Chapter 6 - What Freedom Costs
Roman pleaded guilty on a Tuesday morning.
Nora sat in the back row of the federal courtroom.
He did not know she was there.
The agreement covered financial crimes, conspiracy, bribery, and obstruction connected to his old organization.
Other charges remained under review.
His cooperation against Victor reduced his exposure.
It did not erase it.
The judge sentenced him to thirty months.
Nora felt the number like a physical impact.
Roman nodded.
No argument.
No anger.
When marshals approached, he turned.
He saw her.
For the first time that morning, his composure cracked.
Nora stood.
Roman gave her the smallest nod.
Then he disappeared through a side door.
She cried in the courthouse bathroom.
Not because she wanted the old life back.
She did not.
She cried because love did not become fake simply because it had become unhealthy.
She had loved him.
Part of her still did.
But she had finally learned that loving someone and returning to them were separate decisions.
Nora rebuilt.
She never returned to Lombardi’s.
With restitution money from Arthur’s cooperation agreement and savings she had hidden away, she enrolled in a hospitality management program.
Six months later, she became assistant manager of a small neighborhood restaurant in Brooklyn.
A year later, she bought a struggling café with Mia.
They named it Second Table.
No velvet ropes.
No terrified employees.
No $600 bottles of wine.
Anyone could eat there.
Once a week, customers could pay whatever they could afford.
Nora loved it.
Roman wrote letters.
He never asked her to visit.
The first contained only three lines.
Luca is walking again.
Tommy says your café has terrible espresso.
I told him he has terrible taste.
Nora laughed.
She wrote back.
Tommy is correct.
The letters continued.
They spoke about ordinary things.
Books.
Food.
Luca’s physical therapy.
Nora’s broken dishwasher.
Roman’s attempt to teach another inmate chess.
For the first time, they learned each other without power standing between them.
Eight months into Roman’s sentence, Nora visited.
He entered the visitation room wearing plain prison clothing.
No tailored suit.
No watch.
No men behind him.
Nothing that could make the room bend around him.
Nora realized she had never seen him powerless.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
They sat.
Roman looked nervous.
That almost made her smile.
“How’s Second Table?”
“You know exactly how it is.”
“Tommy sends reports.”
“Roman.”
“I told him to stop.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
She laughed.
Roman smiled.
Then silence settled.
“Nora.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said that.”
“Not properly.”
He looked at his hands.
“I’m sorry I made love feel like ownership. I’m sorry I confused protecting you with controlling you. And I’m sorry that when you ran, my first instinct was to ask why you left instead of what I had done to make leaving feel necessary.”
Nora swallowed.
Roman continued.
“You don’t owe me another chance.”
“No.”
“You don’t owe me forgiveness.”
“No.”
“You could soften that occasionally.”
She smiled despite herself.
“There he is.”
Roman laughed.
They spoke for two hours.
When Nora left, she did not promise to return.
She returned three weeks later.
Then again.
By the second year, Roman had become eligible for early release because of cooperation and good behavior.
He refused special treatment.
That mattered to Nora.
Then, six weeks before his scheduled release, Victor Dane went on trial.
Luca testified.
Roman testified.
Nora did too.
Victor’s attorney tried to destroy her credibility.
He called her unstable.
A liar.
A runaway girlfriend seeking revenge.
Nora sat straight.
“Why did you change your name?” he demanded.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Mr. Dane?”
Nora looked at Roman.
Then back at the attorney.
“Of both of them.”
The courtroom went silent.
Roman did not flinch.
That was the moment Nora knew he had truly changed.
The old Roman would have considered her answer betrayal.
The man sitting at the prosecution table accepted it as truth.
Victor was convicted.
Outside the courthouse, reporters crowded Nora.
She refused interviews.
One journalist shouted, “Do you still love Roman Bellini?”
Nora stopped.
Cameras flashed.
She thought about it.
Then said, “That’s none of your business.”
The clip went viral anyway.
Roman saw it from prison.
His next letter contained one sentence.
Best answer you’ve ever given.
Nora laughed until she cried.
Then came the morning Roman was released.
Nora did not go to the prison.
She refused to turn his freedom into a romantic ceremony.
Instead she opened Second Table at seven.
At eight-fifteen, the bell above the door rang.
Nora looked up.
Roman stood there.
Alone.
Jeans.
Dark sweater.
No driver.
No guards.
No expensive coat.
He looked strangely uncertain.
“Table for one?” Nora asked.
Roman smiled.
“If there’s room.”
“There’s always room.”
She pointed toward the smallest table.
Roman sat.
Nora brought him coffee.
He tasted it.
His face tightened.
“It’s still terrible.”
Nora laughed.
Then another man entered.
Tommy.
He walked directly toward Roman.
The expression on his face erased the humor.
“Victor’s people found the witness list.”
Roman stood.
“What witness?”
May you like
Tommy looked at Nora.
“Her.”
