SERAFINA'S POV
I woke up next morning from a text from Matteo:
Safe house. Now.
I dragged myself out of bed, took a bath, and headed out. Matteo was already safe house when I arrived.
"I'm impressed with your performance, Sera. He asked you to draw his portrait. That's excellent."
"I planted a listening device in his jacket." I said. "He'll never find it."
"You're sure?" He was surprised.
"Yes. I slipped it into the inside lining while we were cooking. He was distracted."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Lorenzo:
Looking forward to seeing you at noon, piccola spia.
"Who is it?" Matteo asked.
"Lorenzo. He's confirming the meeting."
"Okay. Here's what you do today: sign the contract, establish the portrait sessions schedule, see if you can get access to his home office or computer, and don't forget that everything he says, everything he does, is calculated. He's playing you just as much as you're playing him."
"I know." I replied. "I should go now. I need to get ready."
"One more thing. Your father called. He wants a full report. He's pleased about the commission but he wants results soon.
Of course he did. Because I wasn't his daughter. I was his spy.
"I'll call him after the meeting."
I left the safe house and went home to prepare for the meeting.
LORENZO'S POV
She arrived on time. She wore black pants and a cream silk blouse, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail with minimal makeup looking professional.
My assistant Elena greeted her in the lobby, brought her up to my office on the top floor.
"Mr. Vitale." Sera said as Elena showed her in.
"Ms. Moretti." I gestured to the chair opposite my desk. "Please, sit. Would you like coffee? Water?"
"Water is fine. Thank you."
Elena poured water from the carafe on the side table, then quietly left, leaving us alone.
"Thank you for coming." I said, sliding the contract across the desk. "I had my lawyers made this in the morning. It's a standard commissioning agreement about payment terms, timeline, intellectual property rights."
She picked it up, and started reading.
"This timeline." She said, pointing to a clause. "Four months minimum, with sessions at least twice weekly. That's quite intensive."
"I'm investing a significant amount of money. I want the portrait to be exceptional. That requires time. You need to understand me completely."
"And if what I discover isn't flattering?"
"Then paint it anyway. I don't want flattery. I want truth."
"Truth can be dangerous."
"So can lies." I leaned back in my chair. "But I suspect you already know that, don't you, Sera?"
"The payment is far more than…"
"Than you're worth?" I interrupted. "I disagree. Your talent is exceptional, and exclusive access to me, to my private life, to the parts of myself I don't show anyone, that's worth every penny."
She was quiet for a moment.
"If I sign this, I'll be committing to months of intensive work. Multiple sessions per week, access to your home, your office, your…"
"Life. Yes." I smiled. "Is that a problem?"
"No. I just want to make sure you understand what you're asking for. Artists can be intrusive. I'll need to observe you in different settings, in different moods with different people. It won't always be comfortable."
"I'm aware. Sign the contract, Sera."
She looked at me for a moment and then signed. I signed as well, and slid her copy across the desk.
"When do we start?" She asked.
"Now." I stood up and moved towards the sitting area by the window. "I have two hours before my next meeting. Bring your sketchbook."
She blinked.
"You want to start immediately?"
"Is that a problem or did you have other plans?"
"No. No problem." She took out a sketchbook from her bag. "Where do you want me?"
"Here." I sat on the leather chair by the window. "Natural light is better for preliminary sketches, yes?"
"Yes." She settled on the couch opposite me, and opened the sketchbook. "Just act natural. Pretend I'm not here."
"Tell me about your process. How do you typically approach a portrait?"
"I start with gesture sketches. Quick studies to capture the essence of how someone moves, holds themselves. Then I focus on the details: the way light the face, where shadows fall. After several sessions, I start the actual painting."
She glanced at me, then back at the paper. She repeated this several times. After half an hour, my phone buzzed. The meeting was preponed. It was in ten minutes.
"Sorry, but the meeting is preponed. I have to go. But same time tomorrow? We can continue this."
"Okay." She closed her sketchbook. "Should I come here or…"
"My home. It's more comfortable and private." I stood up and walked her to the door. "Bring your full supplies. We'll do a longer session."
She nodded and left. I returned to my desk, and pulled out the listening device I'd found in my jacket last night. I pressed the button, activating it.
"Hello, whoever's listening. Sera doesn't know I found this, and she won't. Because the game is so much more interesting when everyone thinks they're winning. But know this: I see every move she makes, I know what she is, and I'm choosing to let her stay close anyway. The question is are you smart enough to figure out why?"
I deactivated the device and locked it in my desk drawer.
SERAFINA'S POV
The second session went well. I'd spent four hours at Lorenzo's penthouse, sketching him while he worked, answered calls. He was patient, focused, occasionally glancing at me with an expression I couldn't read.
The next day, on Saturday, I received a text from him.
I have a charity gala tomorrow night. I'd like you to come as my date.
