Chapter 1 - THE NAME SHE BURIED
“Don’t cut yourself, Nora.”
The name struck harder than anything else could have.
For three years, she had been Sadie.
Sadie was quiet.
Sadie was safe.
Nora was the woman who had loved a monster and barely escaped with her soul intact.
Arthur hurried forward.
“I’ll handle this, sir. Please, right this way.”
Roman did not move.
He looked down at the blood running from her finger.
“Get a first-aid kit.”
Arthur hesitated.
“Sir, the booth—”
“Now.”
The manager practically ran.
Sadie remained on her knees.
She could smell the spilled wine, the roasted garlic, and the expensive cologne she had once associated with safety.
Roman's cologne.
Cedarwood and bergamot.
Three years ago, she had buried her face against his chest and breathed it in while he promised her that nothing would ever hurt her.
Three days later, she had discovered what happened to people who trusted Roman DeSantis.
“Stand up,” he said.
She did not move.
“Nora.”
“Don't call me that.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Roman went still.
Around them, the restaurant had become painfully quiet.
“Then tell me what to call you.”
She raised her eyes.
“Sadie.”
Something flickered across his face.
“Sadie,” he repeated.
It sounded strange in his mouth.
Like a stranger borrowing her clothes.
He extended his hand.
She stared at it.
Three years ago, she would have taken that hand without hesitation.
Now she remembered blood on his cuffs.
A locked basement door.
A man's voice begging for mercy.
And Roman telling her to go upstairs.
She stood without his help.
Roman slowly lowered his hand.
“Your finger needs attention.”
“I can handle it.”
“I'm sure you can.”
His voice softened.
That frightened her more than his anger ever had.
Arthur returned with the first-aid kit.
Roman stepped aside.
Sadie wrapped her finger while Arthur nervously ordered another employee to clean the broken dishes.
Then Roman looked at the manager.
“She finishes her shift now.”
Sadie stiffened.
“No.”
Roman turned.
“What?”
“I need this job.”
“I'll compensate the restaurant.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
The silence deepened.
Tommy, standing near the entrance, watched with an expression Sadie couldn't read.
Roman studied her.
Then he nodded once.
“Very well.”
Sadie blinked.
He had never surrendered an argument so easily.
Roman turned toward the corner booth.
“Bring two coffees.”
Arthur nodded.
“Of course.”
Roman looked back at her.
“One for me. One for her.”
Sadie's stomach tightened.
“I don't want coffee.”
Roman's expression changed.
“Then water.”
“I don't want to sit with you.”
He paused.
For the first time since entering Lombardi's, the feared mafia boss seemed uncertain.
Finally, he said quietly:
“Then I will wait until you're ready to speak.”
He walked toward the booth.
Sadie watched him go.
Her heart pounded.
She had imagined this moment hundreds of times.
Roman finding her.
Roman dragging her back.
Roman punishing her for leaving.
But she had never imagined him sitting quietly in a restaurant, waiting for permission to speak.
That made everything worse.
Because Roman DeSantis had never been a patient man.
Unless he was planning something.
Twenty minutes later, Sadie stood in the kitchen.
Her hands trembled so badly she could barely hold a glass.
Arthur approached.
“Do you know who that is?”
She nodded.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
She looked at him.
“Because I know who he is.”
Arthur frowned.
“Mr. DeSantis says he wants to speak with you.”
“I know.”
“He's been waiting.”
“Let him.”
Arthur stared.
Then lowered his voice.
“Sadie, I can't have trouble in my restaurant.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Neither can I.”
At midnight, Roman finally stood.
Sadie watched through the kitchen window as he put on his overcoat.
He spoke briefly to Tommy.
Then walked toward the exit.
For one extraordinary second, she believed he was leaving.
Then Tommy approached the kitchen.
He handed Arthur a white envelope.
“For Miss Sadie.”
Arthur brought it to her.
She stared at the envelope.
No name.
No address.
Only a small black seal.
The same seal Roman used on private correspondence.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A little girl.
About four years old.
Brown curls.
Gray eyes.
Standing beside a woman Sadie recognized instantly.
Her older sister.
Elena.
Sadie stopped breathing.
Elena had been missing for three years.
Since the night Sadie fled Roman's penthouse.
On the back of the photograph were six words.
SHE IS ALIVE. SO IS HER DAUGHTER.
Sadie looked toward the entrance.
Roman stood beyond the glass doors.
Watching her.
And suddenly she understood.
May you like
He had not come to Lombardi's because he wanted his former lover back.
He had come because he knew where her sister was.
