Chapter 2 - SHOW TEETH
Dominic Russo’s smile never reached his eyes.
He stood close enough that Norah could smell expensive cologne and something darker beneath it—cigar smoke, maybe, or the kind of old leather that lived inside private clubs where waiters knew not to repeat what they heard.
“How does a woman like you end up with a brute like Roland?” Dominic asked.
Then, with a pleasant little tilt of his head, he added, “He has never been known for a delicate touch.”
Norah felt Roland’s hand settle more firmly against the bare skin at the base of her back.
Not possessive.
A signal.
Remember the script.
Show teeth.
So she smiled.
“I have never had much use for delicate men.”
Dominic’s eyebrows rose.
Roland’s thumb moved once against her skin.
Approval.
Or warning.
Norah was beginning to understand that with Roland Hayes the two could feel remarkably similar.
Dominic laughed.
“Interesting.”
“Is it?”
“You are not what I expected.”
“That sounds like a problem with your imagination.”
For half a second, the older man’s amusement disappeared.
Then it returned.
Sharper.
Roland lifted his glass.
“She warned you.”
Dominic looked between them.
“Three months, you said?”
Norah’s stomach tightened.
Nobody had said that aloud yet.
Dominic knew the cover.
Of course he did.
The people in this room probably collected information the way normal people collected restaurant points.
“Long enough,” Roland said.
“To do what?”
“Become bored by questions.”
Dominic smiled again.
Then his gaze dropped to the diamonds around Norah’s throat.
“Beautiful piece.”
Norah touched the heavy collar lightly.
“Borrowed.”
Roland’s expression did not change.
Dominic’s did.
Too late, Norah remembered the rule.
Publicly, she was supposed to look close to Roland.
Women close to men like Roland did not announce jewelry was temporary.
She recovered.
“Until I decide whether I like it.”
Roland looked at her.
Dominic laughed.
There.
The mistake became character.
The woman who could make Roland Hayes buy diamonds and still refuse to be impressed.
Dominic raised his champagne.
“I like you.”
“That makes one of us.”
He laughed harder.
Roland leaned toward her ear.
“Careful.”
His breath warmed the skin beneath the diamond collar.
Norah kept smiling.
“Camouflage,” she whispered.
“You are setting the forest on fire.”
“Still camouflage if nobody sees us.”
Roland almost smiled.
Dominic noticed.
That was the point.
The older man’s face changed subtly.
Interest became calculation.
Good.
Maybe Roland had been right.
People who believed him incapable of attachment would spend the evening wondering why a broke woman in a black dress could make him look almost human.
“Enjoy the gala,” Dominic said.
Then his eyes settled on Norah once more.
“And be careful with this one.”
He nodded toward Roland.
“He has a habit of making temporary arrangements permanent.”
Roland’s expression hardened.
Dominic walked away before either could answer.
Norah waited until he disappeared into the crowd.
“Friendly.”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
Roland removed his hand from her back.
She had not realized how aware she had become of it until the warmth vanished.
“Who is he?”
“Dominic Russo controls port contracts from Newark to Baltimore.”
“That sounds legitimate.”
“It is.”
She looked at him.
“And?”
“And legitimacy is useful camouflage.”
Norah smiled.
“So you do believe in camouflage.”
“I believe in surviving.”
Before she could answer, a photographer approached.
“Mr. Hayes.”
Roland turned.
Flash.
Norah barely had time to arrange her face.
Another camera.
Another.
A woman in a gold dress asked how long they had been together.
“Three months,” Norah said smoothly.
“Where did you meet?”
“Chelsea gallery.”
“What was he buying?”
Norah froze.
Roland had not told her the painting.
A trap inside the script.
The reporter smiled slightly.
Norah looked at Roland.
He gave nothing away.
Of course.
Fine.
She looked back at the reporter.
“A terrible abstract piece in blue and white.”
Roland’s eyes sharpened.
“I told him it looked like an expensive argument with gravity.”
The reporter laughed.
“And he bought it anyway?”
“No.”
Norah smiled at Roland.
“He bought the painting beside it.”
“What was that one?”
“A woman smoking on a balcony.”
She had invented everything.
Roland raised his drink.
“Still overpaid.”
The reporter laughed again.
Cameras flashed.
As soon as they moved away, Roland leaned toward her.
“There was a blue-and-white abstract.”
Norah looked at him.
“What?”
