The following morning, Natalie discovered that becoming Clemente Lombardo’s fiancée required three security vehicles, two bodyguards, one furious aunt, and approximately fourteen unanswered calls from reporters.
She arrived at the office through the underground garage.
Clemente was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood near the conference table wearing black trousers and a charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
Natalie entered carrying coffee.
He looked at the cup.
“Is that for me?”
“No.”
“You always bring two.”
“I brought two when you were merely my unreasonable employer.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re my fake fiancé. Buy your own coffee.”
Matteo laughed from the far end of the room.
Clemente ignored him.
Natalie placed a folder on the table.
“I made a list.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“A wedding list?”
“A suspect list.”
“Less romantic.”
Natalie opened the folder.
“Sixteen people had possible access to pieces of Bellandi information. Eight had legitimate knowledge. Four could access adjacent systems. Three attended events where fragments could have been overheard.”
“And the sixteenth?” Clemente asked.
“Adrien Viscari.”
Matteo frowned.
“He didn’t have direct access.”
“No. But he knew the name.”
Natalie displayed a timeline.
She had worked since five that morning.
Clemente noticed.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I slept.”
“How long?”
“That is not relevant.”
“Natalie.”
“Three hours.”
His jaw tightened.
“Go home.”
She stared at him.
“You cannot fake-propose to me, discover someone broke into my office, and then send me home like an exhausted intern.”
“I can try.”
“And fail.”
Matteo looked between them.
“I’m beginning to understand why everyone believed the engagement immediately.”
Both turned toward him.
He raised his hands.
Natalie returned to the board.
“The leak isn’t random. Somebody wanted Viscari to mention Bellandi at dinner.”
“How can you know?” Matteo asked.
“Because the document he saw was designed to look public enough that he felt safe congratulating Clemente.”
Clemente nodded slowly.
“Bait.”
“Yes. The real target was your reaction.”
“Then DeLuca follows.”
“Exactly.”
Natalie pointed to the timeline.
“First, someone steals a draft using my credentials. Then a modified briefing circulates. Viscari mentions it. DeLuca tests how Clemente responds when he belittles me.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“They’re building a map.”
“Of Clemente’s vulnerabilities.”
Clemente looked at Natalie.
She did not look away.
“That includes you now.”
She almost laughed.
“Apparently.”
Matteo’s phone rang.
He stepped out.
Clemente remained.
“You could leave.”
Natalie blinked.
“What?”
“Chicago. Until this is finished.”
“No.”
“I can put you somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
She folded her arms.
“Interesting. Because yesterday you said we were engaged.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So?”
“A man who publicly declares me his future wife doesn’t get to exile me without discussion.”
“That was tactical.”
“So is staying.”
“Natalie.”
She stepped closer.
“Who knows your family better than I do?”
“No one.”
“Who knows the Bellandi paperwork?”
“You.”
“Who recognized the leak before anyone?”
“You.”
“Then stop treating me like the weak point.”
Something shifted in Clemente’s face.
Natalie continued quietly.
“I might be the person who finds them.”
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he nodded once.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
“That was disturbingly easy.”
“I’m learning.”
She smiled.
“Slowly.”
For the next forty-eight hours, they built a trap.
Natalie created three slightly different versions of a false Bellandi update.
Each contained a harmless but unique detail.
One suggested the Lombardo group intended to acquire a riverfront warehouse.
Another named a nonexistent consultant.
The third mentioned a fabricated zoning issue.
Different suspects received different versions.
If any detail resurfaced, they would know the path.
During that time, the fake engagement became increasingly real to everyone except the two people involved.
Flowers arrived from relatives.
Carlotta sent Natalie photographs of family jewelry.
An uncle demanded to know whether the ceremony would be Catholic.
Natalie’s mother called from Milwaukee after seeing the society photographs.
“Natalie.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Are you engaged to your boss?”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“It’s complicated.”
“That means yes.”
“No.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Mom.”
“I’ve seen photographs. I know the answer.”
Natalie rubbed her forehead.
