Chapter Sixteen
The discovery of the leather-bound journal had planted a seed of reckless curiosity in Evelyn's mind. The thought of gaining access to Sandro's private thoughts, his potential vulnerabilities, was a powerful lure, despite the inherent danger. However, the close call with Sofia had served as a stark reminder of the constant surveillance she was under.
She knew she couldn't risk another direct attempt to find the journal while Sofia was present. Her movements within the penthouse needed to appear natural, her interest in Sandro's belongings casual.
Over the next few days, Evelyn played the part of a recovering patient, spending her time reading, watching television, and engaging in polite but superficial conversation with Sofia. She made a point of occasionally wandering through the living areas, expressing admiration for the artwork and the décor, slowly familiarizing herself with the layout of the apartment.
She paid close attention to Sandro's routine. He usually returned to the penthouse late in the evening and left early in the morning. His interactions with Sofia were brief and professional, focused on ensuring Evelyn's needs were met. He spent most of his time in his study, the door firmly closed.
Evelyn noticed that Sandro often had a nightcap in the living room before retiring to his bedroom, which was located on the opposite side of the penthouse from the guest suite she occupied. This short period in the evening, when Sofia had usually retreated to her own quarters, seemed like her only potential window of opportunity.
One evening, after Sandro had poured himself a drink and settled onto a leather armchair, Evelyn feigned a sudden onset of restlessness.
"Signor Moretti," she called out from the doorway of her suite, her voice deliberately hesitant. "Forgive me for intruding, but I'm having a little trouble sleeping. The change of scenery, I suppose."
Sandro looked up, his expression neutral. "Is there anything Sofia can get for you, signorina?"
"No, thank you," Evelyn replied, stepping into the living room, moving slowly as if still slightly unsteady. "I just thought… perhaps a change of scenery might help. This room is so… calming." She gestured vaguely around the spacious living area.
Sandro watched her, his gaze sharp and assessing. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Feel free." He returned to his drink and his thoughts, seemingly unperturbed by her presence.
Evelyn settled onto a sofa across the room, picking up a coffee table book on Italian architecture and pretending to browse. Her senses, however, were on high alert. She watched Sandro from the corner of her eye, noting when he set down his glass and his attention drifted.
After about half an hour, Sandro rose, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He placed his empty glass on the side table and headed towards his study. "Goodnight, signorina," he said curtly before disappearing into the room and closing the door behind him.
Evelyn waited a few minutes, her heart pounding in her chest. This was her chance. Moving as quietly as possible, she rose from the sofa and made her way towards the study. The door, thankfully, hadn't been locked.
She slipped inside, her eyes scanning the dimly lit room. The large mahogany desk was the focal point. Her gaze immediately went to the bookshelves. There, tucked away on the lower shelf, was the familiar leather-bound journal.
Her breath caught in her throat. This was it. She reached for the journal, her fingers trembling slightly. As she pulled it out, she heard a floorboard creak behind her.
Evelyn froze, her blood running cold. She slowly turned around.
Sandro stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and piercing. In his hand, he held a half-empty glass.
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusation and dawning realization. Evelyn clutched the journal to her chest, her carefully constructed façade crumbling around her. She had been caught.