That explains the investigation.
It doesn’t explain you delivering my pizza twice.”
Britney looked from Iris to Matteo and wisely said nothing.
For the first time since entering the apartment, Matteo seemed to consider lying.
Then he chose not to.
“Because I wanted to see you again.”
The answer was quiet and more unsettling than a practiced excuse.
Iris remembered the rain running down his face, the dry pizza box, and the way he had said her full name.
“You decided something about me before you knew me.”
“Yes.”
