Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Terrace
By 9:00 PM, the rehearsal dinner had devolved into the predictable, alcohol-soaked hum of upper-middle-class suburbia. Laughter echoed from the bar area, clinking silverware punctuated the speeches, and the string quartet had been replaced by a smooth-jazz playlist piped through the club's ceiling speakers.
Sadi stood out on the wide, stone-paved terrace overlooking the ninth hole of the golf course, the cool night air washing over her flushed face.
She held a flute of champagne in one hand, though she hadn't taken more than a single sip. Below the terrace, the manicured lawns stretched out into the dark shadows of towering willow trees.
The heavy glass door slid open behind her.
Footsteps approached—heavy, measured, entirely unmistakable.
"You're hiding," Roman’s voice rumbled softly against the night air.
Sadi turned her head, offering a tired, self-deprecating smile. "I’m not hiding. I’m just letting my mother recover from the heart attack you gave her during Uncle Arthur’s toast."
Roman walked up beside her, leaning his forearms against the stone balustrade. He had removed his suit jacket, leaving him in his crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the thick, corded muscle of his forearms.
"Your mother will survive," Roman noted dryly. "People like Evelyn Miller are cockroaches. They adapt to any environment."
Sadi let out a wet, genuine laugh. "Hey, she’s still my mother."
"She’s a woman who measures human worth by square footage and bank accounts," Roman countered, his tone hardening slightly. "You spent your entire life letting her convince you that you took up too much space in her world. Tonight, you proved her entirely wrong."
Sadi looked down into her champagne glass, watching the bubbles rise and burst against the surface. The adrenaline of the toast was fading, leaving behind a strange, hollow ache in her chest.
"It was a lie, Roman," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the party inside. "Tomorrow morning, you go back to your dark, dangerous empire in the North End, and I go back to scrubbing cast-iron skillets in your kitchen. This... all of this was just a transaction. An alibi for your mob business."
Roman didn't answer immediately.
He straightened up, turning his body toward her. He reached out, taking the crystal flute gently from her hand and setting it down on a nearby iron table. Then, with infinite care, he cupped her face in his large, scarred palm.
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear she hadn't realized was falling.
"Look at me, Sadi," he commanded softly.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his stormy gray eyes.
"I don't do transactions where I lose, Sadi," Roman said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her breath catch in her throat. "When I walked into that kitchen at 2:00 AM and heard you say you needed a boyfriend, I didn't see an employee asking for a favor. I saw a woman who was starving for a life she deserved."
"Roman..."
"Stay with me," he whispered, stepping closer until his chest brushed against hers. "Not just for tonight. Not just as an alibi. Stay in my house, stay by my side, and let me show you what it feels like to be treated like the only priority in the room."
Before Sadi could process the terrifying, beautiful weight of his words, the glass door behind them slid open again with a sharp clatter.
"Sadi?"
A voice cut through the cool night air.
May you like
Sadi froze.
Standing in the doorway, clutching a half-empty scotch glass and looking flushed and desperate, was Derek.
