Chapter 4 - The Woman at the WindowBy the end of the first week, Norah had learned three things about living with Roman Moretti.
The first was that he rarely slept for more than four hours.
The second was that he preferred his coffee black, his meetings brief, and his enemies sufficiently frightened to avoid unnecessary conversation.
The third was that he had absolutely no idea how to share a house with a woman who refused to behave like a possession.
On Monday morning, she moved her belongings out of his bedroom.
On Tuesday, she informed him that she would no longer accept expensive gifts.
On Wednesday, she walked into the kitchen and discovered that someone had replaced her old shoes with six new pairs.
She returned all six.
On Thursday, Roman ordered a car for her personal use.
She asked whether the vehicle came with a driver who would report her movements.
He said yes.
She declined the car.
By Friday, the household staff had developed a new method of navigating the east wing.
They listened for the sound of Roman's footsteps, then listened for Norah's voice.
If she sounded irritated, they waited.
If he sounded irritated, they waited longer.
The only person who appeared entirely untroubled by the arrangement was Mrs. Bellini, the housekeeper.
She had worked for the Moretti family for nearly twenty years and possessed the serene expression of a woman who had witnessed every conceivable domestic disaster.
One afternoon, she found Norah sitting on the floor of the laundry room, repairing the loose hem of a uniform she had no intention of wearing again.
"You're going to ruin your eyes doing that in here," Mrs. Bellini said.
Norah looked up.
"I could ask someone to fix it."
"You could."
"But then I'd have to explain why I'm repairing something I no longer need."
Mrs. Bellini considered that.
"An excellent point."
She sat on the stool opposite Norah and began folding towels.
For several minutes, they worked in companionable silence.
Then Mrs. Bellini spoke.
"He has never brought anyone into the east wing before."
Norah's needle stopped.
"That isn't my concern."
"No?"
"No."
Mrs. Bellini folded another towel.
"Then you won't mind if I tell you something."
Norah sighed.
"I suspect you will tell me regardless."
The older woman smiled.
"Mr. Moretti was not always like this."
Norah pushed the needle through the fabric.
"I imagine nobody is born ordering armed men around."
"Of course not. But power changes people. Sometimes it makes them cruel. Sometimes it makes them afraid."
Norah glanced at her.
"Are you suggesting Roman is afraid?"
"I'm suggesting that a man who spends his entire life ensuring nobody can surprise him becomes very uncomfortable when someone does."
Norah thought of the photographs in the security office.
Her father's coat.
Roman's expression when she asked whether he had been involved in the disappearance.
"Did you know my father?" she asked.
Mrs. Bellini's hands became still.
The pause was brief, but Norah noticed.
"I met him once," the housekeeper said.
"When?"
"Many years ago."
"What was he like?"
Mrs. Bellini placed the folded towel on the stack.
"Kind. Intelligent. Too trusting of people who did not deserve it."
Norah's throat tightened.
"Did he work for the Morettis?"
"I don't know what he did for a living."
It was an answer that sounded rehearsed.
Norah rose.
"Everyone in this house knows something about him."
"Perhaps."
"Why won't anyone tell me?"
Mrs. Bellini looked toward the laundry room door.
"Because the truth is rarely a single thing, dear. It is usually a collection of decisions made by people who were frightened, selfish, or convinced they were doing the right thing."
She stood and picked up the towels.
"And sometimes the people who loved someone are the very people who helped destroy him."
Then she left.
Norah remained on the floor, the unfinished hem resting in her lap.
She thought about the years after her father disappeared.
Her mother had worked nights at a nursing home until exhaustion made her ill. Norah had learned to cook at twelve, manage household bills at fourteen, and lie convincingly to teachers who asked why Ben was always falling asleep in class.
She had grown up believing that abandonment was simple.
Someone left.
Someone stayed.
The person who stayed learned to survive.
But Mrs. Bellini had just suggested something worse.
That the people who stayed might have participated in the leaving.
That evening, Roman found Norah in the library.
She was seated at the long table with a stack of public records, an old photograph of her parents, and a notebook filled with names.
He paused in the doorway.
"Planning a hostile takeover?"
"Research."
"That sounds less entertaining."
