Chapter 2 - THE GIRL IN THE SMOKE
Roman removed his overcoat and placed it around Norah's shoulders.
She flinched before she could stop herself.
He noticed.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have asked.”
Norah pulled the coat closed.
“Thank you.”
Roman turned toward Vanessa.
“Did you tear her uniform?”
Vanessa lifted her chin.
“She was being disrespectful.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“She was flirting with you.”
“No,” Roman said. “She wasn't.”
Vanessa glanced toward the guests.
“Roman, don't embarrass me.”
He looked at the torn fabric in her hand.
“You managed that yourself.”
His voice was calm, but the room had gone silent.
Roman was thirty-seven, the public head of Bellandi Maritime and the private leader of a criminal organization his father had left behind. He was known for speaking softly when most men would shout.
Norah had learned that silence around him could be more frightening than anger.
He turned to the household manager.
“Bring Norah a clean uniform and ask whether she'd like medical attention.”
Then he addressed the guests.
“This evening is over. Thank you for coming.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You can't dismiss everyone because a servant made a scene.”
Roman looked at her.
“Leave.”
“Roman—”
“Now.”
For a moment, Norah thought Vanessa might slap him.
Instead, she threw the torn fabric onto the table and marched toward the hallway.
The guests began leaving in uncomfortable clusters.
Teresa remained beside Norah, gripping the back of the chair.
“Lucia,” she whispered.
Roman approached his mother.
“Sit down.”
She shook her head.
“Thirteen years, Roman.”
“I know.”
“They told me she died.”
“I know.”
Teresa looked at Norah.
“Please.”
Norah's chest tightened.
“I was nineteen,” she began. “I worked nights at a diner near Addison and Broadway.”
Teresa nodded slowly.
“The building caught fire just after midnight. I was walking home.”
Norah could still smell it.
Wet wool.
Burning paint.
Gasoline.
She had heard someone screaming from a second-floor window.
A little girl.
Seven years old, perhaps eight.
Norah had run inside before the firefighters arrived.
She found the child crouched beside an overturned dresser.
The girl had dark curls, a pink sweater, and one shoe.
“She kept calling for her mother,” Norah whispered.
Teresa covered her mouth.
“I carried her downstairs.”
Roman leaned forward.
“Then what?”
“The stairwell collapsed.”
Norah touched her shoulder.
“A burning beam fell. I turned so it wouldn't hit her.”
The room was quiet.
“I got her outside. A man came running toward us.”
“What man?” Roman asked.
“I don't know. He said he was with emergency services.”
Norah swallowed.
“He took her from me.”
Teresa's face drained.
“He took Lucia?”
“I thought he was helping.”
Norah stared at the floor.
“I passed out. When I woke in the hospital, they told me the girl hadn't survived.”
Teresa shook her head.
“No.”
“I asked to see her. They said the family had already identified her.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“A police officer.”
“Name?”
Norah closed her eyes.
“I don't remember.”
Teresa began crying.
Roman placed a hand on her shoulder.
Then he looked at Norah.
“Do you remember anything about the man who took her?”
Norah thought.
A dark coat.
A black car.
A ring on his right hand.
A silver ring shaped like a serpent.
She looked up.
“He wore a snake ring.”
Roman's expression changed.
Teresa saw it.
“Roman?”
He said nothing.
“Do you know who that was?”
Roman stood slowly.
“Yes.”
May you like
His voice was barely audible.
“I think I do.”
