Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Gave Her a Safe Place to Stay—Then Someone Broke Into Her Apartment Looking for One Old LetterAbigail woke the next morning believing the previous night might have been a nightmare.
Then she touched her cheek.
It still hurt.
Her phone contained forty-seven notifications.
Someone had filmed Vanessa slapping her.
The video was everywhere.
But the most replayed moment was not the slap.
It was Matteo Romano kneeling to retrieve Abigail’s name tag.
One headline read:
BILLIONAIRE ROMANO DEFENDS PREGNANT WAITRESS AT CHARITY GALA.
Another:
WHO IS ABIGAIL FOSTER? MYSTERY WOMAN MAFIA-LINKED BILLIONAIRE SEARCHED EIGHT YEARS TO FIND.
Abigail groaned.
“Wonderful.”
A nurse entered.
“You have visitors.”
Isabella came first carrying breakfast.
Matteo followed.
He looked as though he had already been awake for hours.
“Good morning,” Isabella said brightly.
Abigail looked at the enormous bag.
“What is all that?”
“Breakfast.”
“That could feed twelve people.”
“My brother ordered it.”
Matteo shrugged.
“I didn’t know what you liked.”
“So you bought the restaurant?”
“No.”
A pause.
“I own the restaurant.”
Abigail stared at him.
Isabella laughed.
For the first time since the gala, Abigail laughed too.
It felt strange.
Good, but strange.
The moment ended when Matteo placed a folder on the table.
“Your termination was rescinded.”
Abigail blinked.
“How?”
“The catering company reviewed the video.”
“You called them.”
“I may have encouraged them to review it quickly.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What did you say?”
“Very little.”
Isabella coughed to hide a smile.
Abigail decided she did not want details.
“But I still shouldn’t be working events.”
“No.”
“So I still don’t have income.”
Matteo slid another paper toward her.
It was an employment offer.
Junior accounts coordinator.
Romano Hospitality.
Benefits.
Maternity leave.
A salary almost twice what Abigail earned waiting tables.
She looked up.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s market rate.”
“I haven’t finished my degree.”
“Human resources says the position does not require one.”
“You had HR create this overnight?”
“The position already existed.”
Abigail studied him suspiciously.
“Did you fire someone?”
“No.”
“Move someone?”
“No.”
“Threaten someone?”
“Not for this.”
Isabella burst out laughing.
Matteo looked offended.
Abigail tried not to smile.
Then she pushed the offer back.
“I need to earn it.”
“You will.”
“How can you know that?”
“I had someone review your employment history.”
Her expression changed.
“You investigated me?”
“For your safety.”
“That is not comforting.”
“You worked two jobs while caring for your mother. You completed three years of college with a 3.8 GPA. Every employer you’ve had described you as reliable.”
He pushed the paper back.
“That’s more research than most companies do before hiring executives.”
Abigail stared at the offer.
For months she had calculated exactly how many shifts she could miss before becoming homeless.
Now someone had placed stability in front of her.
She wanted it desperately.
That frightened her.
“Why are you doing this?”
Matteo answered immediately.
“Because someone should have done it sooner.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then his security chief entered.
“Mr. Romano.”
Something in the man’s tone changed Matteo’s expression.
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
Abigail’s apartment door had been forced open.
Matteo refused to let her go there alone.
When they arrived, drawers had been emptied.
Her mattress had been cut.
Kitchen cabinets stood open.
Photographs covered the floor.
Abigail stepped inside and stopped.
“My mother’s things.”
She hurried toward a wooden box lying overturned beside the couch.
Letters were scattered everywhere.
Matteo crouched beside her.
“Was anything valuable here?”
“I don’t own anything valuable.”
“Jewelry?”
“My mother’s wedding ring.”
Abigail checked the box.
The ring remained.
Matteo’s eyes sharpened.
“Then this wasn’t robbery.”
Abigail looked around.
“What were they looking for?”
One of Matteo’s security men approached.
“No electronics taken. Cash is still in the bedroom.”
Matteo picked up an envelope.
It had been torn open.
