Chapter 2 - His voice was loud enough for the suddenly quiet room to hear.
A slow, dark smile spread across Sadi’s face.
For the first time in her life, she was not the punchline.
She was the punch.
Table 4 stood beside the large bay windows, far from the kitchen doors.
Helen Miller had rearranged the seating chart almost immediately after seeing Roman’s hand on the small of her daughter’s back.
Sadi sat stiffly, staring at the basket of stale dinner rolls in the center of the table.
Roman sat to her left.
He occupied an extraordinary amount of space. His broad shoulders intruded into her personal bubble, and beneath the white tablecloth, his knee rested casually against hers.
The contact sent a steady, low-voltage shock through her.
Across from them sat Derek and Amber.
Amber was the Pilates instructor.
She was picking croutons from her side salad with a manicured fingernail, seemingly unable to understand why the room’s gravitational center had suddenly shifted.
Derek looked as though he were trying to digest a golf ball.
“So, Roman.”
Helen pulled a chair over from a neighboring table and leaned toward him.
Her eyes flicked between his tailored suit and the expensive watch at his wrist.
“Sadi has kept you a complete secret. She didn’t even mention she was seeing anyone, let alone someone in logistics.”
Helen pronounced “logistics” the way another person might say “garbage collection.”
Roman did not answer immediately.
He picked up his water, drank slowly, and replaced the glass.
The silence stretched until Helen shifted uncomfortably.
“Sadi is a private woman, Mrs. Miller. In my line of work, discretion is a highly valued trait. It’s one of the first things I noticed about her.”
“And what exactly is your line of work?” Derek asked.
He leaned forward, attempting to inflate his chest beneath a poorly fitted gray blazer.
“Logistics is pretty broad. Are you pushing paper? Driving trucks?”
Roman looked at him.
Not offended.
Bored.
“I own the trucks, Derek. And the warehouses. And the freight lines that supply half the restaurants in the greater Chicago area.”
Derek’s jaw tightened.
“Right. Well, supply chain is a tough racket right now. A lot of guys go under trying to scale too fast.”
“I don’t go under.”
It was not a boast.
Roman delivered it as an absolute, irrefutable fact.
The deadness in his eyes carried the rest of the message.
Stop talking.
Derek swallowed and looked down.
Amber remained oblivious.
“How did you 2 meet? Sadi, you never go into the city. You always say parking gives you anxiety.”
“She spilled coffee on me,” Roman said before Sadi could stumble through the fabricated story.
He turned toward her with an expression approaching warmth.
The performance was disturbingly convincing.
“A large latte ruined a $400 pair of shoes. I was furious until she looked up at me. I asked for her number instead of the dry-cleaning bill.”
Helen produced a brittle laugh.
“That sounds like our Sadi. Always a little clumsy. I remember when she tripped over the altar at her cousin’s baptism.”
“I find her graceful.”
Roman’s words cut straight through Helen’s story.
The table went silent.
“In fact, I’ve rarely met anyone who handles themselves with as much poise. Especially under pressure.”
Beneath the table, Roman covered Sadi’s hand with his.
She had been crushing her napkin between white knuckles.
His thumb stroked the back of her hand slowly, rhythmically.
Sadi released a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Helen’s mouth remained slightly open.
For the next hour, Roman dismantled every passive-aggressive remark directed at Sadi.
He never argued.
He simply answered with an icy logic that left Derek progressively smaller in his chair and Helen increasingly desperate to discuss the floral arrangements.
When the waitstaff cleared the dry chicken and lukewarm asparagus, Roman’s phone vibrated once inside his breast pocket.
He waited exactly 2 minutes before leaning toward Sadi.
“I need to take this. Stay here.”
Then, more quietly:
“Do not let them shrink you.”
Roman stood, buttoned his jacket with one hand, nodded curtly at the table, and walked toward the rear exit.
Sadi watched him disappear.
Without him, the air immediately felt thinner.
The familiar weight of her family’s judgment began creeping back.
Later, Sadi pushed through the heavy glass door leading to the country club patio.
It was deserted.
Inside, the best man was giving a drunken, rambling toast.
Outside, industrial air-conditioning units drowned out the muffled laughter.
Sadi leaned heavily against the brick half wall and closed her eyes.
Her heart hammered.
The adrenaline of the performance was wearing off, leaving a sharp, hollow anxiety.
She stood there in a $400 dress she could not afford, pretending to be romantically involved with a man who could probably break her neck with 1 hand.
