Chapter 5 - The Serpent at the Table
Over the next three days, the Bianchi compound transformed into a war room.
Men in tactical gear arrived at all hours of the night. Maps of the city, security schematics of the Grand Hotel, and encrypted radio frequencies were laid out across the long dining table in the main wing.
Despite the chaos, Roman kept me close.
Whenever he held meetings with his captains, he insisted I sit in the armchair beside his desk. At first, I thought he was using me as a human shield or keeping an eye on a potential witness. But as the days passed, I realized something far more unsettling.
He listened to me.
During a discussion about hotel entry routes, Frank had suggested using the service elevators on the north side.
"The service elevators require keycards logged by the head steward," I had chimed in quietly from my corner, holding a mug of tea. "I worked catering at the Grand two years ago. The laundry chutes in the basement connect directly to the second-floor staff hallway without passing a single security desk."
Roman had stopped mid-sentence, looking from the floor schematics to my face, a slow, proud smile spreading across his jaw.
"Verify the laundry chute dimensions," Roman had ordered Frank instantly. "We use Nora's route."
On Thursday evening, twelve hours before the syndicate meeting, I was sitting on the balcony of my guest room watching the sun set over the valley.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and Roman walked in. He was wearing a dark velvet robe over his pants, his gait steadying significantly thanks to Dr. Vance's high-dose pain management.
He walked over to the balcony rail, leaning his forearms against the stone beside me.
"You should be resting," I said softly, looking at his sharp profile against the orange sky.
"I rest when I'm dead," Roman replied smoothly. He turned his head to look at me, the cool evening breeze blowing his dark hair across his forehead. "You're thinking about your apartment."
I let out a soft, dry laugh. "My landlord probably evicted me yesterday. My clothes are still in a plastic hamper. And my dive bar job is definitely gone."
"I bought the dive bar yesterday," Roman said casually, taking a sip from a glass of sparkling water.
I spun around to face him, my jaw dropping. "You what?"
"I bought the building and the business," Roman repeated, his face completely serious. "You no longer work for a slimy manager named Greg. You own forty percent of the equity."
"Roman! You can't just buy my workplace because you feel guilty!" I yelled, equal parts furious and bewildered.
"I don't feel guilty," Roman stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I was backed against the balcony railing. His presence was overwhelming, smelling of cedar, fine soap, and pure, intoxicating power. "I don't like the idea of you pouring drinks for men who look at you the way I look at you."
My breath hitched in my throat. "And how do you look at me?"
Roman reached out, his long fingers trailing gently down the side of my neck, his thumb resting against the fast, fluttering pulse at the base of my throat.
"Like you're the only real thing I've touched in ten years," he murmured softly, his dark eyes dropping to my lips.
My heart pounded against my ribs. "I'm a bartender from the East Side, Roman. I don't belong in this world of blood and mahogany."
"You saved my life with superglue and sheer audacity, Nora," Roman whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed against mine, sending a electrifying shiver straight down my spine. "You belong wherever you want to be. And I want you right here."
Before I could process his words, his mouth pressed against mine in a deep, possessive, intoxicating kiss that wiped away two years of fear, debt, and loneliness in a single, breathless second.
May you like
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were burning with a promise that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.
"Tomorrow, we end Julian," Roman whispered against my cheek. "And then, Nora, I show you what it really means to belong to me."