“I’ll explain later.”
“Does he love you?”
The question landed unexpectedly.
Natalie glanced through the glass wall of her office.
Clemente stood in the conference room speaking with Matteo.
He looked over as though sensing her gaze.
Their eyes met.
Natalie looked away first.
“I have to go.”
Her mother sighed.
“That was not an answer.”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Natalie hung up.
That evening, security required Clemente to drive her home personally.
At least, that was his explanation.
“You own seven armored vehicles,” Natalie said.
“Eight.”
“That is not helping.”
They sat in the back of a black SUV while rain streaked the windows.
Natalie removed her heels.
Clemente looked down.
“You hate those shoes.”
“I hate all formal shoes.”
“You wore them to dinner.”
“I made sacrifices.”
“For me?”
“For the dress.”
He smiled.
A real one.
Rare.
It changed his entire face.
Natalie looked out the window.
Dangerous.
Not Clemente.
The smile.
She had spent four years understanding the man professionally.
His habits.
His temper.
His silences.
His tendency to skip lunch when worried.
The way he touched the edge of his watch when someone lied.
The fact that he pretended not to care about birthdays but always called his aunt first.
Knowing him personally was different.
She was not sure she wanted that problem.
The SUV slowed near her apartment building.
Clemente’s phone rang.
Matteo.
He answered.
“What?”
Silence.
Clemente’s expression changed.
“Which version?”
Natalie sat straighter.
Another pause.
Then Clemente ended the call.
“We got a hit.”
Her pulse quickened.
“Which detail?”
“The consultant.”
Natalie knew immediately who had received that version.
Three people.
One was Clemente’s attorney.
One was his financial strategist.
The third was Dominic Ferretti, a Lombardo executive who had worked for Clemente’s father for twenty-two years.
Natalie frowned.
“Ferretti?”
Clemente’s face remained unreadable.
“He attended dinner.”
“He sat six seats from Viscari.”
“Yes.”
Natalie thought back.
Ferretti had barely spoken to her.
He had congratulated Clemente after the engagement announcement.
He had hugged Natalie.
Called her “family now.”
A cold feeling moved through her.
“How did the detail surface?”
“Someone contacted a zoning consultant asking about the fake adviser.”
“So whoever leaked it believes the document.”
“Yes.”
“Can we trace them?”
“We’re trying.”
The SUV suddenly braked.
Natalie grabbed the seat.
Clemente’s arm moved instinctively across her.
The driver cursed.
A delivery van had stopped sideways across the street.
Two men stepped onto the road.
Clemente’s entire body changed.
“Down.”
Natalie obeyed immediately.
The security vehicle behind them accelerated around.
One bodyguard exited.
No gunfire.
No dramatic attack.
The men simply stood there.
Then one placed a small white envelope on the hood of the SUV and walked away.
Within seconds, both disappeared down an alley.
Clemente’s security team surrounded the vehicle.
Natalie slowly sat up.
“What was that?”
Clemente stared through the windshield.
“A message.”
The envelope was brought inside after being checked.
No explosives.
No powder.
Only a photograph.
Natalie.
At the family dinner.
Walking toward Clemente in the red dress.
On the back, handwritten:
Secretaries should stay invisible.
Clemente read it once.
His face became terrifyingly blank.
Natalie reached for the photograph.
He held it away.
“I can read.”
“I know.”
“Give it to me.”
He did.
She studied the handwriting.
Then froze.
“What?”
Natalie looked closer.
“This paper.”
Clemente frowned.
“What about it?”
She rubbed the edge between her fingers.
Heavy cream stock.
Embossed border.
She knew it.
She had ordered thousands of sheets exactly like it.
“This came from your office.”
Clemente stared at her.
Natalie turned the card toward him.
The lower corner carried the faint Lombardo crest.
Whoever had threatened her had not merely accessed Clemente’s company.
They had access to the private executive stationery locked inside the family office.
And suddenly Dominic Ferretti was not just a suspect.
He was one of only five people who had keys.
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