“At the Chelsea gallery three months ago.”
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“And the painting beside it?”
“Woman smoking on a balcony.”
She stopped walking.
Roland stopped too.
“You actually bought it?”
“Yes.”
“That is creepy.”
“It is coincidence.”
“You have a frightening definition of coincidence.”
He resumed walking.
“You are doing well.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“No.”
“Coward.”
His eyes moved to her.
For one heartbeat the ballroom disappeared.
Then a waiter passed and the moment broke.
Norah took champagne she did not need.
The next hour was performance.
A banking executive asked what she curated.
“Contemporary photography.”
A senator’s wife asked whether Roland was romantic.
Norah answered, “Only with contracts.”
A venture capitalist asked whether Roland was difficult.
She said, “Only when conscious.”
Every time, people laughed.
Every time, Roland looked less like an untouchable criminal and more like a man being tolerated by a woman who could leave him.
It worked.
She hated how much she enjoyed that.
Not the attention.
The competence.
For years Liam had made her feel inadequate whenever she earned less, complained, asked questions, or failed to laugh at one of his jokes.
Tonight, people with private jets were trying to understand her.
And she was not shrinking.
At ten-forty, she escaped to a powder room.
She stood before the mirror and exhaled.
The woman staring back looked nothing like the woman who had drunk vodka from a chipped mug the night before.
That should have felt empowering.
Instead, for one brief second, it frightened her.
Was this woman real?
Or was she another costume somebody else had chosen?
The bathroom door opened.
A woman entered.
Late twenties.
Red hair.
Emerald dress.
She washed her hands without looking at Norah.
Then said, “He will get bored.”
Norah glanced over.
“Excuse me?”
“Roland.”
The woman dried her hands.
“They always think they are different.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Good.”
The woman finally looked at her.
“You should keep it that way.”
She walked out.
Norah remained at the mirror.
When she returned to the ballroom, Roland saw her immediately.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That is not true.”
She accepted another champagne from a waiter.
“Some redhead told me you get bored.”
Roland’s eyes went toward the crowd.
“Describe her.”
“Red hair. Green dress. Charming personality.”
His jaw tightened.
“Vivienne Cross.”
“Ex?”
“No.”
“That sounded defensive.”
“She works for Dominic.”
Norah’s humor disappeared.
“What does she do?”
“Intelligence.”
“Meaning?”
“She collects weaknesses.”
Norah looked toward the powder room entrance.
“Did I just become one?”
Roland’s answer came too quickly.
“No.”
She studied him.
“You should not lie to your camouflage.”
He looked at her.
“You are not a weakness.”
“What am I?”
He hesitated.
That frightened her more than the answer.
Before he could speak, the room changed.
It happened without announcement.
A ripple near the main entrance.
Security men touched earpieces.
Dominic Russo turned.
Roland’s posture hardened.
A man stepped into the ballroom.
Cheap suit.
Wet hair.
Angry face.
Norah’s stomach dropped.
“Liam.”
Roland became absolutely still.
Liam saw her.
Then the diamonds.
Then Roland.
His face twisted.
He crossed the ballroom before security could intercept him.
“Nora.”
He always dropped the h when angry.
Norah hated that.
“Liam.”
“What the hell is this?”
Cameras turned.
Guests noticed.
Roland quietly set his glass down.
Liam pointed at Norah’s dress.
“At the necklace.”
Then at Roland.
“You leave one night and suddenly you’re dressed like a whore for some rich—”
Roland moved.
Not fast.
Worse.
Calmly.
He stepped between them.
“Finish the sentence.”
Liam recognized him then.
Not the name.
The kind of man.
His anger faltered.
“You’re Hayes.”
“Yes.”
Norah could see the moment Liam understood the wrong number had never been random enough to be safe.
“You threatened me.”
Roland’s expression did not change.
“I did no such thing.”
“Your guys came to the garage.”
“They asked a question.”
“One broke my phone.”
“You should buy a sturdier phone.”
Several nearby people pretended not to listen.
Norah felt every camera.
Liam looked at her.
“This is pathetic.”
Old instinct hit.
Explain.
Apologize.
Reduce the temperature.
She nearly obeyed.
Then Roland’s voice from the car returned.
Vultures only attack things already dying.
Show teeth.
Norah lifted her chin.
“You cheated on me.”
Liam laughed.
“Because you stopped caring.”
“No.”
Her voice stayed even.
