Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Library
At two in the morning, Harper couldn't sleep. The quiet of the estate was overwhelming after years of hearing Queens traffic outside her window. Wrapped in a soft knit sweater, she wandered into the main house’s extensive library, looking for something to read.
She was scanning the high mahogany shelves when a shadow shifted near the hearth.
Harper gasped, stepping back.
Roman sat in a high-backed leather chair, a glass of dark amber whiskey resting in his hand. The firelight cast long, jagged shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the deep exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“You’re awake,” Roman said, his voice low and gravelly in the dark room.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Harper admitted, resting a hand against her chest to steady her racing heart. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
Harper hesitated, then crossed the room and sat down. The fire crackled softly between them.
“My mother was laughing at dinner,” Roman said, staring into his glass. “I haven’t heard her laugh like that in years.”
“She has a wonderful sense of humor,” Harper said softly. “She just needed someone to listen.”
“I try to listen.”
“You try to protect her,” Harper gently corrected. “That isn't the same thing. You manage her safety, Mr. Moretti. You don't converse with her.”
Roman looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense scrutiny. Most people in New York trembled when he looked at them like that. Harper didn't flinch; she met his gaze with a quiet, steady resolve.
“You are very bold for a woman who lived in a Queens basement a week ago,” he murmured, though there was no malice in his voice.
“I’ve lost the only person who mattered to me,” Harper whispered, her hands folding tightly in her lap. “When you’ve survived that kind of grief, dangerous men in expensive suits lose a lot of their scare power.”
Roman was quiet for a long moment. He set his glass down on the side table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about your brother.”
Harper looked at the dancing flames. “Owen was eight when he died. Leukemia. The last year of his life, he couldn't hear much at all. He felt so trapped inside his own body. Learning to sign was the only way I could give him a window to the outside world. When he passed, I felt like I lost my purpose.”
“You didn't lose it,” Roman said quietly, his voice unusually soft. “You brought it here.”
Harper looked at him, surprised by the genuine depth in his eyes. For a split second, the cold, ruthless crime boss vanished, revealing the soul of a man carrying a heavy, invisible weight of his own.
“Why do you carry it all alone?” Harper asked before she could stop herself.
May you like
Roman stood up slowly, walking to the large bay window that overlooked the dark grounds. “Because if I drop it for even a second, the people I love die. That is the price of my name, Harper.”
It was the first time he had used her first name. It sounded smooth, heavy, and dangerously intimate on his tongue.
