Chapter 4 - The Green Room Cross-Examination
The VIP green room smelled of cedarwood, leather upholstery, and expensive Cuban tobacco. The heavy oak door sealed behind Norah with a heavy, magnetic click, cutting off the festive jazz music of the gala entirely.
Allesio Romano stood behind a mahogany desk, his tuxedo jacket removed and draped over a leather chair. His crisp white shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, sinewy arms marked by a single faded scar running from wrist to elbow.
"Sit," Allesio said, gesturing toward the armchair across from him.
Norah remained standing. "I'm on the clock, Mr. Romano. And you have approximately eighteen minutes before heavily armed men kick in your basement doors."
Allesio’s eyebrows arched. He leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the desk, studying her like an artifact beneath a microscope.
"Norah Gallagher," he said, reading from a small black tablet on the desk. "Hired three weeks ago via Apex Hospitality. Formerly head dispatcher for Westchester County Emergency Services. Resigned abruptly three years ago after testifying against a precinct captain who was skimming seized cash. You have no family within two hundred miles. You live alone in an apartment on 14th Street. You don't take bribes—you put Lorenzo’s hundred-dollar tip into the staff jar."
Norah’s breath hitched slightly, but her face remained granite. "Your research team is fast."
"I don't stay alive by being slow," Allesio said, stepping around the desk until he was three feet from her. He was taller than he appeared from across the room, carrying an aura of raw, controlled power that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Now tell me why a former county dispatcher with a penchant for honesty is risking her life to save a man the newspapers call a ruthless criminal."
Norah met his gaze directly, refusing to look down. "Because whatever you are, Mr. Romano, you didn't plan to shoot through a basement full of teenage busboys and elderly dishwashers tonight. Lorenzo and Frank Miller did. I heard Miller. He specifically said, 'No survivors, not even whichever kitchen girl happens to be holding a tray.' I am that kitchen girl. And I don't let dirty cops murder innocent people to settle mob scores."
Allesio stared at her. The skepticism in his eyes slowly melted into something rare for a man in his world: genuine, unadulterated respect.
"Frank Miller has been a thorn in my side for five years," Allesio said softly. "He thought he could use Lorenzo to stage a palace coup. He thought he was walking into an ambush against an unsuspecting mark."
"He has a sealed warrant," Norah warned. "Even if you kill them, the paper trail frames your security for attacking officers."
"A warrant is only as good as the judge who signs it," Allesio sneered, tapping the screen of his phone. "And Judge Ryland has had an offshore account in the Caymans funded by my logistics firm for nearly a decade. By now, Ryland has already received a copy of Lorenzo's wire transfer to Miller. The warrant has been declared an illegal forgery."
He stepped closer, close enough that Norah could smell his cologne—sandalwood and black pepper.
"You gave me the names. You gave me the time. You gave me the corridor," Allesio whispered. "You saved my life, Miss Gallagher. In my family, a debt like that is sacred."
"I didn't do it for a reward," she countered flatly.
"I know," Allesio said, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time. "That’s the only reason you’re still breathing in this room. Dante!"
The door opened instantly. "Boss?"
"Escort Miss Gallagher to the penthouse suite on the twelfth floor. Lock the elevator. Put four men outside her door. She is our most honored guest. If a single scratch appears on her skin, I will personally feed the responsible party to the harbor sturgeon."
Norah shook her head. "I'm not hiding in a penthouse while this happens."
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"You aren't hiding, Norah," Allesio said, his voice dropping into commanding gravity. "You are witnessing what happens when someone mistakes my patience for weakness."
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