Chapter 5 - The Romano Threat
The atmosphere in the room transformed instantly.
The warmth of the breakfast vanished, replaced by an icy, suffocating dread. Arthur set his napkin on the table, his demeanor instantly shifting into that of the ruthless syndicate leader who ruled the south side.
"Take the children upstairs," Arthur ordered Mrs. Gable quietly.
"Norah, stay here," Arthur added, looking at me.
I nodded, standing beside the head of the table as the heavy footsteps of Salvatore Romano echoed down the foyer hallway.
Salvatore was fifty, broad-shouldered, wearing a expensive beige trench coat over a tailored suit. He was the head of the Romano family—the man my father had owed three million dollars to, the man who controlled the northern rail lines.
Two armed bodyguards stood behind him in the doorway.
"Arthur," Salvatore purred, his voice like gravel scraping over iron. "I heard a rumor across the city last night. I heard you bought Richard Hayes' sterile daughter at the Continental."
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I forced my face to remain entirely impassive.
Arthur didn't move an inch. He stood behind his chair, his hands resting on the high wooden back.
"She is my wife, Salvatore," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a deadly, dangerous register. "And you are standing in my dining room without an invitation."
Salvatore laughed, a harsh, humorless sound, his small eyes drifting over to me, scanning my navy dress with lazy contempt.
"I came to make sure the money was real," Salvatore said, pulling a cigar from his pocket. "Richard handed my lieutenant a three-million-dollar check signed by you. I didn't think a widow with four kids would pay top dollar for a woman who can't even give him an heir."
"The check is cleared," Arthur said coldly. "The debt is settled. You have no business here."
"Oh, I think I do," Salvatore smiled, stepping closer to the table, ignoring Arthur’s warning tone. "Your late wife, Clara... her father still owes my family fifty percent of the West Harbor shipping rights. Now that you've taken a new bride, Arthur, those old family courtesies are expired. I want the harbor contracts signed over by Friday."
I took a slow step forward, cutting into the line of sight between Salvatore and Arthur.
"Mr. Romano," I said, my voice crisp, clear, and ringing with absolute authority.
Salvatore blinked, surprised that I had dared to speak. "What?"
"You are carrying an lit cigar inside a home where four children reside," I said, pointing a finger at the door. "And you are discussing commercial contracts over a table where my family just ate breakfast. If you have business with my husband, you will schedule an appointment at his office downtown like a civilized man."
Salvatore stared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of crimson. "Listen to me, you little—"
"Thomas," Arthur’s voice cut through the air like a razor blade.
The driver and three armed house guards instantly stepped into the dining room, their hands resting on the grips of their holstered pistols beneath their coats.
"Show Mr. Romano out," Arthur commanded, his eyes fixed on Salvatore with absolute, lethal intent. "If he touches his cigar again before he reaches the gate, shoot him."
Salvatore looked at the guards, then at Arthur, and finally at me. He spat on the polished hardwood floor near my shoes, turned on his heel, and walked out, his bodyguards trailing quickly behind him.
When the heavy doors slammed shut downstairs, the room was dead silent.
I looked down at the spit on the floor, felt a surge of disgust, and turned to look at Arthur.
Arthur was staring at me.
"You called us your family," Arthur said quietly, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
I froze, realizing what I had said in the heat of the moment. My family.
"I... I was making a point," I stammered slightly, my face burning.
Arthur walked around the table, stopping three inches from me. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching my chin, lifting my face so I had to look at him.
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"You stood up to Salvatore Romano in my own home," Arthur whispered, his thumb resting gently against the side of my jaw. "No woman has ever done that, Norah."
"I told you," I whispered back, my heart beating erratic rhythm against my ribs. "I'm not a decorative object."
