Chapter 5 - The Master’s Quarters
By midnight, the grand Bellandi estate on the shores of Lake Michigan had cleared out. The fifty high-society guests had been ushered into their limousines by security personnel, whispering frantically into their phones about the collapse of the century’s biggest mafia wedding.
Norah found herself being escorted down the private third-floor corridor—a wing of the estate she had never set foot in as a maid. Down here, the carpets were thicker, the walls lined with original Renaissance paintings, and the air smelled of sweet jasmine and amber.
“Teresa, please,” Norah pleaded as the matriarch unlocked a pair of double mahogany doors at the end of the hall. “I have a small room in the staff quarters behind the kitchen. I should just go there. I need to pack my things anyway—”
“You are not sleeping in the staff quarters,” Teresa said firmly, pushing open the doors. “And you are not packing anything. This is the east guest suite. It was redecorated last spring and has never been used.”
Norah stepped across the threshold, and her breath caught.
The suite was larger than any apartment she had ever rented. A king-sized bed sat beneath an ivory canopy, piled high with silk pillows and goose-down duvets. A roaring marble fireplace warmed the sitting area, and through French doors, a private terrace overlooked the turbulent waves of Lake Michigan.
“This is too much,” Norah whispered, pulling Roman’s heavy coat tighter around her. “I can't stay here.”
Teresa turned around, her face softening into an expression of profound tenderness. She reached out and touched Norah’s cheek with a warm, manicured hand.
“For thirteen years, Norah, I have said a prayer every single night for the girl who pulled my daughter out of that fire,” Teresa said softly. “I prayed that whoever she was, she was safe, warm, and happy. To find out you were sleeping in a cold room in my own basement while cleaning up after people who aren't fit to lace your boots… it breaks my heart. You stay here tonight. Tomorrow, a physician is coming to properly look at that shoulder, and a tailor is arriving to bring you clothes worthy of who you are.”
“Teresa—”
“No arguments,” Teresa commanded gently. “Get some rest, child. You are safe now.”
When the doors clicked shut behind Teresa, Norah stood alone in the vast room. She walked toward the grand bathroom, where a deep clawfoot tub sat beneath a crystal chandelier. Looking in the gilded mirror, she caught sight of herself.
She was exhausted. Her curly dark hair had pulled loose from its neat bun, framing her round, expressive face in wild waves. Her hazel eyes were wide and bruised with fatigue. She unbuttoned Roman’s coat and let it pool onto the marble vanity, looking at her reflection.
Her body was soft, curved, with wide hips, full breasts, and a belly she had spent years trying to conceal beneath baggy black uniforms. Across her left shoulder, the jagged, discolored scar stood out starkly against her pale skin.
*“Women who spend their lives being overlooked learn how to make powerful men feel sorry for them.”*
Vanessa’s cruel words echoed in her mind. Norah closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. She had always known what society thought of women of her size—invisible until they became inconvenient. And now, she had been thrust into the center of a brutal power struggle because of an old wound she had never asked for.
A soft knock at the terrace doors made her jump.
Norah grabbed the coat, wrapping it around herself instantly, and walked cautiously toward the French doors. Outside in the freezing rain, leaning against the wrought-iron railing with a cigarette between his lips, stood Roman Bellandi.
He had shed his suit jacket, wearing only a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tracing up his muscular arms. The cold wind whipped his dark hair across his forehead.
Norah unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Mr. Bellandi? What are you doing out there?”
Roman took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of blue smoke into the freezing night air. He flicked the butt over the railing and looked at her.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Roman said, his voice gravelly against the sound of the crashing waves. “And my bedroom is next door. I saw your lights on.”
Norah pulled the lapels of his coat closer. “You shouldn't be out here without a jacket. It’s freezing.”
Roman offered a rare, faint smirk—a flash of dangerous charm that made Norah’s pulse skip a beat. “I’ve weathered worse storms than a Chicago drizzle, Norah.”
He stepped across the threshold, not waiting for an invitation, though he kept a respectful distance of several feet between them once inside. He glanced around the suite, his eyes finally landing on her. He took in the way his massive coat hung on her voluptuous frame, the way her bare throat peeked through the collar.
“Salvatore Caruso called three of the district capos on his way home,” Roman said, his tone turning businesslike, though his eyes remained intensely focused on her. “He’s claiming I broke our agreement over madness. He’s trying to call a Commission meeting to force my hand.”
Norah felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach. “Then fix it, Roman. Call him back. Tell him it was a misunderstanding. Marry Vanessa. I can leave tonight. I can be on a bus to Denver before sunrise.”
Roman took a step toward her. The air between them suddenly felt charged with heat.
“Is that what you think this is?” Roman asked, his voice dropping low. “You think I broke off a marriage to that viper just out of gratitude?”
Norah blinked, her heart pounding against her ribs. “What else could it be?”
Roman took another step, closing the distance between them until he was standing right in front of her. He looked down at her with an intensity that made her knees feel weak.
“I never wanted Vanessa,” Roman said, each word deliberate and raw. “It was a contract arranged by my father before he died. I tolerated her because she was harmless. But tonight, when I walked into that ballroom and saw her humiliating you… when I saw you standing there, holding your dignity together while that spoiled creature tore your clothes… I realized something.”
He reached out. His fingers, warm and rough, gently brushed a loose curl of dark hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His knuckles lightly grazed her jawline, sending shivers cascading down her spine.
“What did you realize?” Norah whispered, unable to look away from his dark, burning eyes.
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“That a woman who survived what you survived—who possesses the strength, the grace, and the beauty that you carry—deserves to be worshipped, not hidden in the service corridors,” Roman murmured, his thumb resting gently at the base of her throat, right where her pulse fluttered wildly. “And no man on this earth, not even Salvatore Caruso, will ever make you feel small again.”
***