She did not look up.
"I'm looking for information about my father."
"I gathered."
"Then you can help."
Roman entered the room and removed his jacket.
He placed it over the back of a chair.
"Ask."
"Michael Vale. What did he do for you?"
Roman sat opposite her.
"He was an accountant."
Norah waited.
"An accountant who worked for the Moretti family?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Approximately seven years."
She stared at him.
"Seven years."
"He managed financial records for several shipping companies. Most of them were legitimate."
"Most?"
Roman's mouth tightened.
"Your father knew the difference between legal and illegal money. He also knew how to keep them from touching each other."
"That's an elegant way of describing money laundering."
"It's an accurate way of describing a complicated financial operation."
"Does that distinction make you feel better?"
"No."
His answer was immediate.
Norah looked down at her notes.
"Why did he disappear?"
"I don't know."
She laughed without humor.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No. I expect you to decide whether the evidence supports it."
Roman reached into his jacket and removed a small envelope.
He placed it on the table.
Inside was a photocopy of a handwritten letter.
Norah recognized her father's handwriting immediately.
The loops in the lowercase letters were distinctive. He had taught her to write her name when she was five, guiding her hand across a sheet of lined paper.
She read the letter once.
Then again.
If anything happens to me, do not trust the accounts. The numbers are correct, but the names are wrong. Someone has been moving money through the port under the protection of people who should have stopped it.
The final paragraph was shorter.
Roman knows something is wrong. I don't know whether he understands how far it goes.
Norah lifted her eyes.
"When did you get this?"
"Eleven years ago."
The room seemed to tilt.
"You've had this for eleven years?"
"Yes."
"And you never told the police?"
Roman's expression hardened.
"I gave them a copy."
"Then why was it never mentioned in the investigation?"
"Because the investigation was compromised."
"By whom?"
"I don't know."
She pushed the letter away.
"You keep saying you don't know."
"Because I won't invent an answer to satisfy you."
"How convenient."
He accepted the accusation without flinching.
Norah rose and walked toward the window.
The garden was illuminated by small lights along the path. Beyond it, the trees formed a dark wall around the estate.
"I was nineteen when my father disappeared," she said. "My mother spent three years believing he would come home. Every time the telephone rang, she thought it was him."
She pressed her fingers against the cold glass.
"Then she stopped waiting. She stopped sleeping properly. She started drinking too much wine because it was the only way she could quiet her thoughts."
Her reflection looked pale and unfamiliar.
"When she died, I found her sitting beside his photograph. She had been gone for several hours before I discovered her."
Roman said nothing.
Norah turned.
"I had to call Ben. I had to tell my little brother that our mother was dead while he was sitting in a university lecture hall, worrying about an examination."
Her voice broke.
"I had to become the person who knew what to do because nobody else was left."
Roman stood slowly.
For once, he did not approach her.
He remained beside the table, allowing the distance between them to exist.
"I am sorry," he said.
The words were simple.
They did not erase eleven years.
They did not repair the years of poverty or the months of grief.
But they sounded sincere.
Norah looked away before he could see how much that mattered.
"Did you ever investigate what happened to him?"
"Yes."
"What did you find?"
"Your father discovered discrepancies in the shipping accounts. Someone was using legitimate cargo manifests to conceal shipments that had never been recorded properly."
"Drugs?"
"Among other things."
"And he threatened to expose them?"
"He intended to take the information to federal investigators."
Norah turned back toward him.
"Did you stop him?"
"No."
"Could you have?"
Roman's eyes were dark.
"Yes."
The admission unsettled her more than a denial would have.
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I thought he was right."
Silence settled over the library.
Roman moved toward the desk and rested his hands on its edge.
"I was younger. I believed I could identify the people responsible without involving law enforcement. I thought I could remove them quietly and protect the family."
"And?"
"I underestimated how many people were involved."
Norah studied him.
"Did my father know you were investigating?"
"I believe he did."
"Did he trust you?"
Roman looked at the letter.
"Once."
It was the first time she had heard uncertainty in his voice.
A sudden knock interrupted them.
Daniel entered without waiting for permission.
"Boss, we have a problem."
Roman straightened.
"What?"
