Chapter 7 - The Master’s Order
The gala was an unequivocal, legendary success.
By 10:00 PM, the chamber orchestra had shifted into a lively jazz ensemble. Over two million dollars had been raised for the Children's Hospital—a record high for the foundation. The food was flawless, the champagne flowed without a single drop spilt, and the staff moved across the floor with a joyous, renewed energy that had been missing from the Harrington Grand for years.
Down in the staff break room near the banquet kitchen, Harold Bennett sat at a long wooden table, staring in stunned disbelief at his corporate ID badge.
The digital lock on his pass had been fully restored. Sitting across from him, holding two cups of fresh herbal tea, was Natalie.
"General Manager..." Harold whispered softly, his eyes moist behind his thick glasses as he looked at her emerald gown. "Natalie... child... I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything, Harold," Natalie said gently, placing a hand over his warm, trembling fingers. "Victoria’s false report was scrubbed from the system completely. Your pension is secure, your record is clean, and tomorrow morning, your salary is being increased by thirty percent."
Harold let out a shaky, emotional breath, wiping a tear from his cheek. "I knew you were special the day you started here, Natalie. But this... fighting Mr. Duca for me..."
"I didn't fight him, Harold," Natalie smiled softly, looking down at her tea cup. "He actually listened."
"Roman Duca doesn't listen to anyone," Harold noted, shaking his head in awe. "In thirty-one years at this hotel, I’ve seen him three times. He is a ghost, Natalie. A terrifying, dangerous man. Be careful around him."
Natalie stayed silent for a moment, remembering the sensation of Roman’s grey eyes locking onto hers in the private mezzanine office, the warm, dark intensity of his voice when he leaned close.
"He's not a ghost, Harold," Natalie murmured softly. "He's just... the master of the house."
Ten minutes later, Natalie walked back up the private service stairs toward the mezzanine level. The main ballroom was slowly emptying as guests departed in private limousines, leaving the floor in the capable hands of her newly appointed senior team.
She reached the massive oak doors of Roman’s private office, knocking twice.
"Come in," his deep voice called out.
Natalie pulled open the door.
Roman was sitting behind his mahogany desk, his jacket removed, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the strong, bronze line of his neck. He was looking over a fresh set of hotel operational ledgers.
He looked up as she entered, his grey eyes tracing her emerald dress as she walked across the room.
"The gala raised two point four million," Natalie reported, resting her tablet on his desk. "The hospital board expressed their deepest gratitude. And Harold is currently celebrating in the break room with plum cake."
"Good," Roman said smoothly, setting his pen down. "And how does the new General Manager feel?"
Natalie let out a long, genuine sigh, dropping into one of the leather armchairs without waiting for an invitation. Her feet were still aching inside her formal heels, but for the first time in six years, her mind felt entirely light.
"Exhausted," she admitted, looking at him with a soft, genuine smile. "Wonderfully, completely exhausted."
Roman stood up, walking around his desk with two glasses of ice water, handing one to her.
"You performed brilliantly tonight, Natalie," Roman said softly, standing beside her chair. "You managed three hundred elite guests, exposed a high-level corporate fraud, and took control of a four-hundred-room hotel in less than four hours."
Natalie accepted the glass, taking a slow sip. "I had a good boss giving me orders."
Roman lifted an eyebrow, a subtle, dark humor touching his eyes. "I thought my management was a disaster."
Natalie laughed—a bright, warm sound that filled the quiet room like music. "I stand corrected, Mr. Duca. Your management is... aggressive, but surprisingly effective."
"Roman," he corrected gently.
Natalie paused, looking up at him. "What?"
"When we are in this room, my name is Roman," he said, his deep voice dropping into that warm, intimate register that made her heart skip a beat. "You don't call the man who listened to you behind a wall 'Mr. Duca'."
Natalie looked into his cold grey eyes, seeing the raw, unyielding protection beneath the terrifying exterior.
"Roman," she repeated softly, the name tasting sweet on her tongue.
Before Roman could answer, Marco stepped quietly into the office, his expression unusually grim.
"Boss," Marco said in a low tone. "We have a problem."
Roman turned instantly, his relaxed posture locking back into a wall of cold steel. "What is it?"
"Victoria Crane's private residence was searched twenty minutes ago by our secondary team," Marco reported, dropping a dark leather notebook onto the desk. "She wasn't working alone, boss. The offshore accounts were funded by the Moretti family."
Roman’s eyes turned into dangerous slits of black ice.
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The Moretti syndicate was Roman’s primary rival in Manhattan—a ruthless, violent organization that had been trying to breach Roman’s waterfront properties for five years.
"They weren't just stealing money, boss," Marco continued, looking nervously at Natalie. "They were buying internal access codes to the hotel's lower vault system. They were planning a hit during next week's international summit."
