Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Questions
I should have been afraid of Roman Moretti.
Everyone else was.
That was the first thing I learned when I entered his world.
People feared his name before they ever met him. They feared the power attached to it, the money, the influence, and the stories whispered behind closed doors.
But standing in the rain that night, with my phone still clutched tightly in my hand, I realized something I had never considered before.
Roman Moretti was not frightening because people feared him.
He was frightening because he noticed everything.
Every mistake.
Every secret.
Every weakness.
Especially mine.
“You’re protecting someone,” he said.
The words were not a question.
I looked away.
“I don’t know what you think you know.”
“I know you are lying.”
The certainty in his voice irritated me.
Maybe because he was right.
Maybe because I hated that he was right.
For months, I had worked inside Roman’s estate believing I understood the rules.
Keep quiet.
Stay professional.
Never let him see your problems.
But Roman had a way of looking at people like he could see the things they tried hardest to hide.
And right now, I was hiding everything.
My brother.
The debt.
The fear.
The fact that I was one unexpected phone call away from losing the only stable life I had left.
“I’m going back inside,” I said.
I turned toward the service entrance.
But before I could take another step, Roman spoke.
“Norah.”
I stopped.
I hated how easily my body reacted to his voice.
“Give me the phone.”
I tightened my grip.
“No.”
His expression hardened slightly.
“Why?”
“Because it has nothing to do with you.”
“That is not true.”
“It is.”
He moved closer.
The rain slid down the side of his face, following the line of the small scar near his cheek.
“You are standing in the middle of my property at midnight, using a hidden phone, avoiding cameras, and someone on the other end is scared enough to whisper.”
His eyes lowered briefly.
“You expect me to ignore that?”
I swallowed.
“You don’t get to investigate my entire life because I work for you.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
Almost like he understood.
“I didn’t say I owned your life.”
“No.”
My voice became sharper.
“But you act like you do.”
The silence between us felt heavier than the storm.
For a moment, I thought I had gone too far.
Everyone else would have apologized.
Everyone else would have stepped back.
But I was tired.
Tired of being careful.
Tired of pretending my problems were smaller just because I worked in a beautiful house.
Roman looked at me for several seconds.
Then, unexpectedly, he stepped away.
The pressure in my chest loosened slightly.
“I need to know if you are in danger.”
The honesty of his answer caught me off guard.
I expected anger.
A command.
A threat.
Not concern.
“I can handle it.”
“No.”
The response was immediate.
“You can survive it. That is different.”
I looked at him.
For some reason, that sentence hurt more than criticism.
Because it was true.
I had spent my entire life learning how to survive.
After my parents died, I learned how to stretch small amounts of money.
How to ignore exhaustion.
How to smile when everything was falling apart.
Surviving was something I knew.
Being helped was not.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I whispered.
Roman’s expression remained unreadable.
“I know you send money to someone every month.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“I know you skip meals when you think nobody notices.”
My face grew warm.
“I know you replaced your shoes three times instead of buying new ones.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
“I pay attention.”
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
I looked away.
“That’s unsettling.”
“Maybe.”
His voice softened slightly.
“But it keeps people alive.”
The rain continued pouring.
For a brief moment, neither of us spoke.
Then my phone vibrated.
Both of us looked down.
My stomach dropped.
A message.
From Ben.
I quickly tried to hide the screen, but Roman saw the panic on my face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Norah.”
I hated that he could say my name like a warning.
Like a request.
Like both.
I looked at the phone.
Another message appeared.
Ben: They know about the greenhouse.
My fingers went cold.
Roman noticed immediately.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
The answer came from fear, not anger.
Because the moment Roman saw that message, everything would change.
He would ask questions.
He would investigate.
He would find out everything.
And if he found out about Ben’s debt, he would know exactly how desperate I was.
Roman studied my face.
Then his expression changed.
The suspicion disappeared.
Something more serious replaced it.
“Someone threatened you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are afraid.”
I looked away.
That was the one thing I could not deny.
Roman reached into his coat pocket.
Not toward me.
Toward his phone.
He unlocked it and made a call.
My eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out who knows about this.”
“No.”
His gaze lifted.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need you involved.”
His expression became colder.
“Too late.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone used a blind spot in my security system.”
He looked toward the broken camera.
“It means someone knew your routine.”
A chill moved through me.
“What are you saying?”
Roman ended the call.
“I’m saying this is not just about your brother’s debt.”
I felt the world around me become quieter.
“What?”
He looked directly at me.
“Whoever is looking for your brother knows where you work.”
My heartbeat increased.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody knows.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you sure?”
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure.
Ben had been careful.
I had been careful.
But fear had a way of making people careless.
“Tell me his name.”
I looked at Roman.
“What?”
“Your brother.”
I hesitated.
“Ben.”
“Last name?”
“Bell.”
Roman repeated it quietly.
“Ben Bell.”
The way he said it made me nervous.
“You know something.”
“I know the name.”
“How?”
His jaw tightened.
“I have heard it before.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
Roman looked toward the estate.
Toward the lights glowing behind the windows.
Toward the place where he controlled every movement.
“Inside my house.”
The words froze me.
“What are you talking about?”
Before he could answer, a security vehicle appeared near the main driveway.
One of Roman’s men stepped out and hurried toward us.
The man stopped several feet away.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Roman turned.
“What?”
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“We checked the camera system.”
“And?”
“There was a manual override.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Five days ago.”
The exact day the camera broke.
My breathing became shallow.
The guard continued.
“And there’s more.”
Roman looked at him.
“Speak.”
“The person who disabled the camera had an access code.”
A long pause followed.
I felt a strange heaviness settle in my chest.
Because I understood what that meant.
This was not some random person watching from outside.
Someone inside had helped them.
Roman turned slowly toward me.
For the first time that night, I saw something dangerous in his eyes.
Not anger.
Betrayal.
Someone inside his world had opened a door.
And somehow...
I was standing on the other side of it.
“Norah,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“From this moment on, you do not leave this estate alone.”
My first instinct was to argue.
But then I saw his expression.
This was no longer about control.
No longer about curiosity.
Someone had found the weakest point in Roman Moretti’s empire.
And that weakest point was me.
“I don’t need a guard,” I whispered.
Roman looked at me.
“Yes, you do.”
May you like
The rain began to slow.
But the danger had just begun.