"The warehouse at Pier Nineteen was cleared this afternoon. The equipment is gone, the records have been destroyed, and the men we were watching have disappeared."
"How long ago?"
"Approximately two hours."
Roman's expression became cold.
"Who knew we were watching them?"
"Six people."
"Names."
Daniel handed him a list.
Roman read it once.
Then he passed it to Norah.
"Do you recognize anyone?"
She scanned the names.
Most meant nothing to her.
One did.
Adrian Cross.
Her father's former business partner.
Norah looked up.
"Who is he?"
Roman's eyes narrowed.
"An attorney who worked with Michael."
"Is he still alive?"
"Yes."
"Where can I find him?"
Roman took the list back.
"He's in Manhattan."
"Then I'll go to Manhattan."
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Norah folded her arms.
"You said I could ask questions."
"I said you could refuse a meeting."
"You didn't say I couldn't investigate my father's disappearance."
"You don't understand what you're walking into."
"Then explain it to me."
Roman stepped closer.
"Adrian Cross is not a man you approach without knowing who else is listening. He represented people who have been dead for years, and some of those people had enough money to buy entire departments of law enforcement."
"That sounds like a reason to be careful, not a reason to stay ignorant."
His jaw tightened.
Norah held her ground.
"I am not one of your men, Roman. You cannot give me an order and assume the conversation is finished."
Something in his expression shifted.
She had called him Roman.
Not Mr. Moretti.
Not the don.
His name.
He seemed to notice.
"You want to meet Cross," he said.
"I want answers."
"Then we'll meet him together."
She shook her head.
"That isn't what I asked for."
"It's what I'm offering."
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
"Frequently, I hope."
This time, his smile was unmistakable.
It lasted only a moment, but it changed his face in a way she had not expected.
For a second, he looked almost young.
Then his phone vibrated.
He read the message, and the warmth disappeared.
"What is it?" Norah asked.
Roman showed her the screen.
A photograph had arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Ben standing outside a small apartment building.
He was looking over his shoulder.
Beneath the photograph were seven words.
Tell Moretti we have found Michael's daughter.
Norah felt the blood leave her face.
Another message arrived.
The girl comes alone, or the boy dies.
Roman's fingers closed around the phone.
The screen cracked beneath his grip.
He did not look at Norah.
He looked at Daniel.
"Find Ben."
"Already working on it."
"Close the gates. Nobody enters or leaves this estate without my authorization."
Daniel nodded and disappeared.
Norah could barely breathe.
"They know who I am."
"Yes."
"They know about Ben."
"Yes."
"Who are they?"
Roman looked at her.
For the first time, there was no attempt to conceal the danger.
"The people your father was trying to expose."
Norah gripped the edge of the table.
"Then we go to the police."
"We will contact the people we can trust."
"How many is that?"
Roman's silence answered her.
She stared at the broken phone in his hand.
All her life, she had believed that being invisible would keep her safe.
She had worked quietly, lived quietly, and avoided the attention of people who could hurt her.
Now someone had found her.
Someone who knew her father's name.
Someone who had waited eleven years to make her relevant.
Roman stepped toward her.
"Norah, listen to me."
She looked up.
"You are not going anywhere alone."
Her fear sharpened into anger.
"Don't you dare turn this into an excuse to control me."
"I am trying to keep you alive."
"Then help me make decisions that keep me alive."
He stopped.
The words remained between them.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Roman nodded once.
"All right."
Norah had expected an argument.
The agreement unsettled her.
"We make the plan together," she said.
"Together."
"And you tell me everything you know about my father."
Roman looked toward the darkened window.
"I will."
She searched his face.
"Everything?"
His amber eyes returned to hers.
"Everything I can prove."
It was not quite the answer she wanted.
But it was the first agreement between them that did not feel like a transaction.
Outside, beyond the estate walls, a car moved slowly along the road.
Its headlights passed between the trees.
Then it stopped.
Roman turned toward the window.
Norah followed his gaze.
The vehicle remained motionless for several seconds before its lights went dark.
Neither of them spoke.
They did not need to.
May you like
Someone was watching the house.
And whoever it was had finally discovered that Michael Vale's daughter was no longer alone.
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