Chapter 3 - The Restitution
"Mrs. Ellis," Roman said, his voice entirely stripped of the icy authority that ran boardroom meetings. It was quiet, solemn, carrying the weight of genuine repentance. "You do not apologize to me. Not tonight. Not ever."
Margaret stood paralyzed, looking between the kneeling billionaire and Emily, who stood beside the doorframe with her heart pounding against her ribs.
Roman reached into the inner breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a thick white envelope bearing the seal of Bellini Grand Holdings. He placed it gently onto the small wicker table beside her coat rack.
"That contains forty thousand dollars in back pay, severance, and an adjusted retirement disbursement for the last four months," Roman stated calmly, looking up into her tearful eyes. "As of tomorrow morning, your full executive pension is restored with a fifteen percent cost-of-living increment. And if you wish to return, your position as head of laundry services is open. If you prefer to rest, your health coverage remains active under our corporate policy for the rest of your life."
Margaret began to cry, silent tears tracking down the deep lines of her face. "I... I worked for your father, Mr. Bellini. When the hotel opened in eighty-three, he gave me my first pin. When they escorted me out... I thought he would have been ashamed of me."
"My father would have been ashamed of the man sitting in my chair," Roman replied honestly, standing up slowly. "Not of you. You gave forty-three years of your life to my family's business. I allowed a parasite to steal your dignity while I was looking at spreadsheets. The fault is mine. I will not make that mistake again."
He turned to Emily. "Wait here with her. Frank will remain outside the front entrance. I have business to conclude at the hotel."
"Mr. Bellini," Emily called out before he could descend the stairs.
Roman paused on the landing, looking back over his shoulder.
"Be careful," she said softly. "Keller doesn't work alone. He has friends on the west side."
A faint, predatory curve touched the corner of Roman's lips. The vulnerability he had shown in front of the elderly woman vanished instantly, replaced by the dark, unyielding king of Chicago's underworld.
May you like
"Miss Hayes," Roman murmured, his voice sending a shiver through the hallway. "On the west side, those friends answer to me."
He turned and disappeared down the wooden staircase, his boots echoing with terrifying finality.
