Three words had been written in black ink.

STOP WATCHING HER.

Matteo read the message twice.

Then a cold understanding settled over him.

The thief knew about the cameras.

Worse—

the thief knew Matteo had been watching Elena.

The next morning, Matteo confronted her.

Which was how they ended up standing across from one another in the library.

“Why were you wearing my shirt?” Matteo asked again.

Elena crossed her arms.

“It was in the laundry room.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was going to be thrown away.”

“It was not.”

“It had a torn cuff.”

“I own several shirts with torn cuffs.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Matteo stared at her.

Nobody talked to him like this.

Elena seemed to realize that.

Her expression softened.

“I spilled cleaning solution on my uniform,” she explained. “Everything else was already in the wash. Your shirt was sitting in the discard basket.”

Matteo frowned.

“I don’t have a discard basket.”

Elena’s face changed.

“What?”

Matteo stepped closer.

“Where exactly did you find it?”

“In the second-floor laundry room. Beside the service elevator.”

His pulse slowed.

That laundry room was used exclusively for household linens.

His personal clothing never went there.

“Who told you it was being discarded?”

Elena thought.

“Juliana.”

Matteo said nothing.

His assistant had worked for him for six years.

Trusted access.

Private schedules.

Security codes.

Financial documents.

Elena noticed his expression.

“What?”

Before Matteo could answer, Marco entered the room.

“Boss.”

Something in his voice made Matteo turn immediately.

Marco held a small clear evidence bag.

Inside was a familiar watch.

Cracked glass.

Worn leather strap.

Matteo’s father’s Seiko.

His breath stopped.

“Where?”

Marco looked toward Elena.

“Her bedroom.”

The room went silent.

Elena stared at the watch.

Matteo stared at Elena.

Marco continued.

“Inside the bottom drawer of her dresser.”

Elena shook her head.

“No.”

Matteo’s face closed.

“I didn’t put that there.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.”

Marco glanced toward Matteo.

“We need to talk privately.”

“No,” Elena said.

Matteo looked at her.

Her eyes were no longer embarrassed or playful.

They were furious.

“If someone put that watch in my room,” she said, “then whoever stole it wanted you to find it there.”

Matteo studied her.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No.”

She took one step toward him.

“I expect you to check your cameras.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

Elena didn’t look away.

“You installed them because you trust nobody,” she said quietly. “So don’t start trusting evidence just because it gives you an easy answer.”

That sentence stayed with him.

Twenty minutes later, Matteo sat in the security room with Marco.

They opened footage from the staff hallway outside Elena’s quarters.

11:13 PM.

Nothing.

11:14.

Nothing.

11:15.

The image froze.

Then jumped.

11:26.

Eleven minutes missing.

Marco leaned closer.

“That’s impossible.”

Matteo looked at the screen.

“No.”

His voice became very quiet.

“It means whoever did this has access to the security system.”

Marco slowly turned toward him.

Only four people had administrator-level access.

Marco.

Matteo.

The outside security contractor.

And Juliana.

Matteo opened another camera.

Second-floor laundry room.

The previous night.

There was Elena.

Reaching into the basket.

Pulling out the white shirt.

Then, three minutes before Elena entered—

someone else appeared.

Juliana.

She placed Matteo’s shirt inside the basket.

Then she looked directly toward the camera.

And smiled.

Matteo felt the temperature of the room drop.

But what she did next was worse.

Juliana held something toward the camera.

A photograph.

Matteo paused the recording.

Zoomed in.

The image showed his father.

Antonio Valente.

Standing beside a woman Matteo had never seen before.

And beside them—

a little girl.

On the back of the photograph were four handwritten words.

ASK ELENA ABOUT ANTONIO.

Matteo stared at the screen.

Then he looked toward the door.

For the first time, he wondered whether Elena Moretti had entered his home by accident at all.

And whether the missing watch was never really about theft.

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