Chapter 4 - The Truth Behind the Debt
Donovan’s face turned the color of raw beet root as Roman tightened his grip on the silk tie, cutting off his air supply. The other men at the table instinctively leaned back, refusing to make eye contact or intervene.
"Roman—wait—I was just joking—" Donovan choked out, clawing frantically at Roman’s fingers.
"You owe my establishment a debt," Roman continued, staring down at the terrified man with eyes completely devoid of warmth. "And right now, you are damaging goods that are actively working to pay that debt off. Do you understand how a ledger works, Donovan?"
"Yes! Yes, I swear—"
Roman shoved him back into his chair with enough force to send him careening against the wall. Donovan coughed violently, clutching his throat and gasping for air.
Roman turned his attention to me, his expression softening just a fraction. He reached out and gently touched my injured wrist—not to restrain me, but to check it. His thumb brushed lightly over the swollen tendon.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, the harsh mafia boss completely gone, replaced by someone intensely protective.
I rubbed my wrist, fighting back a sudden rush of emotion. "I’m fine. It just aggravated an old injury from the shift."
Roman looked back at Luca, who was already standing by the doorway with a rigid posture. "Luca, escort Donovan off the property. Take his company shares as interest on the damage he just caused to my dining room."
"No! Please, Roman, not the shares!" Donovan shrieked as Luca hoisted him out of his chair by the collar, dragging him out of the room like a sack of garbage.
The remaining poker players quickly gathered their remaining chips, muttered hurried excuses, and filed out of the room within seconds, leaving just the two of us standing in the hazy silence.
Roman walked over to the mahogany bar, poured two glasses of clean water, and handed one to me. "Sit down, Paige. You’re off the clock."
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As I collapsed onto a leather armchair, taking a grateful sip of the cool water, Roman sat across from me, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I didn't bring you here to work off a dry-cleaning bill," Roman confessed, his dark eyes meeting mine with brutal honesty. "That was just an excuse to get you away from Arthur’s restaurant before Donovan's associates decided to target the staff to get to me."