“Letters.”
Abigail frowned.
“What?”
“They searched your mother’s correspondence.”
She went pale.
“My mother?”
“Did she ever mention Richard Sinclair?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
Abigail shook her head.
“My mother worked bookkeeping jobs. She wasn’t part of that world.”
“What was her name?”
“Elaine Foster.”
Matteo froze.
“What?”
He stood.
“Elaine?”
“Yes.”
“Elaine Marie Foster?”
Abigail’s heartbeat accelerated.
“How do you know that?”
Matteo did not answer immediately.
Instead he called someone.
“Find everything on Elaine Marie Foster. Employment, financial records, especially eight to ten years ago.”
He ended the call.
Abigail stood.
“You’re scaring me.”
“I know the name.”
“From where?”
“My father.”
Silence.
Abigail stared at him.
“What?”
“Years ago, before he died, I heard him mention an Elaine Foster.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“You’re right.”
Matteo looked around the destroyed apartment.
“And we’re going to find out.”
Abigail pressed both hands against her stomach.
“What if whoever did this comes back?”
“They won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can make it extremely difficult.”
“I’m not moving into some fortress.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You were about to.”
Matteo almost smiled.
“You’re very argumentative.”
“My apartment was just destroyed.”
“Fair.”
He considered.
“I own a residential building near the lake. Private security. You can stay in one of the furnished apartments.”
“No.”
“Abigail.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because every time something bad happens, you solve it with money.”
His expression hardened slightly.
“Money is useful.”
“It also means I become dependent on you.”
“You think I want that?”
“I don’t know what you want.”
That stopped him.
Neither did she.
Matteo was silent for several seconds.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You’re right.”
Abigail had clearly prepared for an argument.
His agreement confused her.
“We do it differently.”
“How?”
“You rent the apartment.”
“I can’t afford one of your apartments.”
“One dollar.”
“That’s charity.”
“Fine. What can you afford?”
She named a figure.
“Done.”
“That easily?”
“You wanted a commercial relationship. We now have one.”
Despite everything, she smiled.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A voice came from the hallway.
“Boss.”
Matteo turned.
His security man held an old envelope.
“We found this behind the radiator.”
Abigail recognized her mother’s handwriting immediately.
On the front were three words.
For Abigail someday.
Her hands trembled.
“I’ve never seen that.”
Matteo gave it to her.
The envelope was sealed.
Abigail opened it carefully.
Inside was a four-page handwritten letter.
She read the first lines.
Then sat down.
Matteo crouched beside her.
“What is it?”
Abigail looked up, stunned.
“My mother worked for Richard Sinclair.”
Elaine Foster’s letter had been written nine years earlier.
It explained that she had worked as an accounting manager for one of Richard Sinclair’s charitable foundations.
At first, Elaine believed she was helping direct millions toward hospitals and low-income communities.
Then she discovered irregularities.
Money intended for medical programs was being moved through shell organizations.
Invoices were fabricated.
Donations disappeared.
Elaine had copied records.
She planned to report everything.
But before she could, Richard discovered what she knew.
According to the letter, he threatened to destroy Elaine financially and ensure Abigail would never find work in Chicago.
Elaine resigned.
Months later, she became ill.
Abigail reached the final paragraph.
Her voice shook as she read aloud.
“If anything happens to me, there is one person who can prove I was telling the truth. His name is Lorenzo Romano.”
Matteo went completely still.
“My father.”
Abigail continued.
“Lorenzo helped me secure copies of the financial records. He promised Richard could never destroy them all.”
Matteo stood slowly.
“My father knew.”
“Apparently.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
The answer came from behind them.
“Because he was trying to protect you.”
Everyone turned.
Isabella stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale.
“Isabella?”
She entered holding a small leather journal.
“I found this after Dad died. I didn’t understand it.”
She handed it to Matteo.
Inside were Lorenzo Romano’s handwritten notes.
Names.
Dates.
Financial transactions.
And one repeated phrase.
Sinclair medical accounts.
Matteo turned pages faster.
Then stopped.
