Chapter 7 - No More Running
Nora did not run.
That decision frightened Roman more than anything.
“You need to leave New York.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“No.”
Roman paced through the closed café.
“You’re on a list.”
“I spent three years running because powerful men decided where I was allowed to exist.”
“This is different.”
“It sounds identical.”
Roman stopped.
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
“What do you suggest?”
“Police.”
“They’re already involved.”
“Then we cooperate.”
“And if they fail?”
Nora walked closer.
“Then we deal with that if it happens. But you don’t become the old Roman because you’re scared.”
His expression tightened.
“I’m terrified.”
The admission silenced her.
Roman looked around the little café.
“I spent three years imagining finding you. Then two years learning how to deserve being in the same room with you.”
His voice dropped.
“I got out this morning, Nora.”
She saw the fear now.
Not possessiveness.
Fear.
“I know.”
“And before I could finish one terrible cup of coffee, somebody threatened you.”
Nora reached for his hand.
Roman stared at their fingers.
“I don’t know how to protect someone without controlling everything,” he admitted.
“Then learn.”
“With you?”
“Beside me.”
That distinction mattered.
Roman nodded.
They worked with federal agents.
The remaining members of Victor’s organization were scattered and desperate.
Most wanted money.
One wanted revenge.
His name was Caleb Dane.
Victor’s nephew.
And unlike Victor, Caleb had nothing left to lose.
Three nights later, someone set fire to Second Table.
Nora woke to Mia calling her.
By the time she arrived, flames were climbing through the kitchen roof.
She stood across the street in pajamas and a borrowed coat while firefighters worked.
Roman arrived ten minutes later.
He stopped beside her.
Neither spoke.
Nora watched the sign collapse.
SECOND TABLE disappeared into sparks.
She cried silently.
Roman did not say he would fix it.
Did not promise revenge.
He simply stood beside her.
Finally she whispered, “I loved that place.”
“I know.”
“I built it myself.”
“I know.”
“I want to kill him.”
Roman looked sideways.
Nora laughed through tears.
“Don’t look so proud.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Personal growth has limits.”
She leaned against him.
Roman froze.
Then carefully put an arm around her.
The café was damaged, but insured.
The community responded.
Customers created a fundraiser.
Neighbors brought food.
Former employees volunteered.
Within two days, Nora had more offers of help than she could process.
Roman offered nothing.
That annoyed her.
“Why haven’t you offered to help?”
They were standing inside the burned dining room.
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“You told me you wanted to rebuild it yourself.”
“I did.”
“So I’m respecting that.”
“You could offer.”
“You’d say no.”
“I would.”
“Then why are we arguing?”
“Because sometimes women want to be offered things they plan to refuse.”
Roman stared.
“This is extremely inefficient.”
Nora threw a soot-covered napkin at him.
He laughed.
It was the first genuinely carefree sound she had heard from him.
Then Roman reached into his pocket.
Nora stiffened.
He produced a small key.
“What’s that?”
“The empty storefront next door.”
“You bought it?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I rented it.”
“Roman.”
“For one month.”
“Why?”
“Temporary kitchen.”
Nora stared.
“The landlord agreed you can use it free.”
“Why would he agree?”
Roman looked offended.
“I asked politely.”
“Define politely.”
“I said please.”
She laughed.
“Did Tommy stand behind you?”
“That is irrelevant.”
Nora took the key.
For the next month, they rebuilt.
Roman carried lumber.
Badly.
He painted walls.
Worse.
He discovered he could not assemble flat-pack furniture without threatening it.
Nora filmed him arguing with a bookshelf.
“Delete that.”
“Never.”
“Nora.”
“Personal growth.”
He glared.
She kissed his cheek.
Both froze.
Nora stepped backward.
Roman did not move.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She looked at him.
Three years earlier, a kiss would have become possession.
Now Roman waited.
Nora touched his face.
Then kissed him again.
Slowly.
He did not pull her closer until she placed her hands against his chest.
When they separated, Roman looked stunned.
“Say something,” she whispered.
“The bookshelf can wait.”
She laughed against his mouth.
For one night, life felt simple.
The next morning, police found Caleb Dane’s abandoned car.
Blood covered the driver’s seat.
There was no body.
On the dashboard sat a photograph.
Nora standing outside Second Table.
A red X had been drawn across her face.
And beneath it were four words.
ROMAN CAN’T SAVE YOU.
Nora stared at the photograph.
Then shook her head.
“No.”
Roman looked at her.
“What?”
She tore the photograph in half.
“He still thinks this is about you saving me.”
May you like
She dropped the pieces.
“It isn’t.”