“It’s done.”
Sadi jumped and spun around.
Roman stood beneath the shadow of the awning.
The glow from his phone vanished as he put it away.
His jacket was gone, and his collar was open.
Cigarette smoke clung faintly to him, mixed with peppermint.
“What’s done?”
“The problem on the South Side.”
Roman walked toward her without sound and leaned against the wall.
Beyond them, the golf course was completely black.
Sadi remembered his words from the kitchen.
If he went to the meeting, 2 men would die.
If he attended the rehearsal dinner, he would have an alibi.
“Did someone die?” she whispered.
Roman looked at her.
“Yes.”
The blunt answer hit harder than any elaborate explanation could have.
Sadi gripped the brick.
She had always known what he was.
She cleaned his house.
She saw his guards.
But standing beside him while someone miles away had lost his life because of decisions made in Roman’s world made the reality suffocating.
“Are you afraid of me, Sadi?”
There was no threat in his voice.
Only a weary observation.
“I don’t know.”
Roman nodded.
“You should be. But not tonight. Tonight you’re an employee under my protection, and I take care of my own.”
Sadi laughed bitterly.
“Employee. Right. So you got your alibi. Dinner’s almost over. You can leave. You don’t have to come to the actual wedding tomorrow.”
“We had a deal. I play the boyfriend for the weekend. An alibi requires consistency. If I vanish after dinner, the feds looking into my whereabouts will flag it.”
“I’m attending the wedding.”
“Why are you so good at this?”
The question escaped her.
“With my mother. With Derek. You just neutralized them without even trying.”
“Bullies are predictable.”
Roman removed a silver lighter from his pocket.
He did not light a cigarette.
He merely opened and closed its lid.
Snick.
Snick.
“Your ex-boyfriend is a coward who bolsters his own fragile ego by making sure the woman beside him feels smaller than he does. Your mother views you as an extension of her social standing. Because you don’t fit the mold she prefers, she punishes you.”
Sadi stared at him.
“You figured all that out in 2 hours?”
“I figure people out for a living. If I don’t, I end up dead.”
He snapped the lighter shut.
Then he stepped closer.
His chest blocked much of the light behind him.
“You let them walk all over you because you think you deserve it.”
“I don’t think I deserve it.”
“Your posture says otherwise.”
Roman’s voice softened.
“You shrink yourself, Sadi. You apologize for taking up space. Stop doing that.”
“It’s easy for you to say. You own a city. I scrub your floors.”
“Power isn’t about what you own. It’s about what you refuse to accept.”
Roman reached toward her.
Sadi stiffened.
He only brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
His fingers were calloused and rough.
The touch was unexpectedly gentle.
“Tomorrow, you put on the bridesmaid dress. You walk down that aisle, and you do not look at the floor once. Do you understand me?”
Sadi looked into his dark eyes.
For a fraction of a second, the mob boss disappeared.
She saw only a man who understood exactly what it meant to be completely alone in a crowded room.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Roman stepped away.
The invisible wall returned immediately.
“Let’s go back inside. You need to eat dessert in front of Amber.”
The bridal suite 2 hours before the wedding was its own specific form of hell.
Sadi stood rigidly before a full-length mirror while a frantic seamstress pulled aggressively at the zipper of her mauve chiffon bridesmaid dress.
The dress was a disaster.
Chloe had chosen a style with a high ruffled neckline and absolutely no structure in the bodice.
It was designed for someone built like Amber.
On Sadi, it looked like a heavily draped punishment.
“Suck in, Sadi, for God’s sake.”
Helen hovered behind the seamstress with a mimosa.
“If you pop that zipper, we don’t have a backup.”
“I am sucking in, Mom.”
The fabric dug painfully into Sadi’s ribs.
She could take only shallow breaths.
“Well, try harder. Chloe is already crying because the florist brought the wrong shade of hydrangeas. Don’t add to her stress.”
Helen studied her daughter’s reflection critically.
“Where is Roman, anyway? Did he realize he had a logistics emergency?”
“He’s coming.”
Sadi prayed that he was.
She had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Roman’s calculated stare and felt the weight of his hand over hers.
What frightened her most was how badly she wanted him to walk through that door.
“Right,” Helen said skeptically. “Well, if he shows up, make sure he doesn’t sit near Uncle Arthur. Arthur asks too many questions.”
A sharp knock silenced the suite.
Jessica, one of the bridesmaids who had ignored Sadi all morning, opened the door.
Roman stood there.
