Chapter 2 - THE RECONSTRUCTION
Roman slowly pulled off his heavy leather gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his overcoat. His boots made a crisp, echoing sound against the polished Carrara marble as he stepped deeper into the entrance hall. Every detail he passed shattered a memory he had carried for three years.
He looked at the soaring arched doorway leading toward the dining hall: the rotted velvet drapes had been replaced by heavy, tailored linen curtains in deep forest green. The plaster moldings along the high ceiling—once crumbling into dust from ceiling leaks—had been meticulously recarved and painted in pristine off-white.
Beside the roaring fire, resting on a thick woven Persian rug, a massive golden retriever raised its head. The dog let out a soft, contented sigh, thumping its tail twice against the floor before resting its chin back on its paws, completely unfazed by the presence of the feared crime boss.
On a low oak side table near the staircase sat a wooden basket filled with children's building blocks, a small stuffed velvet bear, and a scattered pair of tiny woolen mittens drying near the hearth.
Roman walked past the desk, his sharp gray eyes sweeping toward the rear corridor that led to the kitchen wing. Through the open archway, he caught a glimpse of copper pans gleaming against freshly tiled subway walls, and a large wooden cooling rack holding four golden loaves of freshly baked sourdough bread.
Behind Evelyn, down the grand hall, two young children—a little girl in a pink sweater and a slightly older boy in a navy cardigan—sprinted past the open doorway, their bare feet slapping softly on the warm wood, giggling as they chased a rolling wooden hoop before disappearing toward the library.
Roman turned back to face Evelyn. He stood over her desk, his broad frame casting a long, dark shadow across her financial ledgers.
"What happened here?" Roman asked. The cold, commanding edge had returned to his tone, but beneath it lay a deep, unsettled confusion.
Evelyn picked up a small silver bookmark, slid it between the pages of her ledger, and closed the thick leather book with a decisive, soft clack. She rested her forearms on the desktop, leaning back slightly in her leather armchair, staring up at him without a single flicker of intimidation.
"The better question," Evelyn said quietly, her voice smooth and measured, "is why you came back."
Roman’s jaw tightened. "I own this house, Evelyn."
"You abandoned this house, Roman," she corrected instantly, her tone dry and matter-of-fact, as if stating a routine business transaction. "There is a distinct legal and practical difference. When you drove out of the gates three winters ago, the roof in the west wing was caving in, the pipes in the cellar were frozen solid, and the caretaker had resigned because his checks bounced."
"I left you an allowance," Roman stated flatly.
"You left me three thousand dollars a month and an unheated estate in the middle of a blizzard, assuming my lungs would give out before the spring thaw," Evelyn replied calmly. She didn't sound bitter; she sounded entirely amused by his miscalculation. "You expected to receive a call from the local coroner within six months informing you that Grayhaven Manor was yours to liquidate. Isn't that right?"
May you like
Roman did not deny it. He stood motionless in his long dark coat, his pale eyes searching her face.
The fragile, timid woman he had married nine years ago—the sickly daughter of a bankrupt shipping merchant who spoke in whispers and apologized for taking up space—was gone. In her place sat a woman who looked at one of the most dangerous men in the state as if he were an uninvited guest who had neglected to wipe his boots.
