Thursday became Monday.
Monday became Thursday again.
Within a month, Harper had spent more evenings at the Moretti house than she wanted to admit.
Officially, she was teaching Roman American Sign Language.
Unofficially, Beatatrice had adopted her.
There was no paperwork.
No discussion.
It simply happened.
Harper would arrive and discover Beatatrice had purchased ingredients for whatever meal Harper once casually mentioned liking.
A scarf appeared one evening because Harper had complained she was cold walking to work.
Harper refused it.
Beatatrice put it around her neck anyway.
Roman watched from the doorway.
“She does that.”
“She’s bossy.”
“You’re just figuring that out?”
Beatatrice looked over.
Harper signed exactly what Roman had said.
His mother pointed threateningly at him.
Roman sighed.
“Traitor.”
Harper smiled.
Roman was learning quickly.
Much faster than she expected.
He practiced during meetings.
He practiced in cars.
Once Harper caught him silently repeating signs while waiting for an elevator.
His bodyguards eventually learned some too.
Carlo could sign “coffee.”
Nico learned “danger,” “leave,” and, for reasons he refused to explain, “chicken.”
Even Rosa began learning phrases.
The house changed.
Beatatrice changed most of all.
She talked more.
Not aloud.
With her hands.
Without hesitation.
Without waiting to see whether someone could follow.
Harper had forgotten how beautiful fluent signing could be.
Language became movement.
Emotion lived in eyebrows, shoulders, speed, pauses.
Sometimes she watched Beatatrice and saw Leo.
Those moments hurt.
But the pain no longer made her want to run.
Roman noticed.
He noticed everything about Harper.
The way she tucked hair behind her ear when nervous.
The way she drank tea only after it became lukewarm.
The way she hated compliments.
The way she refused every offer he made that involved money.
That last part irritated him.
One evening he placed an envelope on the table.
“What’s that?” Harper asked.
“Payment.”
“No.”
“You’re teaching me.”
“I offered.”
“You’re spending eight hours a week doing it.”
“Your mother feeds me enough to compensate.”
“That isn’t compensation.”
Harper slid the envelope back.
“No.”
Roman pushed it toward her.
“Yes.”
She pushed it back.
“Roman.”
“Harper.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
She stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Roman stared at her.
She grabbed her bag.
“Sit down.”
“That only works on your employees.”
“Apparently not even all of them.”
Harper headed toward the door.
Roman moved around the table.
“I’m trying to pay you for your time.”
“And I’m telling you I don’t want your money.”
“Why?”
“Because then this becomes a transaction.”
His expression changed.
Harper swallowed.
She had not intended to reveal that much.
Roman spoke quietly.
“And what is it now?”
She looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
That answer followed them for days.
At Laura, things became strange too.
Word had spread that Harper was connected to Roman Moretti.
Suddenly Paul stopped criticizing her.
Customers who had ignored her began remembering her name.
Greg returned from suspension and treated her with exaggerated politeness.
She hated all of it.
One Friday evening she found Greg in the service hallway.
“Can we talk?”
Harper crossed her arms.
“About?”
“That night.”
She waited.
Greg looked uncomfortable.
“I was an ass.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might make this easier.”
“You want honesty.”
He sighed.
“I deserved that.”
Harper softened slightly.
Greg continued.
“I took an ASL class.”
That surprised her.
“What?”
“An introductory class. Online.”
He awkwardly raised his hands.
Sorry.
The sign was clumsy.
But correct.
Harper stared.
Greg shrugged.
“Mrs. Moretti said ignorance could be corrected.”
Harper felt something warm in her chest.
“She was right.”
“I know.”
For the first time, Harper smiled at him without resentment.
Then the lights in the hallway flickered.
Greg looked up.
A second later, the fire alarm began screaming.
Employees rushed from the kitchen.
Paul shouted instructions.
Harper moved toward the dining room.
Then she smelled smoke.
Not kitchen smoke.
Electrical.
Thick.
Dangerous.
“Everybody outside!” Paul yelled.
Customers began panicking.
Harper helped an elderly couple toward an exit.
Smoke spread rapidly from the service corridor.
Someone had already called 911.
Within seconds, sprinklers activated.
Water rained from the ceiling.
People screamed.
Then Harper heard Greg yell.
“Harper!”
She turned.
A young dishwasher named Mateo stood near the kitchen entrance pointing frantically.
“My sister!”
“What?”
“She came to get me! She’s in the employee locker room!”
The hallway was filling with smoke.
Paul grabbed Harper.
“Do not go back there.”
Harper hesitated.