He wore a charcoal 3-piece suit tailored precisely to his intimidating frame and a perfectly knotted dark-silver tie.
Behind him stood 2 men in identical dark suits.
Thick necks.
Flat, watchful eyes.
Roman did not look like a wedding guest.
He looked like an invading force.
“You can’t be in here,” Jessica squeaked. “The groom isn’t allowed.”
“I’m not the groom.”
Roman walked past her.
His eyes ignored the scattered makeup, half-eaten room service, and bridesmaids.
They went directly to Sadi.
He took in the mauve chiffon, the panic in her face, and the seamstress fighting the zipper.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Sadi saw it.
He was furious.
“Mr. Rossi,” Helen began.
“We’re in the middle of getting my girlfriend out of that dress,” Roman finished.
He walked directly toward Sadi.
The seamstress retreated.
“Roman, it’s fine,” Sadi whispered. “It just needs to be zipped.”
“It’s choking you.”
He looked at Helen.
“She’s not wearing this.”
Helen bristled.
“Excuse me? That is the designated bridesmaid dress. She is wearing it. The photographer is taking group photographs in 20 minutes, and we are not ruining the aesthetic of this wedding because Sadi refuses to diet.”
Silence consumed the suite.
Sadi closed her eyes.
Humiliation burned behind them.
Roman did not yell.
He turned his head and looked at Helen.
“Mrs. Miller, if you speak to her like that again, I will buy this hotel, cancel the ballroom reservation, and throw you and your florist into the street.”
His voice remained low.
“Do you comprehend me?”
Helen’s mouth opened.
Nothing emerged.
Her face lost its color as she realized he was not joking.
Roman turned his back on her.
“Take it off.”
“I have to wear something.”
“My men brought a garment bag.”
One of the men outside handed him a sleek black canvas bag.
Roman placed it on the bed and unzipped it.
Inside was a dress.
Not mauve.
Midnight blue.
Heavy structured silk.
Sweetheart neckline.
Off-the-shoulder sleeves falling in elegant drapes.
It was dramatic, elegant, and violently expensive.
Sadi stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“I made a phone call at 6:05 this morning. I had a tailor open his shop.”
Roman held it out.
“I know your measurements. Put it on. We leave for the chapel in 10 minutes.”
He gave her no opportunity to argue.
Roman walked out, his 2 guards falling into formation behind him.
The heavy door closed.
5 minutes later, Sadi emerged from the bathroom.
No one spoke.
Helen stared out the window, pale.
The bridesmaids concentrated intensely on their lipstick.
Sadi looked into the mirror.
The midnight-blue dress fit perfectly.
It narrowed at her waist, supported her chest, and fell to her heels like liquid ink.
She no longer looked like a clumsy, overgrown bridesmaid.
She looked like a mafia boss’s wife.
Roman waited in the hallway, leaning against the wallpapered wall while checking his phone.
His thumb moved rapidly across the screen.
The muscle in his jaw flexed.
He looked up.
His gaze traveled over the midnight-blue silk.
The intensity in his eyes caught Sadi’s breath.
“Better.”
“Thank you. But Chloe is going to kill me for not wearing the mauve.”
“Chloe will survive.”
Roman offered his arm.
Sadi slipped her hand through it.
As they walked toward the elevators, Roman’s phone began vibrating.
Once.
Again.
Then repeatedly.
3, 4, 5 times in rapid succession.
His expression turned to granite.
He did not reach for it.
“Is something wrong?”
“My alibi worked perfectly.”
His voice had become a low, gravelly hum.
“But the Moretti family just realized who pulled the trigger last night. And they know I’m not in the city.”
The elevator arrived.
Roman pulled Sadi inside and positioned her slightly behind himself.
Only then did he check his phone.
Sadi caught a glimpse of the message before the screen disappeared.
3 black SUVs had just entered the highway heading toward Oakridge.
They had Roman’s plates.
The wedding was no longer simply a family battleground.
It was a target.
The doors closed.
The elevator began descending.
Roman stared at the brushed steel.
The man who had gently tucked Sadi’s hair behind her ear the night before had vanished.
In his place stood the architect of a Chicago syndicate.
“Roman. What is happening?”
“A miscalculation.”
He reached inside his charcoal jacket.
A matte-black handgun appeared in his hand.
He checked the magazine with a sharp metallic click, then concealed the weapon at the small of his back.
Sadi stopped breathing.
“Are they coming here to kill you?”
May you like
The elevator chimed.
Roman looked directly at her.