The date was the night of Isabella’s accident.
A note had been written beneath it.
Elaine’s daughter at hospital. Richard knows. Keep girl out of this.
Abigail felt sick.
“Your father knew I was there.”
“Yes.”
“Richard knew too.”
Matteo looked at the hospital records again.
Then the truth began forming.
Isabella’s crash had not simply connected Abigail to the Romano family.
It had exposed her location to Richard Sinclair.
And Richard had apparently ordered her hospital records closed afterward.
Abigail whispered, “Why?”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“Because your mother left evidence.”
“And he thought she gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t.”
“Maybe Richard didn’t know that.”
Abigail looked around her destroyed apartment.
“He still doesn’t.”
That evening, Vanessa Sinclair confronted her father.
“You knew that waitress’s mother?”
Richard stood at his office window.
“Forget Abigail Foster.”
“You’re telling me to forget the woman Matteo Romano defended in front of three hundred people?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone online thinks I’m a monster.”
Richard turned.
“You hit a pregnant woman.”
“She bumped into me!”
“And now Matteo Romano is looking through eight-year-old financial records because you couldn’t control yourself for ten seconds.”
Vanessa stared.
“What financial records?”
Richard said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What did you do?”
“I protected this family.”
“From what?”
“People who wanted what we built.”
“Did Abigail’s mother want something?”
Richard looked away.
That was answer enough.
Vanessa’s voice lowered.
“You ruined her.”
“I survived her.”
“What does that mean?”
Richard poured another drink.
“Elaine Foster was a bookkeeper who thought morality mattered more than loyalty.”
“You stole money.”
“Be careful.”
Vanessa stared at him.
For the first time, she did not see the powerful father who had solved every problem in her life.
She saw an old man terrified of a waitress.
“Does Matteo know?”
“Not everything.”
“What happens if he finds out?”
Richard looked at her.
“We lose more than money.”
Two days later, Abigail began work at Romano Hospitality.
Matteo kept his distance.
He did not want her new coworkers believing she had been hired as his personal charity project.
Abigail appreciated that.
She was good at the job.
Very good.
Within three hours she discovered a duplicate vendor payment that had escaped review for two months.
Her supervisor stared at the screen.
“How did you catch that?”
“The invoice numbers were sequential but supposedly issued six weeks apart.”
Across the glass-walled office, Matteo watched without interrupting.
Abigail noticed.
She pretended not to.
Later, in the elevator, he joined her.
“You found forty-seven thousand dollars.”
“My supervisor found it.”
“You found it.”
“I’m trying not to have everyone think the boss hired his girlfriend.”
Matteo raised an eyebrow.
“Girlfriend?”
Her cheeks flushed.
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are internally smiling.”
“That seems difficult to prove.”
The elevator doors opened.
Abigail walked out.
Matteo followed.
“You’re annoying.”
“I’ve also been told that.”
Then Abigail stopped.
A man stood near reception.
Gray suit.
Thin face.
Watching her.
When he realized Matteo had noticed him, he turned and walked quickly toward the exit.
Matteo’s expression changed.
“Stay here.”
He signaled security.
But the stranger disappeared into the crowd outside.
Ten minutes later, security footage provided a clear image.
Matteo recognized him.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“Who is he?” Abigail asked.
“He worked for Richard Sinclair.”
“What did he do?”
“Problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
Matteo looked at her.
“The kind wealthy men don’t put on organizational charts.”
Abigail felt cold.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
There was a photograph.
It showed Abigail leaving the hospital two nights earlier.
Beneath it were nine words.
Your mother should have known when to stop. So should you.
Matteo read it.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
Abigail whispered, “They know where I am.”
Matteo looked at her belly.
Then at the threatening message.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“They knew where you were.”
He called his security chief.
“Lock down the building.”
Abigail stared at him.
“What are you going to do?”
Matteo’s dark eyes lifted to hers.
“Find out why Richard Sinclair is afraid of a dead bookkeeper and her pregnant daughter.”
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Then he added:
“And this time, nobody gets to erase Abigail Foster.”
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