Chapter 2 - The Trap Closes
Sadie’s knees finally betrayed her, striking the hardwood floor with a dull, sickening thud. She hadn't chosen to kneel; her body simply collapsed under the weight of the past. Without thinking, she reached out with bare hands toward the jagged, broken neck of the expensive wine bottle lying among the ceramic shards.
A sharp green shard sliced instantly through the soft pad of her right index finger. Bright red blood appeared immediately, welling up and dripping down into the spilled wine and crushed osso buco gravy. But she felt no physical pain. The adrenaline surging through her veins had completely numbed her nerves.
A pair of immaculate, hand-stitched Italian leather shoes stopped mere inches from her bleeding fingers.
Sadie stared up at them, paralyzed. She remembered those exact shoes pacing methodically across the hardwood floors of a penthouse apartment while Roman casually decided who would live and who would lose everything they owned.
"Don't cut yourself, Nora," a voice whispered softly above her.
The name struck her harder than a physical blow could have. Nora.
Her real name. The name she had buried deep in the dirt three years ago. For three years, she had been Sadie. Sadie was quiet, unassuming, and safe. Nora was the woman who had foolishly loved a monster, discovered the ledger of his sins, and barely escaped with her life and her sanity intact.
Arthur hurried forward, bowing frantically at the waist. "I’ll handle this mess right away, sir. Please, right this way to the private corner booth, absolute best table in the house."
Roman did not look at Arthur. His dark eyes remained fixed entirely on the kneeling woman at his feet. "I said, she serves it."
"Of course! Of course, whatever you wish, Mr. Vance," Arthur stammered, his voice cracking with panic. He grabbed Sadie roughly by the elbow again, yanking her upward. "Get up, Sadie. Go wash your hands in the back, slap on a fresh apron, and bring two glasses of our finest reserve to table twelve immediately. Move!"
Sadie stumbled backward toward the kitchen doors, her chest heaving, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She managed to slip through the swinging doors into the chaotic heat of the kitchen, locking herself inside the cramped employee restroom before her legs could give out completely.
She turned on the cold water tap and stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The espresso dye in her hair was slick with sweat; her face was deathly pale. The cut on her finger throbbed, leaking a thin line of blood into the white porcelain sink.
He found me, her mind screamed over and over. How did he find me?
She had followed every rule. No credit cards, no permanent leases, no contact with old friends, no digital footprint. Yet Roman Vance had walked into her restaurant on a random Friday night as though he had a GPS tracker sewn under her skin.
"You can't go back out there," she whispered to her reflection, gripping the edges of the sink until her knuckles turned white. "You have to climb out the delivery window. Run. Leave everything behind. Again."
But as she reached for the small frosted-glass window above the toilet, the heavy metal door of the restroom clicked.
The lock turned from the outside.
Sadie spun around, her heart slamming against her ribs. The door creaked open six inches, and Tommy’s massive, impassive face appeared in the gap.
"Boss says your break is over, Nora," Tommy said flatly, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "Don't keep him waiting. He hates being kept waiting."
There was no escape through the window. The alley outside was a dead-end brick tunnel guarded by Lombardi’s industrial dumpsters. Defeat settled over her like a heavy, suffocating wool blanket. She washed the blood off her finger, slapped a thick waterproof bandage over the cut, smoothed down her black apron, and took a slow, shuddering breath.
If she had to face him, she would do it with her head up.
When Sadie emerged from the kitchen carrying a fresh tray with two crystal flutes and a bottle of sparkling water, the main dining room was deathly quiet. Every single patron was pretending to look intensely at their menus or their dining companions, terrified of drawing even a stray glance from the terrifying syndicate boss sitting in the corner booth.
Roman sat alone in the deep red leather booth. Tommy remained standing like a stone statue a few feet away, blocking any potential approach.
Sadie walked slowly across the floor, her sensible shoes clicking softly against the repaired hardwood. She reached table twelve, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the silver tray in her hands.
"Good evening," she said, her voice admirably steady despite the hurricane raging inside her chest. "Water for the table."
She reached down to set the glasses on the white tablecloth.
Roman’s hand shot out with terrifying speed, wrapping his warm fingers around her wrist. He didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but his grip was ironclad, inescapable.
Sadie froze, finally forced to look up into his face.
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Up close, the years had only sharpened his features. His gray eyes were intense, brilliant, and burning with a dark, possessive hunger that made her stomach churn with terror.
"Did you really think you could vanish from the face of the earth, Nora?" Roman asked softly, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over the pulse point on her wrist. "Did you really think a cheap dye job and a diner apron were enough to hide from me?"