“You cheated because you wanted to.”
His face hardened.
“You want to do this here?”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
It surprised her too.
He stepped closer.
Roland did not move.
Norah spoke around him.
“You left another woman’s earring in my bathroom.”
“It was Thomas’s girl.”
Norah froze.
“What?”
Liam realized the mistake.
Roland turned slightly.
“What did you say?”
Liam’s face went pale.
The room around them seemed to retreat.
Roland asked again.
“Thomas’s girl.”
Liam swallowed.
“I don't know.”
“You just said you did.”
“I was angry.”
Norah stared.
“Who is Thomas?”
Roland had told her.
The runner whose burner number Liam bought.
The man skimming collections.
Liam knew more than he claimed.
Roland’s voice became very quiet.
“How do you know Thomas?”
Liam backed up.
“I bought a number from him.”
“No.”
Roland shook his head once.
“You knew which phone he carried.”
Liam looked at the exits.
Wrong move.
Two security men appeared.
Dominic Russo watched from across the room.
Smiling.
Norah saw it.
Roland saw it too.
Something clicked in his face.
“This was arranged.”
Liam said nothing.
Roland looked toward Dominic.
The older man lifted his glass.
A salute.
Norah’s skin went cold.
The wrong number.
Thomas’s burner.
The earring.
The Post-it.
Her breakup message.
Was any of it accidental?
Roland looked back at Liam.
“Who paid you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Norah stepped around Roland.
“Liam.”
He looked at her.
For three years she had known his tells.
The jaw.
The fake laugh.
The right shoulder pulling backward when he was about to lie.
It moved now.
“You knew whose number you gave me.”
“No.”
“You wanted me to text it.”
“No.”
“You knew I would find the earring.”
His eyes flickered.
There.
Norah felt sick.
“You left it there.”
Liam whispered, “Nora.”
“You left it there on purpose.”
Roland’s face hardened.
Norah stepped closer.
“Why?”
Liam stared at her.
Then at Dominic.
That was enough.
Roland turned.
Dominic was already walking away.
“Stop him.”
Security moved.
The ballroom erupted.
Guests backed away.
Dominic reached the terrace doors before Roland’s men blocked him.
He smiled.
“Really?”
Roland crossed the room.
Norah followed despite every instinct telling her not to.
Dominic looked at her.
“Very good.”
She hated him immediately.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing irreversible.”
Roland’s voice turned dangerous.
“You used Thomas’s phone.”
Dominic shrugged.
“Thomas needed money.”
“He worked for me.”
“Past tense, I assume.”
Roland stepped closer.
“Why her?”
Dominic looked at Norah.
That answer mattered.
He smiled.
“She has no idea.”
Norah’s stomach dropped.
“No idea about what?”
Dominic reached into his tuxedo.
Security raised weapons.
He moved slowly.
Pulled out a photograph.
Placed it on a nearby table.
Norah looked.
A young woman stood outside an art gallery.
Dark hair.
Thin smile.
She looked like Norah.
Not exactly.
Enough.
Roland stopped breathing.
Norah looked at him.
“You know her.”
He did not answer.
Dominic did.
“Her name was Evelyn Hart.”
Norah stared.
“My mother’s maiden name was Hart.”
Roland closed his eyes for half a second.
Dominic smiled.
“Exactly.”
Norah’s skin went cold.
“My mother had a sister.”
She had been told Aunt Evelyn died before Norah was born.
Car accident.
Roland looked at the photograph.
Not grief.
Something worse.
Guilt.
Norah whispered, “You knew my aunt.”
Roland finally looked at her.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dominic answered first.
“She worked for him.”
Norah stared at Roland.
He did not deny it.
Dominic continued.
“And sixteen years ago, she died because of him.”
The ballroom disappeared.
Norah looked at the man who had invited a stranger to his penthouse after a wrong-number breakup text.
A man who had known her family before she knew his name.
The diamond collar suddenly felt too tight.
“You knew who I was.”
Roland’s expression changed.
“No.”
“When?”
“Not until tonight.”
“Convenient.”
“It is the truth.”
Dominic laughed softly.
Norah looked at him.
“Why set this up?”
His smile vanished.
“Because Evelyn Hart left something behind.”
Roland went still.
“What?”
Dominic looked at Norah.
May you like
“Something your mother has spent sixteen years hiding.”
Then every light in the ballroom went out.
