Matteo leans back in his chair again. “Good. I trust you'll keep this between us.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “She’s worried.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s exactly why.” He leans forward now, forearms on the desk. “If the stalker gets even a hint thatRose is safe, or where she is, he’ll adjust. He’ll move. Or worse, he’ll try again.”
The words settle heavy.
“She’s better off thinking Rose is sick,” Matteo adds quietly. “For now.”
I hold his gaze, weighing it.
It’s a good-news-bad-news situation. On one hand, Rose is alive. On the other, I can’t tell Amber shit because the stalker might be listening.
Fuck.
But in the end, I can’t say no to Matteo. His request is reasonable. It’s the smart thing to do, no matter how badly it fucks me in the ass.
I nod, slow. “You’ll have my discretion.”
“Thank you.”
I nod. Rose is alive, and whoever went after her is still out there.
“I think Rose should reach out to Amber,” I say. “She’s concerned. She’s asking questions.”
Matteo shakes his head. “Not yet. I don’t want to put Rose at risk.”
I frown. Now, that’s being a little too protective. “Amber deserves to know her friend is safe.”
“Rose deserves to stay alive,” he counters. “If the stalker is listening—and we have to assume he is—any slip gives him leverage. Worse, if he can trace her, a call will lead him right to her.” He pauses, then adds, “We also can’t rule out Amber.”
I stiffen as the last of those words leave his lips. “That’s ridiculous.”
“The people closest to us are often the ones who betray us,” Matteo says calmly. “You know that as well as I do.”
“Amber isn’t dangerous,” I say. The words come out faster than I intend.
Matteo’s eyes narrow. “And that’s exactly why you need to be careful your judgment isn’t clouded.”
I don’t respond right away. I don’t like the implication. I like even less that part of me knows he’s not wrong.
“I’ll keep her at bay,” I say finally. “As long as I can.”
He nods. "I'll tell you when the stalker has been disposed of."
Disposed of.Such a prim phrasing for the bloody end he's planning. Because if I know Matteo, and I do, whoever dared touch his little flower will not get the luxury of a quick death.
Now I just have to figure out what to tell Amber.
9
AMBER
Giovanni is there again.
I clock him the moment I step onto the floor, even though I tell myself not to. He’s at the dinner table tonight, not the bar. I can see him sitting alone with a glass of red and a plate he barely seems interested in.
No Moretti.
