Chapter 5 - The Betrayal Inside the House
Harper reached her mother’s room expecting chaos.
Instead she found Evelyn Hayes sitting peacefully beside the window doing a crossword puzzle.
Four Moretti security men occupied the hallway.
Her mother looked up.
“Well. You finally brought a man to meet me.”
Harper stopped.
“Mom.”
Evelyn looked past her.
Roman entered.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Oh.”
Harper knew that expression.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Roman approached.
“Mrs. Hayes.”
“Evelyn.”
He extended his hand.
She ignored it and looked at Harper.
“Is this your boss?”
“No.”
Roman answered simultaneously.
“Yes.”
Harper turned.
“I do not work for you.”
“Not yet.”
Evelyn smiled.
“I like him.”
“Mom.”
“What? He’s handsome.”
Roman’s mouth twitched.
Harper wanted the floor to swallow her.
Then she remembered why they were there.
“Someone tried to get into your room.”
Evelyn’s humor disappeared.
“What?”
Roman explained only what she needed to know.
There had been a security concern.
She would be moved temporarily.
Evelyn looked at Harper.
“This is about Leo, isn’t it?”
Harper froze.
“How do you know?”
Her mother set down the crossword.
“Because a man came asking about him last week.”
Roman’s expression sharpened.
“What man?”
“He said he was writing an article about deaf teenagers and community programs.”
“Name?”
“Daniel Price.”
Roman looked at Nico.
Nico was already typing.
“No journalist by that name matching the description.”
Evelyn swallowed.
“I told him Leo had left boxes in storage.”
Harper closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
Roman crouched beside Evelyn.
“Did you tell him where?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His tone was unexpectedly gentle.
Evelyn studied him.
“You’re Roman Moretti.”
Harper held her breath.
“Yes.”
“I remember your father.”
Roman’s face tightened.
“So do I.”
Evelyn reached for his hand.
“Whatever your family did or didn’t do, my son trusted your mother.”
Roman looked down at her hand.
“I intend to find out what happened to him.”
“Then do it without losing another child.”
Her eyes shifted toward Harper.
Roman understood.
So did Harper.
That afternoon Evelyn was moved to the Moretti estate.
Harper objected.
Her mother accepted enthusiastically after seeing the garden.
Beatrice welcomed her like an old friend.
Within an hour, the two women had established an odd communication system involving written notes, Harper’s interpreting, and aggressive card games.
Roman found Harper standing in the hallway watching them.
“They like each other.”
“My mother likes everyone.”
“Mine doesn’t.”
Harper glanced at him.
“Wonder where she gets that.”
He smiled.
It was becoming easier for him.
That worried Harper more than his anger had.
Roman Moretti was easier to resist when he looked dangerous.
Much harder when he looked human.
That evening she found him alone in the kitchen.
Not the formal dining room.
The kitchen.
He was making coffee.
“You know how to operate appliances?”
“Barely.”
Harper leaned against the counter.
“Your mother asked me to teach you sign language.”
Roman stopped.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Harper smiled.
“Afraid?”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Then learn.”
Roman set down his cup.
“Fine.”
Harper stood opposite him.
“We’ll start simple.”
She showed him:
Mother.
He copied it.
“Again.”
He did.
“Good. Now family.”
Roman followed.
“Home.”
Again.
“Safe.”
His fingers stumbled.
Harper reached out automatically and adjusted them.
Their hands touched.
Neither moved.
The kitchen suddenly felt very quiet.
Roman looked down at her.
Harper’s pulse changed.
She stepped back.
“That’s better.”
“Next word.”
She considered.
“Sorry.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“Useful for you.”
“I rarely apologize.”
“I noticed.”
She demonstrated.
Roman copied.
Then Harper taught him:
I love you.
Roman recognized that one.
“I know it.”
“Show me.”
He did.
Perfectly.
Harper’s expression softened.
“You already learned.”
“My mother taught me that.”
“Why didn’t you learn the rest?”
Roman looked away.
For a moment, Harper thought he would avoid the question.
Then he said, “Because I was angry.”
“At her?”
“At everything.”
He leaned against the counter.
“My father had just died. Half the men around me were waiting to see whether I was strong enough to replace him. Then my mother lost her hearing. I thought money could fix it.”
“It couldn’t.”
“No.”
“So you hired people.”
“Yes.”
“Instead of learning how to meet her where she was.”
Roman’s eyes met hers.
“Yes.”
There was no defensiveness.
That surprised Harper.
“I failed her.”
“You can stop failing her.”
Roman absorbed that.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
His eyebrow rose.
“You’re demanding.”
“I learned from your mother.”
They practiced for an hour.
Roman was terrible.
Then less terrible.
Then surprisingly competent.
At midnight, Beatrice entered.
Roman did not notice her.
Harper did.
She stayed silent.
Roman practiced a sentence.
Mother, I am learning.
Beatrice covered her mouth.
Roman turned.
He froze.
For once, the feared Roman Moretti looked uncertain.
Then he raised his hands.
Slowly.
Mother.
I should have learned before.
I am sorry.
Beatrice began crying.
Roman stopped.
Harper whispered, “Keep going.”
His hands trembled.
I love you.
Beatrice crossed the kitchen.
She wrapped her arms around him.
Roman closed his eyes.
Harper turned away because the moment belonged to them.
But Beatrice reached out and grabbed Harper’s hand too.
She pulled her into the embrace.
Harper laughed through tears.
For one strange moment, three people who had lost pieces of their families stood together in a kitchen after midnight.
Harper felt something she had not felt since Leo died.
Belonging.
And that frightened her.
Later, Roman walked her toward the guest wing.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“My mother.”
“She did the hard part.”
“No. You walked into a room where everyone else was afraid of me and remembered she was the person who needed help.”
Harper looked at him.
“You were terrifying.”
“Were?”
“Don’t get excited.”
He smiled.
They stopped outside her room.
Roman lifted a hand.
Harper thought he was going to touch her face.
Instead he signed:
Good night.
Harper smiled.
Good night.
Then Roman’s phone rang.
Nico’s voice was loud enough for Harper to hear.
“Boss, we found Carlo Bianchi.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“Where?”
“Queens.”
“Bring him.”
“Boss…”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“What?”
“He’s dead.”
Harper felt cold.
Nico continued.
“And whoever killed him left something for you.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of who?”
Nico hesitated.
“Harper.”
May you like
Roman looked directly at her.
And whatever tenderness had been in his eyes disappeared beneath something far darker.
