Chapter Five
Lorenzo
“This is a nice place, do you come here often?”
I pull my eyes from the menu and to the woman seated across from me.
When my father called me to ask for a favor, I never thought he’d ambush me at my office, telling me about a date he'd set up for me with Estella's niece.
My stepmother has been hinting for weeks that her niece Natalie would be perfect for me, and my father—ever eager to please his new wife—took it upon himself to arrange this lunch.
I didn't want to insult Estella by refusing outright.
She's been nothing but kind since she married my father, and her happiness matters to him.
Lately, he's been whining and groaning about being the only one of his sons who still hasn’t settled down, but I never thought he'd take matters into his own hands. I shouldn't be surprised that he has.
Even so, I tried to back out of the date and pointed out how busy I was, which technically wasn't a lie. My office looks like a printer exploded with the number of files lying around. My father wasn’t hearing any of it, even offering to stay in my office and take my calls while I was away, essentially backing me into a corner.
Natalie is a beautiful woman, and her company is pleasant enough, but she's not Fiona.
The two are complete opposites, and while I know I shouldn't compare them, I can't help but do just that.
For one, Natalie is a book of prim and proper—from the way she talks and carries herself.
A complete opposite of Fiona with her wild red hair and wide blue eyes that feel alive.
Fiona wears her heart on her sleeve, and it's always easy to tell what she's thinking and feeling.
This would hurt her.
Maybe coming on this mockery of a date was a mistake, but I figured I could buy Natalie lunch first, then break the news gently that I am interested in someone else and apologize for wasting her time.
I am in love with Fiona O'Shea.
A fiery little woman who will not sit down and cry when wronged.
She’d go scorched earth on both Natalie and me.
Maybe even my father when she learns the date was his idea.
La mia flamma has a temper to rival the sun when she is wronged.
I smile at the thought of my pretty little redheaded Norse goddess seated in her apartment and cracking into my iron-hard security just to get back at me for having lunch with another woman.
“This place has great food. Let me know if you need help with the menu,” I tell her, closing mine. I already know what I want anyway; I've come here a few times and know what I’m going to order already.
She smiles politely. “Okay, I’ll trust your judgment.”
We place our orders and sit back to wait.
Before she can start with small talk, I decide to be honest. “Natalie, I need to tell you something. I only agreed to this lunch because I didn’t want to hurt Estella’s feelings—she’s been nothing but kind to my family.
But the truth is, I’m already involved with someone. ”
I brace myself for disappointment or anger, but instead, Natalie’s face floods with relief.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, then catches herself with a laugh.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just—I’m in the same situation.
There’s someone I’m in love with, but my family doesn’t know.
They keep setting me up on these dates, and I keep going along with it to keep the peace. ”
“Someone they wouldn’t approve of?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Her name is Valentina. We’ve been together for two years, but I haven’t found the courage to tell my parents yet.”
I lean back in my chair, surprised and oddly relieved. “Then why are we sitting here?”
“Because I didn’t know how to say no without explaining why.”
“Call her,” I say. “Tell her to come here. I’ll cover the meal—consider it an apology for wasting your time.”
Natalie’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. One of us should enjoy this lunch with the person we actually want to be with.”
She stares at me for a moment, then pulls out her phone with a grateful smile.
While she texts, I allow my mind to drift to Fiona.
I promised to call her this morning, and it’s already past noon.
She must be wondering where I am. It would be rude to check my phone now, but I’m tempted to ignore all etiquette and just use the damn thing.
A few minutes later, Natalie looks up, beaming. “She’s on her way. She works a few blocks from here.”
.
I try not to show relief when our waiter arrives with our appetizers, and even before she can serve us, my heart sinks.
The aroma hits me first, a wave of nauseating, earthy, slightly pungent smell that I instantly recognize.
And when the server places the plate in front of me, my suspicion is confirmed.
Mushrooms.
I’ve hated mushrooms since I was a little boy, and even the family cooks knew not to use them in any food. I've been to this restaurant several times—I know the quality is excellent—but I'm not a regular the staff would recognize.
I lean forward, peering at my plate. It's stuffed mushrooms. Large cap-shaped fungi overflowing with some sort of cream filling and baked to a golden brown. My eyes dart up to the server, a young woman with a friendly smile.
“This isn’t right,” I blurt out, my voice a bit sharper than intended. “I didn’t order this.”
Her smile falters slightly. “Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. Let me just…” she reaches for the plate, but I hold up a hand, stopping her.
“Wait,” I say, my brows furrowing. “I specifically ordered the bruschetta.
I'm very particular about my order. I always specify no mushrooms.” I rake my brain as I try to figure out what happened.
There's no way I misspoke. I've been ordering the same appetizer for years, regardless of the restaurant. And today, they served me the most mushroom-heavy dish on their menu. “I don’t understand.”
Natalie offers a small smile to the server. “I’m sure it was a simple mix-up.”
