Chapter 3 - The Seat Beside the Boss
Emergency lights flickered on.
Clemente moved first.
“Stay here.”
Natalie grabbed his arm.
“Absolutely not.”
“Natalie.”
“If somebody is upstairs because of my family, I’m coming.”
He looked at her hand on his arm.
Then her face.
“Behind me.”
They ran upstairs.
Marco followed with two security men.
The locked room stood open.
Teresa’s desk had been overturned.
Documents covered the floor.
The portrait of Eleanor had been pulled from the wall.
Behind it was a steel compartment.
Open.
Empty.
A housekeeper stood trembling near the window.
“I heard glass.”
“Did you see anyone?” Clemente asked.
She shook her head.
Natalie looked at the compartment.
“What was there?”
Teresa appeared behind them.
Her face collapsed.
“The original ledger.”
Clemente turned.
“What ledger?”
“The one proving Eleanor’s ownership.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
Of course.
Evidence appeared.
Then disappeared.
It felt almost scripted.
Clemente crouched near the compartment.
“No forced entry.”
Teresa nodded.
“Only three people knew the combination.”
“Who?”
“Your father. Me.”
She looked downstairs.
“And Vittorio.”
Clemente stood.
They returned to the dining room.
Vittorio was gone.
One security man lay conscious but dazed near the side corridor.
Marco swore.
Clemente’s voice became terrifyingly calm.
“Lock the property.”
Natalie watched him transform.
The teasing employer vanished.
In his place stood the man people feared.
Phones came out.
Instructions moved through the mansion.
Cars were checked.
Cameras reviewed.
Gates sealed.
Natalie sat at the dining table.
Her untouched plate remained where someone had set it.
One of the crystal glasses reflected her face.
Secretary.
Employee.
Fiancée.
Owner?
In less than an hour, every category had changed.
Clemente returned.
“Vittorio used a service corridor.”
“Can he get off the property?”
“He already did.”
“How?”
“Someone helped him.”
Natalie looked toward the family.
“Someone here?”
“Possibly.”
Marco bristled.
“You think one of us—”
“I think nothing until I know.”
Clemente pulled out the chair beside his.
“Sit.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow.
“Was that an order?”
He caught himself.
“Would you please sit?”
“Better.”
Marco stared at them.
“You two cannot possibly keep pretending to be engaged.”
Natalie looked at Clemente.
“We aren’t.”
Clemente said, “We are.”
She turned slowly.
“Excuse me?”
He lowered his voice.
“Someone just stole proof that may transfer half my company to you.”
“So?”
“If word gets out that we’re fighting over ownership, every rival, lender and board member will smell blood.”
“And fake engagement fixes that?”
“It tells them there is no ownership war.”
Natalie stared.
“You want me to continue this insanity?”
“For seventy-two hours.”
“No.”
“Forty-eight.”
“No.”
“Twenty-four.”
“Do you negotiate everything?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t admiration.”
“I know.”
She should have walked away.
Then Teresa spoke.
“Do it.”
Natalie looked at her.
Teresa sat opposite them.
“Not for the company. For yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because Vittorio is frightened.”
“Of me?”
“Of what you might learn.”
Natalie looked at Clemente.
Twenty-four hours.
One lie.
She hated the idea.
But she hated being manipulated without understanding why even more.
“Twenty-four,” she said.
Clemente nodded.
“And there are conditions.”
“Of course there are.”
“No touching me for appearances without permission.”
“Agreed.”
“No ordering me around.”
He looked pained.
“Agreed.”
“You tell me everything.”
“Yes.”
“And if the contract is legitimate, I decide what happens to my share.”
Clemente extended his hand.
“Agreed.”
Natalie stared at it.
“You’re shaking hands with your fiancée?”
“Would you prefer a kiss?”
She gave him a look.
He almost smiled.
She shook his hand.
By midnight, the lie had escaped the mansion.
A photograph appeared online.
Clemente standing beside Natalie.
His hand holding hers.
Headline:
LOMBARDO BACHELOR SECRETLY ENGAGED?
Natalie stared at her phone.
“I hate your family.”
“Get in line.”
They were in Clemente’s private office now.
Marco had left.
Teresa was resting.
Security teams were searching for Vittorio.
Clemente poured coffee.
Natalie watched.
“You’re drinking coffee at midnight?”
“I’m engaged. Stressful evening.”
She almost laughed.
That annoyed her.
He handed her a cup.
Exactly one sugar.
A splash of cream.
She noticed.
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you.”
The words came out naturally.
Then both of them became still.
Clemente looked away first.
Natalie took the cup.
“That sounds creepy when you say it like that.”
“It sounded better in my head.”
“You should keep more things there.”
He leaned against the desk.
“You think I don’t see you.”
Natalie looked at him.
“At dinner, you said I made you valuable by attaching you to me.”
“You did.”
“I was wrong.”
She waited.
“You were valuable before you entered that room.”
“Then why did it take Marco insulting me for you to say it?”
Clemente had no quick answer.
“Because I’m better at protecting things than appreciating them.”
Natalie’s expression softened despite herself.
“That might be the saddest thing you’ve ever admitted.”
“My therapist would be thrilled.”
“You don’t have a therapist.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
A real smile.
Clemente stared a second too long.
Natalie noticed.
He looked down.
She noticed that too.
Then his phone rang.
Enzo.
Clemente answered.
“Talk.”
A pause.
His face hardened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“They found Vittorio’s car.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near the old Lombardo warehouse.”
Natalie remembered the photograph.
“The first building?”
“Yes.”
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
A photograph loaded.
It showed her mother.
Elizabeth Strauss.
Alive.
Standing beside Vittorio.
The date stamp was six years after Natalie had buried her.
Natalie stopped breathing.
May you like
Beneath the photograph was one sentence:
Your mother did not die when you were told she did.
