Chapter 3 - The Man in the Kitchen
Someone screamed.
Emergency lights flickered red along the corridor.
Roman moved instantly.
He did not grab Nora.
He positioned himself between her and the dining room.
“Tommy.”
“Already moving.”
Tommy disappeared.
Nora heard chairs scraping, frightened voices, then Arthur shouting that it was only a power failure.
Roman’s hand went beneath his jacket.
“Is that a gun?”
“Yes.”
“I hate guns.”
“I remember.”
Another crash came from the kitchen.
Roman looked toward the sound.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Nora—”
“You don’t order me anymore.”
For one astonishing second, irritation flashed across his face.
It was almost familiar enough to make her laugh.
Then it disappeared.
“Fine. Please stay here.”
“Better.”
Roman stared at her.
“Three years away and you became impossible.”
“I learned from you.”
A gunshot cracked through the kitchen.
Roman shoved Nora behind the concrete wall.
The dining room erupted.
“Still hate guns?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“So do I tonight.”
Tommy returned with two security men.
“Rear exit.”
Roman nodded.
Nora caught his sleeve.
“My coworker Mia is in the kitchen.”
Roman looked at her.
“Twenty-four, red hair. She’s pregnant.”
“How far?”
“What?”
“Pregnant.”
“Six months.”
Roman turned to Tommy.
“Get every employee out.”
“Boss, we need to move you.”
“Employees first.”
Tommy hesitated.
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“Now.”
Nora watched him go.
That was not the Roman she remembered.
Or perhaps it was a piece of him she had never been allowed to see.
Roman guided Nora through a private service corridor.
They reached the basement wine cellar.
A black emergency vehicle waited outside through the delivery entrance.
Roman opened the door.
Nora stopped.
“I’m not getting into your car.”
“Nora.”
“You put me in one of those once.”
His expression changed.
She knew he remembered.
Four years earlier, after Nora had tried to leave following an argument, Roman had ordered his driver to bring her back.
He had never physically hurt her.
He had not needed to.
He had used power as a cage.
Roman stepped away from the vehicle.
“You’re right.”
Tommy stared at him.
Roman handed Nora his phone.
“Call anyone you trust. Taxi. Police. Whoever you want.”
Nora examined him suspiciously.
“And Victor?”
“I’ll handle Victor.”
“No.”
Roman frowned.
“You just told me he wants something from me. That makes this my problem.”
“It makes you a target.”
“I’ve been a target for three years.”
A siren sounded nearby.
Nora looked at the phone.
Then at Roman.
“What happened to the recording?”
“You said you destroyed it.”
“The phone, yes.”
Roman became very still.
Nora swallowed.
“I made a copy.”
Tommy muttered something under his breath.
Roman stared.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I mailed it to myself before I ran.”
“To what address?”
“My old apartment.”
Roman’s disbelief was almost comical.
“You mailed evidence implicating Victor Dane in Luca’s murder through the United States Postal Service?”
“I was panicking.”
Tommy coughed.
Roman looked at him.
Tommy immediately became fascinated by the alley.
“The package never arrived,” Nora continued. “At least, I never collected it.”
Roman rubbed his jaw.
“What was inside?”
“A flash drive and a letter.”
“What letter?”
“One explaining everything.”
Roman’s eyes sharpened.
“Everything about Victor?”
“Everything about us.”
Silence.
Nora regretted the words immediately.
Roman looked away first.
“Where was it sent?”
“Apartment 4C. West Ninety-Third.”
“That building was demolished.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Roman closed his eyes.
Tommy said, “Storage.”
They both turned.
“If the building was condemned,” Tommy explained, “unclaimed tenant property might have gone through the city contractor.”
Roman looked at Nora.
“Can you identify the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“What color?”
“Yellow.”
Tommy stared.
Nora folded her arms. “I was twenty-seven and terrified. Forgive my stationery choices.”
For the first time that night, Roman almost smiled.
It vanished quickly.
Then Tommy’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression hardened.
“Mia and the staff are safe.”
Nora exhaled.
“And Arthur?”
Tommy looked at Roman.
“Gone.”
Roman nodded.
Nora knew that look.
“No.”
He turned to her.
“You’re not killing Arthur.”
“He sold your location.”
“Then call the police.”
“Nora—”
“You said you changed.”
Roman stared at her.
She held his gaze.
This was the test.
Not flowers.
Not apologies.
Not the way he looked at her as though three years had collapsed into three minutes.
This.
What did Roman do when violence was easier than restraint?
Finally, he looked at Tommy.
“Find Arthur.”
Nora waited.
Roman continued.
“Alive. No broken bones. No threats against his family.”
Tommy’s eyebrows rose.
“Boss?”
“You heard me.”
Tommy nodded slowly.
Roman looked back at Nora.
“Anything else?”
She nearly smiled.
“Don’t sound so miserable about it.”
“I’m experimenting with personal growth.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Roman froze.
Nora did too.
For a second, the alley disappeared.
They were back in his kitchen at midnight, arguing over whether ketchup belonged on eggs.
Then headlights appeared at the mouth of the alley.
A black sedan accelerated toward them.
Roman’s face changed.
“Down!”
He pushed Nora behind a concrete barrier as bullets shattered the restaurant’s rear windows.
Tommy returned fire.
Glass rained across the pavement.
Then the sedan disappeared into traffic.
Roman remained over Nora, shielding her body with his.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
His hands stopped before touching her.
Permission.
Even now.
Nora nodded.
Only then did he examine her shoulder.
She was unharmed.
Roman’s hand trembled.
Barely.
But she felt it.
“Roman?”
He stared at her.
“I already buried you once.”
Nora’s breath caught.
“What?”
“When you disappeared, Victor gave me photographs of a burned car. He told me you were inside it.”
Her blood went cold.
“I believed you were dead for eleven months.”
Roman looked toward the street.
“When I discovered the body wasn’t yours, I started searching.”
Nora finally understood something she had never considered.
Roman had not spent three years hunting her.
For almost one of those years, he had been mourning her.
Tommy interrupted.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Arthur.”
“Where?”
Tommy held up his phone.
“Police station.”
Nora blinked.
“He turned himself in?”
“No.”
Tommy’s expression darkened.
“He’s asking for protective custody.”
“From Roman?” Nora asked.
Tommy shook his head.
May you like
“From Victor.”
And Arthur was claiming he knew where the yellow envelope had gone.
