Page 4 of Claimed By My Stalker

I give him a look that seems to ask what business he has.

“I own a fast food franchise, Bella Pizza. Perhaps you’ve heard of it”

I let out a gasp. I know Bella Pizza more than I want to, or so I thought. It was one of my favorite places to eat after a long day, with its several locations that stretch across the States through the borders to Mexico and Italy. There’s even been rumors that they wanted to expand to the United Kingdom. Bella Pizza is a big franchise, one I could never imagine one man was solely behind, but still, this looks like too much money for an honest businessman. Even the President wouldn’t live in such opulence.

This is Italy after all, and I only have to put two and two together. Bella Pizza could be a cover for something illegal, drugs, firearms, contraband, could be anything.

Carlo Conte looks far from the average honest businessman. Of course, I know better than to judge him for whatever unorthodox way he lives his life. But if I had to take a guess my money would be on Carlo being involved in drugs, maybe the sale of illegal arms and weapons, or perhaps he runs an organ harvesting ring.

A part of me is curious, dying to know every tiny detail about this man, another part wants to keep him a mystery, to keep living in a bubble for my sanity. This is the part of me that doesn't want to accept I could fall for such a man, we are two extreme ends of a pole, yet I keep getting drawn in his direction.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me?” I ask.

“Not exactly.”

His reply makes me wonder if I’m not interesting or intriguing enough to him. “I’m a stranger in Italy who wound up in your home, surely you must be curious.”

“I have you all figured out already.”

I decide to tease him further. "No you don’t. You just met me. You're not worried I have affiliations with the FBI, DEA, or something?"

“Why would I be? I don’t do anything illegal.”

I wonder if he ran a background check on me. He appears to be a calculated, careful man. If I was a fed, spy, or anyone out to jeopardize his dealings I probably wouldn’t have made it this far.

Our eyes meet and I don’t know if it’s all in my head but it feels like we’ve reached a mutual understanding. No words, just a telepathic sort of communication simply by looking at each other.

“I’m not going to be kept prisoner here, am I?”

“Of course not, you’re free to leave whenever you want.”

He says those words like he doesn’t mean them. Here he is, granting me my freedom but he sounds domineering at the same time.

“Good, because I'll be out of your hair in no time," I say quickly.

“Since this is new terrain, I imagine you’ll need a job and a place to stay until you get back on your feet?”

Carlo is right. It seems most of my valuables were left behind at the scene of the shooting. I never recovered my suitcase from the cab. My credit card and most of my clothes are missing. I can’t exactly pay for a night in a motel until I have my finances sorted out. I could really use some help.

“Are you going to give me a job at Bella Pizza?” I ask.

“No, I’m looking to hire a personal data broker.”

I have never heard of such a job. “Whose data do I get to sell?”

“Just Consumers at Bella Pizza”

“That sounds illegal.”

“Trust me, it’s not. Think of it as a marketing role.”

It surprises me that he knows I’m into marketing, as it was my major in college. Perhaps he doesn’t. I edge closer to him. “To what end? A pizza place doesn't need to sell its consumer's data to thrive, nor should they.”

He edges closer to me until our noses almost touch. “Stick around and find out.”

Who is this man? And how does he seem to hold so much power over me? My heart skips and I wonder what it would feel like if our lips collided. My face flushes and I look away embarrassed.

“I’d like to borrow your phone. I promised my parents I’d call them when I’m settled.”

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