Then Mateo screamed his sister’s name.
“Sofia!”
Harper pulled free.
She ran.
“Harper!”
Smoke burned her eyes immediately.
She covered her mouth with her sleeve and stayed low.
The employee hallway had almost disappeared beneath gray-black smoke.
“Sofia!”
No answer.
Harper reached the locker room.
Locked.
She hit the door.
“Sofia!”
A faint pounding answered.
Harper grabbed the handle.
Nothing.
She backed up.
Before she could kick it, someone appeared through the smoke.
A huge figure.
Roman.
Harper thought she was hallucinating.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Roman slammed his shoulder into the door.
Once.
Twice.
The lock broke.
A teenage girl crouched inside, coughing.
Roman lifted her.
“Move!”
They ran.
By the time they reached the street, firefighters were arriving.
Harper stumbled onto the sidewalk.
Roman handed Sofia to a paramedic.
Then he spun toward Harper.
His face was furious.
“What were you thinking?”
“A girl was trapped!”
“You ran into a burning building.”
“So did you!”
“That’s different.”
Harper stared at him.
“How?”
Roman opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Water dripped from his hair.
Soot covered one side of his face.
His expensive suit looked destroyed.
Harper suddenly started laughing.
Roman glared.
“What is funny?”
“You look terrible.”
He stared at her.
“You nearly die, and that’s what you say?”
“I didn’t nearly die.”
A firefighter walked past.
“You two got out just in time. Ceiling came down in that corridor thirty seconds later.”
Harper stopped laughing.
Roman’s expression became terrifyingly still.
The firefighter continued away.
Roman looked at Harper.
“Thirty seconds.”
“I heard him.”
“You could have died.”
His voice had changed.
The anger was still there.
But beneath it was something Harper had not expected.
Fear.
“Roman—”
“You could have died.”
Harper’s chest tightened.
He stepped closer.
“Do you understand what that would have—”
He stopped.
Harper whispered, “What?”
Roman’s jaw clenched.
Sirens flashed across his face.
He looked away.
Then Harper noticed several black vehicles parked down the block.
“You were here already.”
Roman nodded.
“Why?”
“I was coming to see you.”
“At work?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He reached into his ruined jacket.
He removed two tickets.
They were soaked.
Harper carefully took them.
Lincoln Center.
A touring orchestra.
Leo had loved classical music because he could feel the vibration when sitting close enough to the stage.
Harper had mentioned that once.
Weeks ago.
Roman remembered.
“I thought you might like it,” he said.
Harper stared at the ruined tickets.
“You bought these for me?”
“For us.”
Her heart beat faster.
“That sounds like a date.”
Roman met her eyes.
“It was supposed to.”
Harper had no answer.
He stepped closer.
For once, Roman Moretti looked uncertain.
“If you don’t want that, say so.”
Harper thought about every reason she should refuse.
His reputation.
His world.
His power.
The danger that seemed to move with him like a shadow.
Then she thought about him learning sign language late at night because he wanted to speak with his mother.
She thought about him running into smoke after her.
She thought about two ruined tickets hidden inside an expensive jacket.
“I want that,” she said.
Roman’s expression changed.
“Really?”
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
A slow smile appeared.
Then Beatatrice arrived.
Her sedan barely stopped before she climbed out.
Roman frowned.
“Who called my mother?”
Carlo quietly moved away.
Beatatrice saw Harper covered in soot.
Her face transformed into horror.
She hurried over.
Are you hurt?
Harper immediately signed.
I’m okay.
Beatatrice grabbed her shoulders.
Then she turned toward Roman.
You let her go into a fire?
Roman stared.
“I didn’t let her do anything.”
Harper interpreted.
Beatatrice pointed sharply at him.
Your job is protecting people.
Roman looked offended.
“She ran in before I got there!”
Harper struggled not to smile.
The most feared man in the city was being publicly scolded by a seventy-year-old woman in pearls.
Then Beatatrice hugged Harper.
Harper closed her eyes.
For one moment, surrounded by smoke, firefighters and sirens, she felt something she had not felt since Leo died.
She felt as though someone would notice if she disappeared.
Not because she missed work.
Not because rent went unpaid.
Because she mattered.
When Beatatrice released her, Roman was still watching.
Harper looked at the destroyed tickets.
“Your date is ruined.”
Roman shrugged.
“I’ll buy new tickets.”
“You always solve everything with money?”
“Not everything.”
“What can’t you buy?”
His eyes held hers.
“You.”
Harper’s breath caught.
Roman stepped closer.
“And apparently that is becoming a problem.”