Chapter 2 - Breakfast With a Family That Thought I Was the BrideAt nine the next morning, I was sitting at the breakfast table of a mafia family, wearing borrowed clothes, drinking coffee from a cup that probably cost more than my monthly electric bill.
And everyone was looking at me as though I had already agreed to marry Massimo Romano.
I hadn't.
In fact, I'd spent most of the night trying to convince him to let me leave.
Eventually, after he showed me the photograph of my father's face circled in red, I stopped arguing.
Not because I trusted him.
Because I had run out of people I could safely trust.
Massimo arranged for me to stay in a guest suite on the opposite side of the mansion.
He also gave me a phone connected directly to Enzo.
"If anything happens, call," he said.
"Like what?"
"Anything that makes you uncomfortable."
I looked at him.
"You realize you've been making me uncomfortable since midnight?"
He considered that.
"Then call if someone else does."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Almost.
The guest room was larger than my entire apartment.
There were fresh towels, bottled water, and a closet filled with clothes that appeared to have been purchased for someone approximately my size.
I didn't ask how.
I was afraid of the answer.
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the red circle around my father's face.
My father, Benjamin Miller, had died in a warehouse fire eight years earlier.
He had been fifty-three.
The official report blamed faulty electrical equipment.
There had been no criminal investigation.
No arrests.
Just an apology from the property management company and a check that barely covered the funeral.
My mother had died when I was seventeen, so losing Dad had left me alone in the world.
I had spent the next eight years rebuilding the business he'd loved.
And now someone was suggesting his death had been connected to the Romano family.
By the time morning came, my nerves were raw.
At 8:40, someone knocked on my door.
I opened it to find Rosa Romano standing in the hallway.
She was wearing a pale lavender suit and carrying a small velvet box.
"Good morning, sweetheart!"
I blinked.
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Not particularly."
"Oh, that's understandable. First nights in a new place can be difficult."
I didn't bother correcting her.
She stepped inside without waiting to be invited.
"I brought you something."
She opened the box.
Inside was a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny diamond clasp.
I stared.
"Oh, no."
Rosa frowned.
"You don't like gold?"
"I like gold just fine. I just don't accept jewelry from strangers."
"We won't be strangers for long."
"Mrs. Romano—"
"Rosa, please."
"Rosa, I think there's been a misunderstanding."
She looked at me kindly.
"My grandson is a complicated man."
"That is one way to describe him."
"He has spent years refusing to let anyone close to him. If he has finally found someone who makes him happy, I intend to welcome her."
Her words were so sincere that my irritation softened.
"Massimo and I barely know each other."
"That can be remedied."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She closed the jewelry box.
Then, unexpectedly, her smile faded.
"May I tell you something?"
I nodded.
"His father died four years ago. Since then, Massimo has carried burdens no one person should carry. Some are responsibilities he inherited. Others are mistakes he made himself."
She looked toward the window.
"He believes being feared is the same thing as being safe."
I thought about the gun.
The security cameras.
The way every person in the mansion seemed to straighten when Massimo entered a room.
"Isn't it?" I asked.
Rosa gave me a sad smile.
"No, sweetheart. Sometimes it's the loneliest way to live."
For the first time, I saw something beneath her cheerful determination to arrange a wedding.
Worry.
Real worry.
Before I could answer, she took my hand.
"Come downstairs. Lucia is preparing herself to interrogate you, and I'd rather you eat first."
"That sounds encouraging."
"Oh, don't worry. She's much nicer after coffee."
"How many cups?"
"Usually four."
Wonderful.
The breakfast room overlooked the lake.
Sunlight filled the windows.
Fresh pastries sat beside silver trays of fruit, eggs, and smoked salmon.
And at the center of the table sat the flowers I had arranged the previous afternoon.
White garden roses.
Pale pink ranunculus.
Silver eucalyptus.
Seeing my work in that expensive room gave me a strange, brief moment of pride.
Then I noticed Massimo.
He was standing near the windows in a dark charcoal suit.
His short black hair was neatly styled.
The tattoos and scars were hidden beneath expensive fabric.
Without the towel and gun, he looked like the executive of a powerful corporation.
A very dangerous corporation.
His eyes found mine immediately.
"Good morning, Sophie."
"Is it?"
His younger brother laughed into his coffee.
"She really does talk to you like that."
"Leo," Massimo said.
The young man stood and offered his hand.
"Leonardo Romano. Everyone calls me Leo."
I shook it.
"Sophie Miller."
"I know. Grandma gave us your entire wedding schedule last night."
I froze.
"My what?"
Rosa waved dismissively.
"Only possibilities."
Massimo closed his eyes briefly.
His mother sat at the far end of the table.
Lucia Romano was an elegant woman with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a gaze that missed very little.
"Miss Miller," she said.
"Mrs. Romano."
"How long have you known my son?"
"Approximately nine hours."
Leo nearly choked.
Rosa sighed.
Massimo reached for his coffee.
Lucia looked directly at him.
"Nine hours?"
"Mother."
"Massimo, you told us she was with you."
