Chapter 2 - THE REAL EMMA
Emma recognized me too.
Her face lost color.
“You.”
Liam moved closer.
Alessandro appeared from the private elevator before anyone could speak.
His amber eyes went from me—
to Emma—
then back.
“What is this?”
Emma whispered:
“She followed me.”
Silence.
Alessandro looked at me.
The warmth I remembered from the hotel room disappeared.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I swallowed.
“Sebastian Rourke paid me to watch her.”
Liam muttered:
“Great opening.”
Alessandro’s face became unreadable.
“How long?”
“Two months.”
“What did you give him?”
“Photographs.”
“Locations.”
“Names of people she met.”
Emma stared at me like I had slapped her.
I deserved that.
Alessandro asked:
“Why?”
“Money.”
His expression hardened.
“At least that answer is honest.”
I continued before fear stopped me.
“He told me Emma was involved in financial crimes connected to you.”
“Did you verify that?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her?”
“No.”
“What exactly did you think you were doing?”
I looked down.
“Private investigation.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“You were stalking me.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
That mattered.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“And then you used her name with me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I panicked.”
He stared.
“Convenient.”
“I know.”
“Were you sent to the gala?”
“Yes.”
Everything changed.
Liam closed his eyes.
Alessandro stepped closer.
“By Rourke?”
“Yes.”
“To get close to me?”
“No.”
“That answer had better be very good.”
“My assignment was to see whether Emma attended.”
Emma’s face tightened.
“She did not.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“She had vanished by then.”
Alessandro’s jaw clenched.
“She was in protective housing.”
I went cold.
“Why?”
Emma answered.
“Because Rourke was trying to find me.”
My stomach dropped.
The entire assignment changed shape.
“What did you discover?” I asked.
Emma looked at Alessandro.
He nodded.
She turned back to me.
“I worked at Rourke Development.”
Not criminal mastermind.
Not secret mistress.
Accountant.
She discovered Rourke companies were routing money through fake construction vendors connected to several public redevelopment projects.
Tens of millions.
Some contracts involved Vitali-owned properties as minority partners.
Rourke needed to know whether Emma had given evidence to Alessandro.
So he paid me to follow her.
I had not been gathering dirt.
I had been locating a whistleblower.
“I didn’t know.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“You didn’t ask.”
There was no answer.
Alessandro looked at Liam.
“Who are you?”
“Liam Carter.”
“Friend?”
“Since childhood.”
“You know about Rourke?”
“Some.”
Alessandro looked back at me.
“Why did you come upstairs that night?”
Room 1520.
There it was.
I could hear Liam stop breathing beside me.
“I chose to.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I was attracted to you.”
His eyes held mine.
“And Rourke?”
“He had nothing to do with it.”
“Did he tell you to seduce me?”
“No.”
“Record me?”
“No.”
“Search the room?”
“No.”
“Then why should I believe any of this?”
I swallowed.
“You shouldn’t yet.”
That answer surprised him.
“I brought everything.”
I held out a folder.
My copies of:
Rourke’s initial offer.
Payment records.
Messages.
Photographs.
The original assignment description.
The burner number.
Every piece I had kept after the break-in.
Alessandro did not take it.
His attorney did.
A woman named Sofia Moretti.
She began reading immediately.
Then Emma asked:
“Why are you here now?”
I looked at Alessandro.
Then at her.
Because I had planned to tell him about the pregnancy privately.
That plan was dead.
“I left something here.”
Alessandro’s eyes shifted.
He knew I was avoiding the rest.
Fine.
The nursing pin.
He reached into his pocket and placed it in my palm.
“You can go.”
That hurt more than it should have.
I closed my fingers around it.
Then forced myself to say:
“There’s one more thing.”
Liam whispered:
“Liz.”
Too late.
Alessandro stared.
“What?”
I reached into my purse.
The doctor had not confirmed yet.
Only three tests.
Still.
I put one wrapped pregnancy test on the table.
Emma’s eyes widened.
Sofia stopped reading.
Alessandro did not move.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence felt physical.
Then:
“How far?”
“About six weeks.”
His face changed.
Exactly the timeline.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
He flinched.
Not at the answer.
At my certainty.
Then his eyes hardened again.
“You lied about your name.”
“Yes.”
“You were paid by my rival.”
“Yes.”
“You entered my gala under his assignment.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re telling me you’re carrying my child.”
“Yes.”
I refused to soften it.
He looked away.
I could see the war in his face.
The man from room 1520 wanted to believe me.
The Vitali heir knew better.
Finally he said:
“I need proof.”
I nodded.
“So do I.”
He turned.
“What does that mean?”
“That I need medical confirmation before I build my life around three drugstore tests.”
That stopped him.
Not manipulative.
Not romantic.
Reality.
I picked up my purse.
“I’ll send the appointment information through counsel.”
“You have counsel?”
“No.”
“I will pay for—”
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
I continued.
“If you want a paternity test when medically appropriate, we’ll do it properly.”
“You’re not disappearing.”
It sounded like an order.
I looked directly at him.
“You don’t get to say that.”
His face changed.
Good.
“I lied to you.”
“I accept that.”
“But pregnancy doesn’t give you ownership of me.”
Silence.
Emma looked almost impressed.
I turned to leave.
Then Alessandro said:
“Elizabeth.”
I stopped.
The sound of my real name from him nearly broke something.
“When did Rourke last contact you?”
“Five months ago.”
Sofia looked up from the folder.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
She held one printed message.
“This burner number contacted Elizabeth three days ago.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
I had not received anything.
Sofia showed me.
A forwarding log from the old prepaid service account linked to my assignment.
Message:
THE GIRL IS BACK IN CHICAGO. FIND OUT WHO SHE’S TALKING TO.
Sent to my old Rourke burner account.
The girl.
Emma.
Rourke still thought I worked for him.
And now Alessandro knew.
Sofia looked at us.
“We have a problem.”
Alessandro’s gaze locked onto me.
“No.”
His voice was cold.
May you like
“We have an opportunity.”
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