Dating Roman Moretti was nothing like Harper expected.
For one thing, Roman did not actually know how to date.
He knew how to reserve restaurants.
He knew how to close entire galleries after hours.
He knew how to arrange a helicopter tour of Manhattan because Harper once mentioned she had never seen the city from above.
But ordinary things?
Those confused him.
Their third date was Harper’s choice.
A twenty-four-hour diner in Queens.
Roman stared at the laminated menu.
“This place serves breakfast at midnight.”
“That’s the point.”
“There are seventeen kinds of pancakes.”
“Also the point.”
“No security clearance?”
Harper rolled her eyes.
“Eat your pancakes.”
Roman looked suspiciously at syrup.
Harper laughed.
Eventually he laughed too.
That was the problem.
Harper was falling for him.
And she knew it.
She fought it for two months.
Then she stopped pretending.
The first kiss happened outside her apartment.
Nothing dramatic.
No rain.
No bodyguards bursting through doors.
Roman walked her upstairs.
Harper thanked him.
Roman looked at her too long.
She looked back.
Then he touched her cheek and waited.
That mattered.
A man who was used to taking waited for permission.
Harper leaned toward him.
The kiss was soft.
Almost careful.
When they separated, Roman looked shaken.
Harper smiled.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Good night, Roman.”
He stayed in the hallway until she closed the door.
The danger arrived three weeks later.
Beatatrice was hosting a charity dinner supporting a community center for deaf children in Brooklyn.
Harper had helped organize it.
Nearly two hundred guests filled a ballroom beneath massive chandeliers.
Beatatrice sat beside Harper.
Roman stood across the room talking with city contractors.
Then Harper noticed a man staring at them.
Mid-fifties.
Gray suit.
Cold eyes.
He approached.
Roman saw him.
His entire posture changed.
“Who is that?” Harper asked.
Beatatrice’s expression hardened.
Victor Salerno.
Harper knew the name.
Roman’s family and the Salernos had been business rivals for years.
Victor stopped at their table.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
Beatatrice did not smile.
Victor looked at Harper.
“And you must be the famous waitress.”
Harper disliked him immediately.
“Harper Hayes.”
“I know.”
Roman arrived.
“Victor.”
His voice contained a warning.
Victor smiled.
“Roman. Relax. This is charity.”
“You don’t belong here.”
“I donated fifty thousand dollars.”
“Get a refund.”
Victor laughed.
Then his attention returned to Harper.
“You’ve become quite important.”
Harper said nothing.
Victor leaned closer.
“Funny how quickly people rise when they choose the right company.”
Roman stepped between them.
“You have ten seconds.”
Victor raised both hands.
“I’m leaving.”
He looked at Harper once more.
“Be careful around powerful men, Miss Hayes. They’re very generous until the day they decide you know too much.”
Roman’s eyes became deadly.
Victor walked away.
Harper turned toward Roman.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
Roman glanced toward Beatatrice.
“Not here.”
Harper’s stomach tightened.
That night, Roman finally explained.
Victor Salerno had been trying to seize several shipping contracts controlled by Moretti companies. Their conflict had escalated.
“Business?” Harper asked.
“Mostly.”
“That word is doing a lot of work.”
Roman didn’t answer.
Harper crossed her arms.
“You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re leaving things out.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It absolutely is.”
Roman walked toward the window.
“I spent most of my life keeping my mother away from my problems.”
“And now?”
“Now somebody knows how much you matter to me.”
Harper became still.
Roman turned.
“That makes you leverage.”
Her throat tightened.
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m increasing your security.”
“No.”
“Harper.”
“I am not having armed men follow me to the grocery store.”
“They already do.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
Roman immediately realized his mistake.
“You have been having me followed?”
“Protected.”
“Followed.”
“From a distance.”
Harper grabbed her coat.
Roman stepped forward.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You are home.”
“No. This is your house.”
His expression tightened.
“Harper.”
“You don’t get to decide things about my life because you’re scared.”
“I get to make sure you stay alive.”
“That is not the same as controlling me.”
Roman’s jaw flexed.
For several seconds they stood facing one another.
Two people accustomed to surviving in very different ways.
Finally Roman said, “I don’t know how to do this.”
Harper’s anger faltered.
“What?”
“You.”
She waited.
Roman looked genuinely frustrated.
“I know how to protect employees. Assets. Territory. Family.”
“I’m not an asset.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
He looked down.
Harper stepped closer.
“You can tell me you’re afraid.”
Roman gave a bitter laugh.
“That isn’t something men like me survive saying.”
“To me it is.”
He looked at her.
For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Roman Moretti admitted weakness.
