Chapter 4 - A Knock on the Door
Three days passed in a tense blur of morning sickness, diner shifts, and constant paranoia that Alessandro would trace my face back to that fateful night. I tried to convince myself that a billionaire wouldn't waste time looking for a temporary catering worker he met once.
I was dead wrong.
It was a rainy Tuesday evening when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed through our small apartment. Liam was out picking up groceries, leaving me alone with my nursing textbooks spread across the kitchen table.
I walked to the door, assuming it was Liam with his hands full of grocery bags, and swung it open without checking the peephole.
Two men in tailored black suits stood on the welcome mat, their broad shoulders blocking the hallway light, exuding an aura of absolute authority. They weren't police officers, but they carried themselves with the cold, calculated precision of private security professionals.
“Miss Emma Watson?” the taller man asked, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
My blood ran instantly cold. I gripped the wooden edge of the doorframe to keep my knees from buckling.
“Yes?” I whispered, cursing myself for using my fake name even in my own apartment.
“Mr. Alessandro Vitali requests the pleasure of your presence,” the man continued, holding out a black embossed envelope with a gold crest. “He prefers not to ask twice.”
I stared at the envelope as if it were venomous, realizing with terrifying clarity that Alessandro hadn't just suspected who I was—he had tracked me down.
“I think you’ve made a mistake,” I stammered, trying to push the door shut. “I have to work tomorrow, I can't go anywhere—”
The second guard stepped forward, placing a large palm against the door to prevent me from closing it. There was no aggression in the movement, but the implied threat was unmistakable.
“Mr. Vitali is well aware of your schedule,” the guard said smoothly. “A car is waiting downstairs. It would be unwise to keep him waiting.”
Panic surged through my chest, but behind it, a spark of stubborn defiance flared up. I couldn't run anymore, and hiding in this cramped apartment was no longer an option when my secret was inches away from being exposed.
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“Give me five minutes to grab my coat,” I said coldly, stepping back into the hallway.
The guards nodded once and stepped aside, watching my every move as I grabbed my jacket and slipped my phone into my pocket. As I walked past them out the door, I left a frantic text message on Liam’s phone: If I’m not back in two hours, look for Alessandro Vitali.
