Il suo vero nome.
Per 3 anni, era stata Sadie.
Sadie era silenziosa.
Sadie era al sicuro.
Norah era la donna che aveva amato un mostro ed era scampata a malapena con l’anima intatta.
Arthur si precipitò avanti.
“Me ne occuperò io, signore. Prego, da questa parte.”
Indirizzò Roman verso la cabina privata all’angolo, poi tirò Sadie su per lo schienale del grembiule.
“Vai sul retro,” sussurrò. “Fascia la tua mano.”
Sadie barcollò attraverso le porte della cucina.
Il calore la colpì subito.
Pans sibilò. Le posate tintinnarono. Gridò lo chef.
Si spinse oltre la fossa dei piatti ed entrò nella stretta sala relax dei dipendenti.
La porta si chiuse dietro di lei.
Sadie crollò contro gli armadietti di metallo e scivolò sul pavimento di linoleum.
Il suo respiro divenne rapido e superficiale.
Mi ha trovato.
Il pensiero si ripeté.
Mi ha trovato.
Era stata attenta.
Quando fuggì dall’attico di Roman, aveva lasciato il telefono sul bancone della cucina e portato via via solo uno zaino contenente 3 cambi di vestiti e qualunque soldi avesse messo da parte di nascosto.
She never touched her old accounts.
She never contacted her sister.
She erased her digital footprint with the paranoia of a federal fugitive.
Because a woman did not simply break up with Roman and leave a note on the refrigerator.
Leaving him wounded his pride.
In his world, pride was currency.
The break-room door opened.
Jess hurried inside.
At 22, Jess was putting herself through nursing school and knew almost nothing about the criminal world surrounding the city.
“Sadie. Holy—are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
Sadie looked at her hand.
Blood had reached her white uniform.
“I’m fine.”
“Who is that guy? Arthur looks like he’s about to have a coronary.”
Jess wrapped paper towels around the cut.
“I heard one of the bartenders say it’s Roman. That’s the syndicate. They own the ports.”
“I know.”
Jess stopped.
“Do you know him?”
Sadie leaned her head against the locker.
She could not explain 3 years spent inside his silk sheets.
She could not explain that Roman could be gentle, that he had once traced her spine while she slept and then awakened the next morning to order the destruction of a rival family over coffee.
He was not a cartoon villain.
He was damaged, intelligent, ruthless, and capable of consuming everything he touched.
He had consumed her morals, her peace, and eventually her freedom.
Sadie had run because one morning she realized the blood on his knuckles no longer horrified her.
She was becoming accustomed to the darkness.
That frightened her more than Roman himself.
Before she could answer, Arthur burst through the door.
“Sadie. Bandage it. Wrap it in tape. Put on a clean apron.”
“She’s having a panic attack,” Jess protested. “She can’t go back out there.”
“She has to.”
Arthur looked at Sadie with pity and fear.
“He sent back the waiter I assigned to his table. He didn’t even look at him. He just said to send you.”
Arthur swallowed.
“He said if you don’t walk out there in 2 minutes, he’s coming back here to get you. Sadie, please. I have a family. Whatever this is, just go pour his water.”
The paper towel around Sadie’s finger was soaked through.
Roman was not bluffing.
If she stayed hidden, he would dismantle the restaurant to reach her.
The game was over.
“Give me a clean apron.”
The walk to the corner booth felt like a death march.
The dining room had resumed functioning, but only barely.
The quartet played too quickly.
Patrons ate without looking toward the back corner for long.
Sadie wore a clean apron and had wrapped her finger in white medical tape.
Roman sat facing the room.
He always sat facing the room.
Tommy occupied a nearby 2-person table, ignoring his menu and watching the exits.
Roman held sparkling water.
He had watched every step she took from the kitchen.
Sadie stopped approximately 2 ft from the table and removed her notepad.
“Good evening. Can I start you with something from the bar?”
Roman said nothing.
“Look at me, Nora.”
She lifted her eyes.
“My name is Sadie.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Sadie. It doesn’t suit you. It sounds like someone who expects very little out of life.”
“It sounds like someone who wants to be left alone.”
Roman placed his glass down.
“You changed your hair. Brown is fine, but the blonde was better.”
“Are you ready to order, sir, or do you need more time?”
“I’ll have the ribeye. Rare. Truffle potatoes. Bring a bottle of Caymus.”
He paused.
“And for the lady, she’ll have the seared scallops and a glass of Sancerre.”
“I’m working. I can’t eat.”
“You’re not working anymore.”
His tone made it sound already decided.
“Your shift ended the second I walked through those doors.”
“You don’t own me, Roman.”
Sadie leaned toward the table.
“You can’t walk in here and ruin my life again. I left. I made a new life.”
Roman placed his hand over hers.
She tried to withdraw it.
His grip prevented her without hurting her.
His thumb moved over the bandage on her finger.
“A new life.”
His gaze moved across her exhausted face and hands.
“You live in a 400 sq ft studio above a dry cleaner on Fourth Street. Your radiator barely works. You have $3,200 in a shoebox under your bed. You eat toast for dinner 3 nights a week to save money.”
Sadie’s breath disappeared.
He knew.
Everything.
Roman leaned closer.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you, Nora? Did you really believe I would let the only thing I ever cared about just disappear into the dark?”
He released her.
“Put the order in, Sadie. Then go get your coat.”
Roman leaned back.
“We’re going home.”
The green text on the kitchen’s point-of-sale monitor blurred in front of Sadie.
She forced the order through with her uninjured thumb.
Ribeye, rare.
Truffle potatoes.
Scallops.
Sancerre.
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