Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO NEVER HAD TIME FOR BREAKFAST
Mia planted both hands on her hips.
"Mr. Roman, if you don't eat, you'll get grumpy."
Gabriel Russo, who had entered the study carrying three folders, stopped so abruptly that the papers nearly slipped from his hands.
For eleven years, Gabriel had watched Roman silence men twice his age with a single look. He had seen senators abandon arguments, businessmen reconsider their demands, and hardened criminals apologize without being asked.
He had never seen anyone threaten Roman with the possibility of becoming grumpy.
"I am not grumpy," Roman said.
Mia tilted her head.
"Then why do your eyebrows do that?"
Gabriel coughed into his fist.
Roman slowly turned toward him.
"Something amusing?"
"Not remotely," Gabriel replied, his expression becoming professionally blank.
Mia tugged Roman's sleeve.
"Come on. Mama made pancakes."
"I have a meeting."
"Then take your meeting with you."
Roman stared at her.
Mia stared back.
Finally, he closed the folder on his desk.
"Five minutes."
"Ten," Mia negotiated.
"Seven."
"Deal!"
She grabbed his hand and marched toward the door, dragging the most feared man in Louisiana behind her.
Gabriel watched them disappear.
Then he looked down at the gold star still attached to Roman's finger.
For the first time in years, he wondered whether something had entered the Valente estate that no amount of money, security, or violence could control.
And he wasn't sure that was a bad thing.
In the breakfast room, Clare stood beside a tray of pancakes, looking increasingly uncomfortable as Roman entered with her daughter.
She had heard stories about Roman Valente long before accepting the housekeeping job. The mansion's staff spoke of him in lowered voices. They described a man who remembered every mistake, rewarded loyalty generously, and never offered a second chance to anyone who deliberately betrayed him.
Now that same man was sitting at her kitchen table while her daughter explained why pancakes needed chocolate chips.
"Mr. Roman doesn't smile enough," Mia informed her mother.
Clare nearly dropped the syrup.
"Mia!"
"What? It's true."
Roman accepted a plate.
"Your daughter has strong opinions."
"Unfortunately, she shares them with everyone."
"That's an excellent habit."
Clare looked at him, surprised.
For the next ten minutes, Roman listened while Mia explained the complicated social structure of her stuffed animals. Bunny, apparently, was a terrible decision-maker but an excellent listener. A pink elephant named Mrs. Buttons was the strictest member of the family. The smallest teddy bear had been banned from sitting near the window because he repeatedly attempted to escape.
Roman asked questions.
Actual questions.
Clare watched in disbelief as he carefully considered whether Bunny deserved another chance.
Then Mia pushed a pancake toward him.
"You can have the biggest one because you're very tall."
"An excellent reason."
"And because you're sad."
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
Clare immediately intervened.
"Mia doesn't always understand when—"
"Perhaps she understands more than most adults," Roman interrupted quietly.
For one brief moment, something changed in his expression.
Clare noticed the exhaustion beneath his eyes. The faint scar near his jaw. The way he sat with his back to the wall, instinctively aware of every entrance.
She wondered what had happened to make a man so powerful look so alone.
She didn't ask.
Roman finished his breakfast and stood.
"Clare, I need to discuss something with you."
Her stomach tightened.
"Of course."
"In private."
Mia looked between them.
"Is Mama in trouble?"
"No," Roman said.
"Are you in trouble?"
Gabriel turned away to hide his smile.
Roman considered the question.
"Possibly."
Mia nodded solemnly.
"Then you should eat another pancake."
Roman left without answering.
In his study, Gabriel waited until the door closed.
"We have a problem."
Roman's expression hardened immediately.
"What kind?"
"The shipment manifests from last night's meeting. Someone accessed the revised figures before they were distributed."
"Who?"
"We're still checking. But there's something else."
Gabriel placed a photograph on the desk.
It showed Clare entering the mansion's service gate thirty-two days earlier.
Behind her, partially obscured by rain, stood a man wearing a dark baseball cap.
Roman recognized him.
Julian Cross.
A former accountant for the Valente organization who had disappeared six months earlier after millions of dollars vanished from a port-development fund.
Roman had believed Julian was dead.
"Why is he in this photograph?" Roman asked.
"That's what I intend to find out."
Roman studied Clare's face in the image.
She appeared tired, carrying a worn handbag and holding Mia's small hand.
Nothing about her suggested an obvious connection to Julian.
But Roman had survived too long by ignoring coincidences.
"Find out everything about her again," he ordered. "Quietly. Don't question her, and don't let anyone frighten the child."
Gabriel hesitated.
"And if she's connected to Cross?"
Roman's gaze lifted.
"Then we'll find out why."
Neither man noticed the small figure outside the study door.
Mia had come looking for Bunny.
She had heard the name Julian Cross.
And she recognized it.
Because three nights earlier, someone had slipped a photograph beneath her bedroom door.
A photograph of her mother standing beside a man Mia had been told never to mention.
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On the back, someone had written six words in black ink:
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO YOUR FATHER IS.