“It doesn't feel like it,” I say, more to myself this time, making a face as I stare at the appetizer. Just the thought of putting one of the mushrooms into my mouth is enough to make me ill. “It's fine, I'll have the calamari, please.”
The server’s expression softens. “I apologize again, sir. Let me take this back and get you the calamari right away.” She reaches for the plate, and this time, I let her take it.
As she turns to leave, I find myself left with a lingering sense of unease.
Messing up my order with a different dish wouldn’t have mattered as much, but the mushrooms feel like a personal affront.
“So, you hate mushrooms, huh?” Natalie says in an effort to lighten the mood, but I can't shake the feeling in my chest enough to return it.
“Yes, I’ve hated them since I was a child,” I offer, distracted. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Natalie offers me another smile as I get up and head toward the bathroom, but I don’t go all the way in.
Instead, I stop at a small alcove and pull out my phone, cursing when I realize I forgot to turn it on when I left the office.
The screen lights up with messages when I turn it on, but there’s only one name I am interested in, and when I see it, I smile. That is, until I open the message.
My brows furrow in confusion when I read the message from Fiona telling me not to contact her anymore and to stay away from her.
Then I open the picture she sent, and my heart drops to my feet.
It's a screenshot of what appears to be the security camera feed of the restaurant.
In the picture, Natalie is kissing my cheek—her way of thanking me before I left—but without context, the gesture looks intimate.
Heck, even I would think it was intimate if I wasn't fucking there when it happened.
Goddamnit.
I dial Fiona’s number to explain the situation, but I’m sent straight to voicemail.
I dial the office and ask to speak to Fiona, but I'm told that today is her day off.
Fuck, she did mention that last night, but it slipped my mind.
This whole mole thing has been fucking with my head for days. Still, I can't blame this date on that.
I curse myself for a fool as I slide my phone back in my pocket and walk back to the table. The calamari is already on the table and looks appetizing, but I’m not sure I can stomach anything at the moment.
“I’m sorry, Natalie, but I need to leave,” I inform her. “Something just came up that I need to take care of.”
“Oh,” she says, her brows drawing close with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“No, I say, reaching for my wallet. “I need to leave. Now. I’ve covered your lunch, so you stay and enjoy it.”
“Go,” she says. “You’ve been nothing but honest with me. And Valentina will be here any minute.”
“Are you sure?”
She stands and pulls me into a quick hug, then presses a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, Lorenzo. For everything. Now go fix whatever's wrong.”
I don't need to be told twice.”
I hail a taxi the second I step out of the restaurant, dialling Fiona’s number the rest of the ride to her apartment, but she doesn’t pick up or respond to any of the messages I send. The elevator ride to her floor is the longest, but when I get there, she doesn’t answer the door either.
Fuck!
I consider waiting outside for her to calm down and let me in so we can talk, but I can't imagine going yet another second without sorting things between us. So against all judgment, I pick the lock and storm inside. A quick look around her place is enough to tell me that she’s not there.
Where the fuck is she?
I call the O'Shea Protection Services office, but they inform me she isn't there either. Her phone is off, so I can't fucking track her location, and it seems everyone was expecting her to stay at home.
I wander into her living room, hoping to find some clue about where she could have gone.
When I see the files spread on her coffee table, I realize she was working on the mole case.
Guilt rolls through me in waves. Here she was, helping me with a case that didn’t concern her at all, and I wasn’t here with her.
I scan the printed pages she left out—login records, security logs, metadata analysis.
She's marked up an employee file with notes in red pen. It takes me all of three seconds to realize what it is I’m looking at.
The traitor. The thief who’s been stealing from my family and selling our information. She found him.
And then my stomach sinks when I realize that she must have gone to confront the mole.
No, no, no.
My heart is in my throat as I run out of the room, slamming the front door behind me. Once again, I curse myself for a fool. If anything happens to Fiona, I will never forgive myself. I dial my father's number as I stop by the elevator. He picks on the second ring.
“Lorenzo.” His voice is cautious, hesitant. “Fiona stopped by your office earlier with lunch for you. She sounded…off. And then when I told her about the lunch with Natalie…” He sighs heavily. “Son, I think I may have made a mistake. I didn't realize—”
“There's no time for that now,” I cut him off, pressing hard on the elevator button as if that’s going to make it move any faster. “Fuck!”
“What are you talking about?” he snaps, his voice serious.
“Fiona—she found him and is on her way to confront him. You have to stop her, Dad.” I rush into the elevator when the door slides open. “Protect her from him. I can’t fucking lose her. I’ll call Matteo and update him too.”
If he notices the possessive tone, he doesn’t mention it. “Who does she need protection from?”
“Zack Pettibone, Matteo’s assistant,” I say, cursing myself for not seeing it earlier.
Of course it was someone with that level of access.
Someone Matteo trusted implicitly. Someone who could move through the organization without raising suspicion.
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and staring back is a man determined to kill to protect the women he loves. “He’s dead the second he touches her!”