Chapter 7 - What Norah Found in Roman’s Bedroom
Mrs. Alvarez survived.
The bullet had passed through the soft tissue near her shoulder without striking bone.
Norah remained at the hospital until sunrise.
Roman stayed too.
That drew stares.
Roman Costa did not sit beneath fluorescent lights in public waiting rooms.
He did now.
His suit was wet.
Blood—not his—stained one cuff.
Norah handed him vending-machine coffee.
He tasted it.
“This is terrible.”
“You’ve had people killed for less?”
His eyes moved toward her.
“That joke was almost funny.”
“It was very funny.”
“I’m emotionally compromised.”
“You’re spoiled.”
That earned the smallest smile.
Then Norah became serious.
“You could’ve killed Sebastian.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Roman looked through the window toward the parking lot.
“Because you called my name.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Norah’s chest tightened.
“Roman—”
“I’ve spent most of my life believing hesitation gets people killed.”
He turned toward her.
“Last night, not hesitating would have.”
She understood.
He had chosen to help Mrs. Alvarez rather than chase Sebastian.
A tiny decision.
A massive one for a man like Roman.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For choosing the right thing.”
He looked uncomfortable receiving praise.
Norah liked that.
By afternoon, federal agents were tearing apart Pier Nine.
Marco survived emergency surgery.
Sebastian disappeared.
Warrants followed.
Roman’s attorney advised him to leave town.
He refused.
Instead, he returned to the estate.
Norah followed because Mrs. Alvarez insisted.
“You need sleep,” the housekeeper told her.
“I’m fine.”
“You look dead.”
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
“I was shot. I’m allowed honesty.”
Norah finally agreed.
Her old basement room had already been emptied.
She stopped in the hallway.
“Where is my stuff?”
Roman appeared behind her.
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“I told you you weren’t sleeping down here.”
“You weren’t joking?”
“No.”
He led her to the second floor.
Not the guest wing.
A bedroom overlooking the gardens.
Bright.
Private bath.
Fresh clothes.
Her boxes.
Norah turned.
“This room is bigger than my old apartment.”
“Probably.”
“I’m not your guest.”
“No.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
“No.”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
Roman paused.
“I’m aware.”
She saw disappointment.
That surprised her.
“Then what am I?”
Roman answered carefully.
“Someone who deserved better than the room downstairs.”
That shut down her argument.
He walked away.
Norah slept for four hours.
She woke after dark.
Couldn’t return to sleep.
The estate was too quiet.
She wandered toward the library.
Roman wasn’t there.
His study was empty.
A light showed beneath the door of his private bedroom.
She should have kept walking.
Instead, she knocked.
No answer.
The door was partly open.
“Roman?”
She pushed it wider.
His bedroom surprised her.
Almost bare.
Dark bed.
Bookshelf.
No expensive art.
No photographs except one.
Roman as a boy beside his mother.
Norah moved closer.
A woman with dark hair held ten-year-old Roman by the shoulders.
She looked gentle.
There was sadness in her eyes.
“Her name was Elena.”
Norah jumped.
Roman stood behind her.
Shirt sleeves rolled.
No jacket.
“You walk very quietly.”
“Occupational habit.”
She pointed toward the photograph.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She died when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Norah saw an open drawer behind him.
Papers.
One document carried her name.
She stiffened.
Roman noticed.
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I keep a secret shrine dedicated to your employment records.”
“That was alarmingly specific.”
He almost smiled.
Then handed her the papers.
They were debt records.
Every payment Norah had made.
Amounts.
Dates.
Additional charges.
Her stomach twisted.
“Why do you have this?”
“I’m calculating what Marco stole from you.”
“You said the debt was canceled.”
“It is.”
“Then why calculate it?”
“Because I’m paying it back.”
Norah looked up.
“No.”
“It was taken under my name.”
“Not by you.”
“It came into my organization.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“It’s yours.”
“No.”
His brows drew together.
“Why are you fighting me?”
“Because every man who has ever offered money to fix my life expected something afterward.”
Roman went still.
Norah immediately realized how much that revealed.
Collectors.
Landlords.
Men who offered “help.”
Roman’s voice softened.
“I don’t.”
“You say that now.”
“What would make you believe me?”
“Nothing.”
Pain flashed across his expression.
Norah hated seeing it.
But honesty mattered.
“You have power over everyone around you,” she continued. “You don’t even know when you’re using it.”
Roman looked away.
“Probably true.”
“You paid off my debt without asking.”
“Because it was fraudulent.”
“You moved my room.”
“Because the basement was unacceptable.”
“You decide where I go when there’s danger.”
“Because danger follows me.”
“That is exactly my point.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“What do you want?”
The question stopped her.
Nobody had asked that in years.
“What?”
“What do you want, Norah?”
She didn’t know.
Not immediately.
That frightened her more than she expected.
“I want my father’s name cleared.”
“Done.”
“I want the money Marco stole traced.”
“Done.”
“I want Sebastian caught.”
“I’m working on it.”
“I want…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“A life that isn’t inside this house.”
Roman’s face became completely blank.
Norah continued before losing courage.
“I don’t mean tonight.”
“I understand.”
“But when this is over, I’m leaving.”
He nodded.
The ease of his answer hurt her for reasons she didn’t understand.
“You won’t stop me?”
“You asked me not to control you.”
“Yes.”
“So no.”
Silence.
Norah looked at the photograph again.
“Would you miss me?”
Roman’s eyes lifted.
She almost wished she had not asked.
Then he answered.
“Yes.”
No games.
No joke.
One word.
Her heartbeat changed.
Roman stepped closer, slowly enough for her to move away.
She didn’t.
“I heard you call Elias handsome,” he said.
Norah’s lips twitched.
“We’re back to this?”
“I’m making a point.”
“A dangerous start.”
“I realized I had spent two years seeing you without looking at you.”
She said nothing.
“I knew how you took your coffee.”
“You never asked.”
“I noticed.”
“I drink tea.”
Roman frowned.
Norah laughed.
He stared.
She laughed harder.
“You really thought I drank coffee?”
“You carry it every morning.”
“For you.”
Roman looked betrayed by the universe.
Norah’s laughter softened.
And there it was again.
That sound.
The one that had changed everything.
Roman smiled.
Not the cold half-smile his enemies saw.
A real one.
Norah stopped laughing.
The air changed.
Roman’s eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.
Then returned to her eyes.
He did not move closer.
That mattered.
Norah whispered, “Goodnight, Roman.”
She walked toward the door.
His phone rang before she reached it.
Enzo.
Roman answered.
His expression shifted immediately.
“What?”
Norah stopped.
“How long?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
The call ended.
“What happened?”
Roman opened a security video.
The footage showed someone inside the Costa family mausoleum.
A man placing something beneath Antonio Costa’s coffin.
Then turning toward the camera.
Sebastian Vale.
He held up a piece of paper.
On it were five words:
ASK NORAH WHAT HER FATHER TOOK.
Roman looked at her.
Norah stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Daniel Bennett.
Alive.
Taken less than three months before the car crash.
Standing beside Roman’s mother, Elena Costa.
Norah stopped breathing.
May you like
Her father and Roman’s mother knew each other.
And apparently, neither of their children had ever been told why.
