Chapter 2 - Table 12
Daniel Voss looked at me.
Then at Moretti.
“This woman stole confidential information.”
I stared at him.
“That’s a lie.”
Voss ignored me.
“She needs to come with us.”
Moretti lifted his wineglass.
“No.”
One word.
Nothing dramatic.
Yet both men approaching me stopped.
Voss’s jaw tightened.
“You don't understand what she’s involved in.”
“Then explain it.”
“This is private.”
Moretti glanced around the restaurant.
“You chose an interesting place for privacy.”
I stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Voss immediately said, “Lauren.”
I froze.
Moretti’s eyes narrowed.
“You know her name.”
Voss realized his mistake.
I grabbed my purse.
“Mr. Moretti, I don’t know who you are, and frankly I don’t want to. But those men came here because I’m investigating three missing women.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“Missing?”
“Michelle Torres. Sarah Kim. Amanda Wells.”
Voss stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Moretti didn't even look at him.
“Sit down, Ms. Reed.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked for help.”
He tapped the folded napkin.
“And I'm answering.”
Voss lowered his voice.
“This doesn’t concern you, Matteo.”
So that was his first name.
Matteo Moretti.
I sat.
Not because I trusted him.
Because every survival instinct I had was telling me the men standing behind Voss were worse.
Matteo turned toward one of his men.
“Gabriel.”
“Yes?”
“Take Ms. Reed’s phone.”
I pulled back.
“Absolutely not.”
“To check it.”
“For what?”
“Tracking software.”
My stomach dropped.
Gabriel held out his hand.
I reluctantly gave him the phone.
Less than a minute later, he looked at Matteo.
“He’s right. There’s something installed.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“A background location service.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Did you leave your phone unattended recently?”
My mind raced.
The Hudson office.
The receptionist had asked me to leave my bag at the security desk before entering.
For six minutes.
Matteo looked at Voss.
Voss said nothing.
Matteo stood.
“Ms. Reed is leaving with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with anybody.”
For the first time, Matteo almost smiled.
“Good instinct.”
Then he nodded toward the windows.
“Look outside.”
A dark SUV sat across the street.
Two men inside.
Watching the restaurant.
“Yours?” I asked.
“No.”
I swallowed.
Matteo lowered his voice.
“If you walk out alone, they follow you.”
“And if I go with you?”
“They don't.”
“How do I know you're better?”
“You don’t.”
That answer convinced me more than reassurance would have.
I stood.
“Fine.”
Voss stepped forward.
“This is a mistake.”
Matteo finally looked at him.
“No, Daniel. Coming here was your mistake.”
Ten minutes later, I was inside a black sedan moving through Jersey City.
I kept my purse clutched against my chest.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere secure.”
“That sounds incredibly reassuring coming from a stranger.”
Matteo looked out the window.
“You’re a reporter.”
“Yes.”
“So investigate.”
“Okay. Who are you?”
“Matteo Moretti.”
“I got that.”
“What else?”
“Why does everyone seem afraid of you?”
Gabriel coughed from the front seat.
Matteo glanced at me.
“Better question.”
“That wasn't an answer.”
“No.”
I studied him.
“You're connected.”
“That's a polite word.”
“Organized crime?”
Gabriel looked into the mirror.
Matteo remained calm.
“You should be more careful with labels.”
“Should I be afraid of you?”
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
Then he added, “But not tonight.”
By midnight, we entered a fortified apartment overlooking the Hudson.
Steel security door.
Cameras.
Reinforced windows.
Two men stationed downstairs.
I turned toward him.
“You live here?”
“No.”
“Then whose apartment is this?”
“Mine.”
“That contradicts what you just said.”
“I own several places I don't live.”
I stared at him.
“Of course you do.”
Matteo removed his jacket.
“Show me your investigation.”
“No.”
“You wrote HELP on a napkin.”
“That wasn’t permission to steal my reporting.”
“Three women are missing. Someone tracked your phone. Voss tried taking you out of a crowded restaurant. This stopped being only your reporting.”
I hated that he was right.
I opened my laptop.
For the next hour, I showed him everything.
Photos.
Employment records.
Dates.
Hudson Hospitality.
Bellini House.
The private dinners.
Matteo became increasingly quiet.
Then I opened Sarah Kim’s employment calendar.
His hand suddenly landed on the table.
“Go back.”
“What?”
“That date.”
January twenty-eighth.
I clicked it.
Bellini House. Private dining room. Client listed only as M Holdings.
Matteo stared at the screen.
“What is it?”
“M Holdings belongs to my family.”
I stopped breathing.
“You hired Sarah?”
“No.”
“But somebody using your company did.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Matteo looked at me.
For the first time that night, the powerful man from Table 12 looked genuinely disturbed.
May you like
“My uncle.”
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