"She is."
I turned toward him.
"Stop saying that."
He gave me a measured look.
"Would you prefer that I explain everything at breakfast?"
"Yes."
Lucia set down her fork.
"Excellent. I'm listening."
Massimo didn't answer immediately.
That was when the fourth person entered.
Carlo Romano.
Massimo's uncle.
He was a handsome man in his late fifties, with silver at his temples and the kind of smile that made you wonder whether he was being charming or calculating.
"Good morning, everyone."
His eyes moved toward me.
"Ah. The unexpected guest."
"Her name is Sophie," Rosa said.
"Of course." Carlo smiled. "How could I forget?"
He pulled out a chair.
"Quite an exciting evening, I hear."
I looked down at my coffee.
"I'd rather not discuss it."
"Understandable."
He turned to Massimo.
"Vittorio called three times this morning."
"Then he can call a fourth."
"His daughter is expecting an explanation."
"Adriana knows my position."
"Business partnerships don't survive public embarrassment, Massimo."
Massimo's expression cooled.
"Then perhaps it wasn't much of a partnership."
The room went silent.
Carlo's smile thinned.
I began to understand that this was not an ordinary family disagreement about marriage.
There was money involved.
And power.
A great deal of both.
Lucia broke the silence.
"Sophie, tell us about your family."
I set down my cup.
"My parents are deceased."
Rosa's face softened immediately.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Thank you."
"What did your father do?" Lucia asked.
"He owned Miller Floral Design. I took it over after he died."
Carlo stopped moving.
It was brief.
So brief that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching him.
But his hand froze around the handle of his coffee cup.
"Miller?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Benjamin Miller?"
My pulse quickened.
"You knew my father?"
Carlo leaned back.
"Only professionally. He supplied arrangements for several family events years ago."
I studied his face.
"Did he?"
"Chicago is a smaller city than people think."
He smiled.
But something in his eyes had changed.
Massimo noticed.
"Did you work with him directly, Uncle?"
"Occasionally."
"At the South Branch property?"
Carlo's expression remained pleasant.
"That was a long time ago."
I looked between them.
"The South Branch property is where my father died."
Rosa inhaled sharply.
Lucia's face turned pale.
Leo sat straighter.
And Massimo slowly put down his coffee.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"My father died in the South Branch warehouse fire. Eight years ago."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Carlo rose.
"Excuse me. I have a call to make."
He left without finishing breakfast.
I watched him go.
"Did I say something wrong?"
Massimo's gaze followed the doorway.
"No."
But his voice was colder than I'd heard it the previous night.
"You said something important."
Breakfast ended shortly afterward.
Massimo asked me to accompany him to the mansion's conservatory.
I agreed on the condition that nobody else mentioned weddings.
He didn't promise.
The conservatory was magnificent.
Glass walls rose toward a vaulted ceiling.
Orange trees grew in enormous ceramic planters.
Climbing jasmine covered one corner.
It was the kind of place that made me forget, for a moment, that I was inside a house surrounded by armed guards.
Massimo stood beside a fountain.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
I blinked.
"Are you feeling all right?"
His mouth moved slightly.
"For last night. I should not have told my family you were involved with me."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"I was trying to stop a conversation I didn't want to have."
"At my expense."
"Yes."
That surprised me.
I'd expected an excuse.
Instead, he accepted responsibility.
"Thank you," I said cautiously.
He nodded.
"However, there's a complication."
"Of course there is."
"Someone sent you into my private bedroom while another person used your credentials to move an unauthorized shipment through my property."
"And someone has a photograph from my office."
"Correct."
"Which means this has nothing to do with your marriage problem."
"It may have everything to do with it."
I folded my arms.
"Explain."
Massimo studied me for a moment.
"My uncle wants an alliance with Vittorio Vitali. Their families have business interests in construction, shipping, and commercial real estate."
"Legal business interests?"
"Some."
"That answer is not reassuring."
"It's accurate."
He continued.
"The proposed marriage would formalize a complicated financial agreement. I have refused because I don't trust the terms."
"So your uncle wants you to marry a woman you don't love for money."
"For control."
"Of what?"
"Several major properties, including the old South Branch site."
My breath caught.
"The warehouse where my father died?"
"Yes."
I looked away.
For eight years, I'd treated that warehouse as the place where my father had died in a terrible accident.
Now it kept appearing in conversations about powerful men and secret financial agreements.
Massimo stepped closer.
"Your father's company still owns a small parcel of land behind the old property. Correct?"
I turned back.
"How do you know that?"
"I reviewed the records this morning."
"It's an old greenhouse lot. Two acres, maybe a little more."
"Have you received offers to sell it?"
I thought about the letters I'd been getting for the past six months.
Three different real estate firms.
All offering cash.
All insisting the land had little value.
"I've received several."
"Did you accept?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It belonged to my father."
His expression softened.
"Even though you don't use it?"
"He built the first greenhouse there when I was little. My mother painted the door blue because she said every flower shop needed one ridiculous thing."
I looked down.
