Chapter 2 - The Archive of ShadowsThe storm outside intensified, lightning splitting the Chicago sky and casting brief, blinding flashes through the tall study windows.
I stared at Roman, my mind refusing to assemble the pieces of the puzzle he had just thrown at my feet. For two years, I had blamed Roman for my servitude. I had looked at him as the tyrant who had enslaved me for my father's supposed crimes. And all along, the man who had destroyed my family was someone operating inside his own walls.
"Who?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper above the sound of the rain. "Who framed my father?"
Roman did not answer immediately. He walked back to his desk, picked up the old leather ledger, and flipped it open to a yellowed page marked with a red wax seal.
"My uncle, Vincent Costa," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "When my father died five years ago, Vincent took control of the financial committees. He systematically bled the port accounts dry, blamed your father, and threatened to kill you and your mother if your father didn't take the fall and disappear."
My knees felt weak. I grabbed the edge of the mahogany desk to steady myself. "My mother died of grief six months after he vanished. She thought he was a thief. She died believing he abandoned us."
Roman looked up, his dark eyes softening just a fraction—a rare, unguarded glimpse of the man behind the ruthless mafia boss persona. "She didn't have to die. And you didn't have to spend two years scrubbing my floors to pay a debt that was never yours."
"And Finn?" I asked, remembering the mechanic with the grease on his cheek. "If he’s a Moretti operative, what does he have to do with Vincent?"
"Everything," Roman said, slamming the ledger shut. "Vincent has been selling port security codes to the Moretti family to fund his retirement. Finn was here today to coordinate the final transfer. But when I saw him looking at you—when I felt that sudden, burning spike of rage because another man dared to make you smile—I acted on instinct. I ordered him hauled down to the docks."
Roman stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek. His fingers were warm, rough with calluses, and trembling slightly—not with fear, but with an intense, restrained fury.
"I was jealous, Norah," Roman admitted, the confession dragging out of him like pulling teeth. "I have watched you walk through my house for two years like a ghost. I gave orders that no one was to touch you, no one was to speak to you beyond necessity, because I knew the moment I let myself care about you, I would burn this entire city to the ground to keep you safe. And then some grease-monkey mechanic makes you laugh in my kitchen."
I looked up into his pale, intense eyes, the anger and confusion melting away into an undeniable, electric pull.
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"You're insane," I whispered.
"Completely," Roman murmured, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jawline. "Which is why we are going down to the basement archives right now. Because Finn left something else in his tool bag. Something that proves Vincent isn't just embezzling—he’s planning a coup to take my head by midnight."
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