“What happens now?”
“Now I go to war.” He paused. “But first, I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“I want you to stay. Not as a waitress. Not as a guest. As my mother’s interpreter. She needs someone she trusts. She needs someone who understands her. She needs you.”
Harper stared at him. “I don’t know sign language. Not fluently. I learned a little in college, but—”
“You learned enough to make her laugh. You learned enough to make her trust you. That’s more than anyone else has done in three years.” He leaned forward. “I’ll pay you triple what you were making at the restaurant. I’ll pay for your mother’s assisted living. I’ll pay for whatever you need. All I ask in return is that you stay with Beatrice. Keep her company. Keep her safe.”
Harper looked at him. She thought about her apartment. Her rent. Her mother. Her life. She thought about the red dot on her chest. The shattered glass. The way Roman had covered her body with his own.
“Why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”
Roman was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Because you did something no one else has ever done. You saw my mother. Not her money. Not her name. Not her power. Just her. And you treated her like a person. That means something to me.”
Harper looked at the valley. The sun was rising. The sky was pink and gold. She thought about the business card in her pocket. The one she had left on the table. The one he had given her again.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll stay.”
The next few months were strange and wonderful and terrifying. Harper learned sign language. She learned Beatrice’s moods, her jokes, her stories. She learned that Beatrice had been a concert pianist before she married Roman’s father. She learned that she had lost her hearing in a car accident when Roman was twelve. She learned that Roman had taught himself sign language so he could talk to her.
She also learned about Roman. She learned that he was not just a businessman. He was the head of the Moretti family, an organization that stretched across three continents. She learned that he had killed people. She learned that he had done terrible things. But she also learned that he loved his mother. That he protected his people. That he had a code, twisted and violent though it was, and he never broke it.
One night, she found him in the library. He was sitting in a leather chair, a book open in his lap, a glass of whiskey on the table beside him. He looked tired. He looked human.
“You’re still awake,” she said.
“I don’t sleep much.” He looked at her. “You should be in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She sat down across from him. “I keep thinking about that night. The restaurant. The gunshots. The way you covered me.”
“You saved my mother. I owed you.”
“You didn’t owe me anything. You barely knew me.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I knew enough.”
Harper looked at him. The firelight flickered across his face. He was handsome in a dangerous way, the kind of handsome that made you want to run and stay at the same time.
“Tell me something,” she said. “Why did you threaten that waiter? Greg?”
Roman’s jaw tightened. “He made a joke about my mother. He called her a burden. He said she should be in a home. He said it loud enough for her to see his lips.”
“He was wrong.”
“He was cruel.” Roman’s voice was cold. “I don’t tolerate cruelty. Not to her. Not to anyone.”
Harper was quiet. Then she said, “You’re not as terrible as you pretend.”
Roman looked at her. His expression was unreadable. “Yes, I am.”
“No. You’re not. You’re complicated. You’re dangerous. But you’re not terrible.”
He set down his glass. He leaned forward. “You should be afraid of me.”
“I am.” She met his eyes. “But I’m also grateful. And I’m also curious. And I’m also—” She stopped.
