Chương 7 - THE ENTRANCE OF THE KING
The atmosphere in the room plummeted ten degrees.
Roman had changed, but he had not hidden his presence. He wore a fresh, pristine white silk shirt, left slightly open at the collar, revealing clean white medical bandages wrapped tight around his ribcage beneath his dark, open velvet jacket. His dark, swept-back hair was dried, his razor-sharp jaw clean, his ink-tattooed neck standing out in stark contrast against his white collar.
His presence was suffocating. He radiated an ancient, terrifying authority that made the grand restaurant feel small, fragile, and temporary.
Surrounding him were his three security operatives, their dark suits neat, their eyes scanning every corner of the kitchen with cold efficiency.
Roman didn't look at the copper pans. He didn't look at the fine wine bottles or the frightened chefs backing into the dishwashing station.
His dark eyes swept across the room until they locked onto Naen.
He saw her wet, disheveled hair. He saw her stained white blouse—stained with his own blood. And then his eyes drifted down to her right hand, where she clutched the damp, crumpled paycheck envelope she had just retrieved from the floor.
His gaze moved slowly to David Kesler, who was standing three feet away, holding his silver clipboard.
Roman stepped into the kitchen corridor, his boots echoing sharply against the polished floorboards.
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"Why is she leaving?" Roman asked.
His voice was not loud. It was a low, velvet baritone, raspy from his injury, but laced with a dark, crushing weight that seemed to vibrate through the walls of the restaurant.