My heart stopped.
A public date to a charity gala where the entire city's elite would see us together.
This was exactly what I needed for the mission: meeting his contacts, and gathering intelligence.
What kind of charity?
I texted back.
Children's hospital. Art auction to fund new pediatric wing. Given your profession, I thought you'd appreciate it, also I want to show you off.
Show me off.
What's the dress code?
Black tie. I'll send a stylist to your place tomorrow at 2. The gala starts at 7.
You don't have to send a stylist.
I want to. Allow me, Sera. Let me take care of you for one night.
I stared at the message, my heart pounding.
Okay. Thank you.
Good. I'll pick you up at 6:30. Wear your hair down. I like it that way.
He liked my hair down.
I called Matteo immediately.
"He invited me to a charity gala tomorrow night."
"That's perfect. You'll meet his associates, see who he's connected to. Plant recording devices if you can…"
"Matteo, he's calling it a date."
"So? That's part of the seduction. You're doing exactly what you're supposed to do."
"I know. I just…. What do I tell my father?"
"Tell him you're making progress. Gaining Lorenzo's trust. Make him trust you completely then we'll have him."
"Hmmm. Okay. Bye." I hung up before Matteo could say anything else.
It was the D Day, the day I'll publicly enter into his world. The stylist Lorenzo sent was super good.
By 6 PM, I was wearing an off shoulder black gown with a flowing skirt with a slit up one thigh. My hair was in loose waves down my back, just like he'd requested. My makeup was subtle but was dramatic. I looked like I belonged in Lorenzo's world.
The doorbell rang at exactly 6:30. I opened the door to find Lorenzo in a tuxedo, looking like a dream.
"Sera. You're stunning."
"You are pretty well yourself."
He smiled.
"Shall we?"
The gala was at a luxury hotel downtown. As we got out of the car, I saw a wave of photographers.
"There will be photos. Is that okay ?"
"It's fine." I said.
He held me from my lower back as we walked forward. The cameras flashed like lightning.
"Mr. Vitale! Who's your date?"
"Mr. Vitale, over here!"
He ignored them all, and guided me inside.
The ballroom was stunning. The city's elite were there, all trying to impress each other.
Lorenzo introduced me to dozens of people. I smiled, and played the role of the talented artist, gathering the intelligence with every conversation.Then he pulled me onto the dance floor.
"You're a good dancer." I said, looking up at him.
"So are you. Where did an artist learn to waltz?"
"My grandmother. She insisted I learn proper manners. You?"
"Mandatory lessons from age eight. My father believed presentation was everything." His hand tightened on my waist. "He was right but I hated it then."
"And now?"
"Now, I'm grateful because it means I can do this."
He spun me, pulled me back against him, and suddenly we were closer than the dance required.
"Come with me." He said.
He led me through the crowd, out onto a terrace overlooking the city. The night air was cool. We were alone.
"I've been wanting to do this all night." He said, turning to face me.
"Do what?"
"This."
He kissed me. He kissed me like he'd been thinking about it for days. I kissed him back. My hands went to his hair. His arms wrapped around me. We kissed like we were drowning and each other was air.
When we finally broke apart, we both were both breathing hard, Lorenzo rested his forehead against mine.
"I shouldn't have done that." He said.
"Why not?"
"Because now I'm going to want to do it again and again until it becomes a problem."
"Who says it's a problem?"
"You're my artist, Sera. I commissioned you to paint me. This complicates things."
"Maybe I like complicated."
"Do you?" His thumb traced my jaw. "Because I'm about to make this very, very complicated."
"How?"
"By asking you to stay tonight. Come home with me not for the portrait but because I want you to."
This was the mission. This was everything my father wanted.
"Let's go." I whispered.
LORENZO'S POV
We never made it home. In the car, Sera's phone buzzed a dozen times but she ignored it. She kissed me instead. Her hands were on my chest, my hands were in her hair, both of us forgetting where we were.
Marco was driving the car.
"Lorenzo, we're being followed."
I pulled back immediately, and looked out from the rear window.
A black SUV, followed by three other cars was following us.
"How long?"
"Since we left the gala."
I looked at Sera. Her face had gone pale.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing. I just…" Her phone buzzed again.
She glanced at it, and she froze.
"Sera…"
"I need to go home. Now. Please."
"What's wrong?"
"I can't explain. I just..I need to go. Now."
"Marco, take us to her apartment."
We drove in silence. The SUV followed us for ten blocks, then disappeared when Marco took a series of sharp turns. When we stooped at Sera's building, she was already reaching for the door handle.
"Wait!" I said, catching her hand. "What's going on? Who was following us?"
"I don't know."
Then she ran into her building like someone was chasing her. I sat in the car, watching her disappear, my phone buzzing with messages.
A text came from my own security team:
That SUV was registered to Giovanni Rossi.
Giovanni Rossi???