Chapter 2 - THE CARDINAL SIN
The air in the private dining room felt suffocating. Roman Castiglione stared at the greasy, water-stained cardboard coaster resting against his crystal glass, then up at Norah Gallagher. The lazy amusement in his pale gray eyes had evaporated, replaced by a terrifying, razor-sharp focus. He didn't blink. He looked at her as a grandmaster looks at an opponent who has just upended the board with a single, unexpected pawn move.
Leo, the sweating accountant, looked like he was about to faint. His mouth worked silently, opening and closing like a stranded fish. He knew what Norah had just laid out wasn’t just a clever hypothetical—it was a masterclass in forensic tax evasion and multi-tiered asset structuring that rivaled top-tier Wall Street advisory firms.
"You missed a step," Roman said finally, his deep baritone cutting through the thick cigar smoke like a scalpel.
Norah didn't flinch. Her feet still throbbed, her double shift still weighed heavily on her spine, but the weariness in her eyes had been replaced by a flash of hard, defensive brilliance. She kept her tray balanced against her hip. "I gave you a three-minute audit, Mr. Castiglione. If you want a full structural proposal, my consulting fee is five hundred an hour, and I'm currently on the clock for minimum wage plus tips."
A sudden, sharp bark of laughter escaped from one of the heavy-set goons in the corner before he caught himself and choked it back under Roman's glare.
Roman leaned back slowly, lacing his long, manicured fingers together over his vest. A slow, dangerous smile crept across his lips—not the patronizing smirk he had worn minutes ago, but something far more predatory and intrigued. "Five hundred an hour is steep for a waitress, Norah. But then again, you just saved twelve million dollars from rotting in a basement and netting my organization an unnecessary federal investigation. I'd say you're underpaid."
"Just keep the food coming and leave a decent tip," Norah said flatly, turning on her heel.
"Wait." Roman's voice wasn't loud, but it held the absolute weight of command. She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. He stood up, towering over the table in his bespoke charcoal suit. He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a gold-embossed business card, and laid it neatly beside the coaster. "My card. Shift ends at midnight, right? When you walk out that back door, my driver will be waiting. We’re going to have a proper conversation."
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"I have a life, Mr. Castiglione. And an economics degree I'm paying off one semester at a time," Norah retorted, her chin lifting. "I don't do freelance work for organized crime."
"Who said anything about crime?" Roman tilted his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. "We were discussing high-volume seafood distribution and municipal bonds. Entirely legal. Think about it, Norah. Because people who know too much about my business usually end up working for me—or disappearing. I'd much prefer the former."
