Page 181 of Matteo

It’s nothing dramatic. It won’t crash any systems or derail anything if the wrong person pokes at it. It’s just a false trail dressed up as an opportunity. A hidden pathway that appears to expose information it shouldn't. Buried inside routine system housekeeping, it looks exactly like the kind of mistake an overworked administrator might leave behind.

Tempting enough that someone already inside the architecture would recognize it for what it appears to be. Inside this, I place a marker; a tiny signature that shouldn’t be touched unless someone is snooping exactly where they shouldn’t be.

And that someone might not be Alex. It could be Joel or Sonny. It could be the others. I wouldn’t be surprised if the secret that should have stayed between me and Matteo, has spread like wildfire around the office.

Doesn’t matter. The honeytoken will catch them.

My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before I commit it. If I’m wrong, I’ll look paranoid. If I’m right, I’ll be vindicated.

I set it live and sit back for a few moments, trying to calm my nerves.

Then I get up and walk straight to Matteo’s office.

He looks up when I come in, his eyes roving over my face, warming every part of it. He looks away sharply, but it’s too late. Something in my chest twists and churns, the way it always does when he stares at me like that. He’s in a dark shirt today, sleeves rolled up, bracelets at his wrist. His tousled hair falls over his forehead like he’s been raking his hands through it.

I wish I could rake my hands through it.

He looks edgy. Like he hasn’t rested in a long time and I can see how much of a toll all of this is taking on him. I hate that I notice all of it, and I hate that I still care.

He looks at me, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

I shut the door behind me. “I think I know how to catch him.”

His expression changes at once. “Him?”

“I’m not one hundred percent certain,” I say, though that’s not true anymore. I’m about ninety eight percent certain and the last two percent is fear. “But I’m close enough that I’ve set something in motion.”

He stands. “Who?”

I pause, because when I tell him, I'm scared he won't believe me. He might even hate me and think I'm seeking retribution. Throwing the blame squarely back.

“Who, Elizabeth?” His eyes are dark, like he's almost afraid of what I might say.

“Alex,” I whisper.

The word lands between us like a lit match near dynamite. He stares at me in disbelief, before giving a short shake of his head. “What makes you think it's him?”

“I'm trusting my gut, and I'm hoping to prove it to you, but equally, it could also be Joel or Sonny. It depends if Alex told them.”

He looks away into the distance. “I find it hard to believe,” he says finally. “But ...” He pauses, and I wait for him to refuse to believe it; to give me more reasons why it can’t be his trusted Alex. But he doesn’t.

“It doesn't make sense,” he says.

I want to yell. I want to holler at him: It doesn't make sense now? Because it's your right-hand man?

“It makes perfect sense,” I say, watching him carefully. “You just don’t want to believe it.” And then, because I can’t help myself. “You found it easier to believe that it was me.”

That seems to strike a chord. His eyes narrow, his lips twitch, like he’s fighting an internal battle. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

That hurts. I thought Matteo knew me well, but he seemed to have no trouble believing it could be me.

“No. I suppose I don’t,” I say, as calmly as I can.

He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re asking me to believe that the man who has been beside me for years, the man I trust with everything in that lab, is the one behind this?”

“I’m asking you to stop deciding what you can believe before you see proof. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

For a hard, awkward moment we just look at one another. He looks pained, breathing too hard, his chest rising and falling quicker than usual. I hate how I am so aware of him all the time, and how easily he seems to not be aware of me.