“What?”
His gaze held hers.
“That no one would be permitted to hurt you.”
“That isn’t romantic, Matteo.
It’s possession.”
His face tightened.
“I know the difference now.”
“You learned it in seven days?”
“I learned it when you looked at me like I might be another man trying to use you.”
Iris did not soften.
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then prove it by giving me choices.”
Matteo glanced at the laptop, the windows, and the locked door.
“You can stay here with guards in the hallway, or you can come to the office above Romano’s, where we can secure the building and copy your files.
Britney comes with us.
You control the computer.
Nothing is sent without your approval.”
It was not perfect freedom, but it was a choice.
Iris picked up the laptop.
“We go to the restaurant.”
Romano’s Pizza looked completely different after closing.
The bright dining room was dark except for the lights above the counter.
Rain streaked the front windows.
Chairs stood upside down on tables, and the air still smelled of basil, baked dough, and tomato sauce.
Matteo led Iris and Britney through the kitchen and up a narrow staircase to an office with no windows facing the street.
The room was unexpectedly plain.
A wooden desk.
Two locked cabinets.
A framed photograph of the first Romano’s storefront.
No weapons on display.
No dramatic evidence of the world the newspapers claimed Matteo controlled.
That made him more intimidating, not less.
Power did not need decorations when everyone already recognized it.
Iris opened her project-management account while Britney sat beside her.
Matteo remained across the room.
He had listened when she demanded space.
Revision one had been simple: a black crest, the client’s initials, and a circular border.
Revision four added six leaves.
Revision seven changed their angles.
Revision ten introduced small gaps in the border.
By revision fourteen, the client’s comments became oddly precise.
Move the upper-left leaf three degrees clockwise.
Reduce the lower mark by twelve percent.
Widen the eastern gap.
Repeat the center symbol on the reverse layout.
Iris enlarged the file and placed Matteo’s route map beside it.
The pattern aligned perfectly.
Britney whispered, “He made you redraw a map.”
“Not one map,” Iris said.
She opened the saved versions one after another.
The locations changed in each file.
Every revision represented a different night.
Every cluster of leaves pointed toward a different group of Romano properties.
Matteo came closer but stopped several feet from her chair.
“Can you identify when he obtained the information?”