"After he died, I couldn't bring myself to sell it."
Massimo was silent.
Then he asked, "Do you still have the purchase offers?"
"At my office."
"I'd like to see them."
"Why?"
"Because your property may be the only access point the development company doesn't control."
My stomach tightened.
"And you think someone wants it badly enough to threaten me?"
"I think someone already has."
Before I could respond, the conservatory door opened.
Enzo entered.
"Boss. We found Elena."
I straightened.
"Is she okay?"
"She's alive."
The relief lasted one second.
Then I heard his next words.
"She's terrified. And she refuses to speak unless Miss Miller is present."
Massimo looked at me.
I nodded.
"Take me to her."
We found Elena in a small private sitting room.
She was sitting on a couch, holding a cup of tea with both hands.
Her face was pale.
There was a purple bruise around one wrist.
When she saw me, she began to cry.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Miller."
I sat beside her.
"Elena, what happened?"
She looked toward Massimo.
"Please don't fire me."
"Nobody is firing you," he said. "Tell us what you know."
Her hands trembled.
"I saw them bring another crate through the service entrance. I knew it wasn't from the florist."
"Who brought it?" Massimo asked.
Elena hesitated.
"One of Mr. Vale's men."
Dominic Vale.
The deputy security director who had vanished the previous night.
Massimo's jaw tightened.
"Go on."
"I heard them talking. They said Miss Miller would be blamed if anything went wrong. They had her photograph and her signature."
My throat closed.
"Why didn't you call security?"
Elena looked desperately at Massimo.
"Because Dominic was security."
"Then why send her to my bedroom?"
Elena wiped her cheeks.
"Your private wing has separate security. I knew you would be there. I thought if she reached you, she'd be safe long enough to tell you. I couldn't warn her in the hallway. Someone was watching."
I stared at her.
"You could have just told me!"
"I know. I panicked."
She began crying harder.
"I've never been so frightened."
Massimo crouched in front of her.
"Elena. Who was watching you?"
She shook her head.
"Please. My daughter—"
His face changed.
"What's happened to Nora?"
Elena looked down.
"They sent me a picture of her outside her apartment. They said if I told anyone, she wouldn't make it to work."
Massimo stood immediately.
"Enzo, locate Nora. Get her somewhere safe."
Enzo stepped outside to make the call.
I squeezed Elena's hand.
"Why would anyone do this?"
She looked directly at me.
"Because of your father."
The room went still.
"What about my father?"
Elena's eyes filled with fresh tears.
"Eight years ago, Benjamin Miller saw something at that warehouse."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know everything. But I remember the night he came here."
"Here?"
"To this house."
I couldn't speak.
Elena looked toward Massimo.
"Your father was alive then. Mr. Giulio met Benjamin in his study. They argued for almost an hour."
Massimo went rigid.
"About what?"
"I only heard pieces. Trucks. Documents. A shipment that wasn't supposed to exist."
I gripped the edge of the couch.
"And then?"
"Your father told Benjamin not to go back to the warehouse."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"Why?"
Elena's voice broke.
"Because he said someone was going to burn it."
I stared at her.
For eight years, I had believed my father died in an accident.
A faulty electrical system.
A tragic fire.
A terrible coincidence.
Now Elena was telling me someone had predicted the fire before it happened.
I looked at Massimo.
He was standing absolutely still.
His face had become unreadable.
"Did my father know?" I whispered.
Massimo didn't answer.
So I asked again.
"Did your father know my dad was going to die?"
Elena began shaking her head.
"No. I don't think—"
But before she could finish, a phone rang.
Massimo answered.
It was Enzo.
I could hear the urgency in his voice even from across the room.
"Boss, we found Nora. She's safe. But we also located Dominic's vehicle."
"Where?"
"Near the South Branch property."
A pause.
"And there's something you need to see."
"What?"
"Someone broke into the old Miller greenhouse overnight."
I stood.
My father's greenhouse.
The one property I had refused to sell.
"What's missing?" Massimo asked.
Enzo's voice came through clearly.
"We don't know yet."
Then he added something that made my blood run cold.
"Whoever entered wasn't looking for equipment. They tore open the walls, emptied the storage cabinets, and dug up part of the floor."
I closed my eyes.
Someone had gone searching through the place my father loved most.
Massimo looked at me.
"Sophie, did your father keep records there?"
I nodded slowly.
"He kept everything."
"Business records?"
"Yes."
"Old invoices?"
"Yes."
"Anything from the year he died?"
I thought about the battered wooden cabinet in his greenhouse office.
The notebooks he kept stacked beneath his gardening books.
The old metal cash box.
Then I remembered something.
A sentence he used to say whenever he wanted me to remember where he'd hidden birthday presents.
If you're looking for something important, sweetheart, always check where the roses survive winter.
I had never understood why he found that so funny.
Until now.
I looked up at Massimo.
"I think I know what they were looking for."
And for the first time since entering his bedroom, I realized I might know something the people threatening me didn't.
May you like
My father had left behind a secret.
And someone had just made a terrible mistake by reminding me where to find it.
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