“I am terrified something will happen to you.”
Harper’s anger disappeared.
She touched his hand.
“Then talk to me. Don’t manage me.”
Roman nodded reluctantly.
They compromised.
One security person.
Visible.
Harper could fire him if he irritated her.
Nico volunteered.
Harper suspected Beatatrice ordered him to.
For two weeks, nothing happened.
Then Harper received an envelope at Laura.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Leo.
Harper’s hands started shaking.
It was an old photo taken outside his middle school.
She had never seen this particular copy before.
On the back were six handwritten words.
Roman ruins everything he touches. Leave.
Harper stopped breathing.
Paul found her in the service hallway.
“What happened?”
She folded the photograph.
“Nothing.”
But this was not nothing.
Roman arrived twelve minutes later.
Harper had not called him.
Nico had.
Roman entered through the kitchen.
“Where is it?”
Harper handed him the photograph.
He looked at Leo.
Then at the message.
Something terrifying crossed his face.
“Who had access to photographs of your brother?”
“I don’t know.”
“School?”
“Maybe.”
“Friends?”
“My mom.”
Roman pulled out his phone.
Harper grabbed his wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving your mother somewhere safe.”
“You are not moving my mother.”
“If Salerno knows about Leo, he knows your family.”
Harper felt cold.
For once, she did not argue.
“Is my mom in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes.”
“It means I don’t know.”
Roman’s phone rang.
Carlo.
Roman answered.
His face changed.
“When?”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
Roman held up one finger.
“Lock the property down. Nobody goes near my mother.”
Harper grabbed his arm.
“Roman.”
He hung up.
“Beatatrice?”
Roman looked at her.
“The alarm at her house was disabled twenty minutes ago.”
Harper went white.
They drove there at impossible speed.
Police vehicles were already outside.
Roman barely waited for the car to stop.
He ran.
Harper followed.
The front door stood open.
A lamp had shattered in the foyer.
“Mom!”
Roman’s voice echoed through the house.
No answer.
They found Beatatrice in the kitchen.
Alive.
Sitting at the table.
Carlo stood beside her.
Roman crossed the room in seconds.
He dropped to one knee.
“Are you hurt?”
Beatatrice shook her head.
Harper immediately signed.
What happened?
Beatatrice’s hands trembled.
A man came through the back door.
Roman turned.
“Where is he?”
Carlo said, “Gone.”
“What did he want?”
Beatatrice looked at Harper.
Then signed.
He gave me a message.
Harper swallowed.
What message?
Beatatrice’s eyes moved toward her son.
Roman’s face hardened.
Harper repeated the question.
Beatatrice signed slowly.
Tell Roman the waitress leaves him, or next time his mother disappears.
Silence.
Roman stood.
The temperature in the room seemed to fall.
Carlo watched him carefully.
“Roman.”
Roman turned toward the door.
Harper grabbed his hand.
He stopped.
She knew exactly where he wanted to go.
She also knew what might happen when he arrived.
“Don’t.”
Roman looked at her.
“They threatened my mother.”
“I know.”
“They threatened you.”
“I know.”
“I am going to end this.”
“How?”
Roman said nothing.
Harper understood.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Harper—”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her voice cracked.
“I understand exactly what happens next. You become the thing everybody expects you to be. Then somebody retaliates. Then you retaliate. Then another mother cries.”
Roman stared at her.
Beatatrice watched them.
Harper stepped closer.
“I will not let somebody use me as the excuse for you to destroy yourself.”
His eyes burned.
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Be smarter than them.”
Roman’s mouth tightened.
“This isn’t a fairy tale.”
“I know. My brother died when he was twenty. Don’t lecture me about happy endings.”
That struck him silent.
Harper’s eyes filled.
“But I also know Leo would have hated watching me spend the rest of my life letting fear make every decision.”
She pointed at the photograph.
“They want me to leave you because they believe you’ll become reckless.”
Roman looked down.
Harper continued.
“So don’t.”
Beatatrice stood.
She approached her son.
Then, very deliberately, she raised her hands.
Listen to her.
Roman looked at his mother.
Beatatrice signed again.
A powerful man destroys enemies.
A wise man stops creating them.
Roman remained silent for a long time.
Then he took a slow breath.
He put away his phone.
“Carlo.”
“Yes?”
“Call the attorney.”
Carlo blinked.
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
Roman looked at Harper.
Then at his mother.
“We do this differently.”
But outside the Moretti house, hidden across the street in a parked sedan, a camera lens captured Harper standing beside Roman.
A man lowered the camera.
He sent one message.
She stayed.
Seconds later, the reply appeared.
Then take her.