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.
“Also what?”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at him.
The final twist came six months later.
Harper was in the garden with Beatrice when Roman appeared. He was holding a letter. His face was pale.
“What’s wrong?” Harper asked.
He handed her the letter. It was from the Marchettis. They were offering a truce. They were willing to end the war. They were willing to negotiate. But there was one condition.
They wanted Harper.
“She’s not a bargaining chip,” Roman said. “She’s not a hostage. She’s not a pawn. She’s family.”
Harper stared at him. “What?”
Roman looked at her. “You heard me. You’re family. You’re part of this now. And I’m not giving you up. Not to them. Not to anyone.”
Harper felt tears in her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. Because you make my mother laugh. Because you make me feel like I’m not a monster.” He took her hand. “Because I love you.”
Harper looked at him. The man who had killed people. The man who had protected her. The man who had given her a home. The man who had given her a family.
“I love you too,” she said.
Beatrice appeared in the doorway. She signed, I knew it.
Harper laughed. Roman laughed. And for the first time in a long time, the mountain fortress felt like a home.
The final image: Harper and Roman standing in the garden, Beatrice beside them, the sun setting over the mountains. The war was over. The Marchettis had been defeated. The Moretti family had survived. And Harper Hayes, the nineteen-dollar-an-hour waitress, had found something she had never expected. She had found love. She had found purpose. She had found a place where she belonged.
She was not a waitress anymore. She was not a target. She was not alone.
She was Harper Moretti. She was a wife. She was a daughter. She was a survivor. And she was finally, truly, home.
The Red Dot
