Chapter 6
The private office was a sanctuary of dark leather and polished wood, bathed in the same bright, natural cinematic light that filled the rest of the mansion. Roman poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a crystal glass, but he didn't drink it. He stared at the liquid, the sheer magnitude of the betrayal echoing in his mind.
"I worked double shifts at a diner just to afford her winter coats," Nora whispered, sitting on the edge of a plush leather sofa, pulling Sophie onto her lap. "We lived in a studio apartment in the narrows. We had nothing, Roman. When the rent was due, and I had to skip meals so she could eat... I hated you. I hated you for dying and leaving us alone."
Roman closed the distance between them. He knelt down on the expensive Persian rug, ignoring the sharp crease in his tailored trousers. He reached out, his powerful hands gently framing her face. His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones.
"I was in a coma for two months after the ambush," Roman said, the controlled pauses returning as the heavy weight of his mafia life pressed down on him. "When I woke, my mother provided forged banking documents. She provided witness statements from my own men. She isolated me. She told me you took a payoff and vanished."
Nora gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. "My god. She is a psychopath."
"She is a traditionalist," Roman corrected coldly, his sharp eyes darkening. "And she is going to pay for every single day she stole from us."
"You will never skip a meal again," Roman vowed, his voice a low, raspy whisper that vibrated with absolute sincerity. "You own everything I have. Every dollar, every property, every man who works for me. It is all yours."
Nora leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as a fresh wave of tears escaped. "I don't want the money, Roman. I don't want the mafia. I just wanted my family back."
"You have me," Roman said, resting his forehead against hers. "But the mafia is what I am now. I cannot step down. If I show weakness, they will kill us all."
Sophie shifted on her mother's lap, her tiny, dirty hands reaching out to touch the fabric of Roman's dark suit.
"Are you really my Daddy?" Sophie asked innocently, her bright blue eyes wide.
"I am, little bird," Roman murmured, his cold eyes softening entirely. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean, white linen handkerchief. Very gently, he wiped the smudges of dirt from her fair, rosy cheeks. "And I am never going away again."
A soft, respectful knock at the heavy double doors broke the intimate moment. Roman pulled back slightly, his expression instantly shifting back into the cold, authoritative Mafia Boss.
"Enter," Roman commanded.
Marcus stepped into the room, his face grim and serious. He closed the door securely behind him.
"Boss," Marcus said, his American accent tight with tension. "We secured your mother in the basement holding cells as requested. But we have a major problem brewing."
"Speak," Roman ordered, his jaw tightening.
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"I had my financial guys dig into the offshore accounts she mentioned," Marcus reported, holding a leather folder. "The fifty thousand a month... it didn't go into a family trust, Roman. She wasn't just hiding the cash."
Roman stood up slowly, his towering, deeply masculine frame radiating an aura of impending violence. "Where did it go, Marcus?"
