Page 26 of Ruthless Vow
I turn to find him there, a manila folder in his hand, posture perfect.
“The Treme warehouse lease. Needs your signature before end of week.”
He steps into the room, then stops. His eyes move to Cassia. To the ledgers spread around her. To the notepad covered in her careful handwriting.
“Mrs.Santoro.” He inclines his head. Polite. Correct. “Can I help you find anything?”
She looks up at him. Her jaw sets, a micro-flinch she covers by straightening the papers in front of her.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Romano sets the folder on the corner of the desk, but his gaze lingers on the papers too long. His hand moves to his left ring finger, turning the wedding band there.
“Also, Don. That shipment delay from last week? Resolved. The Baton Rouge contact came through.”
He glances at Cassia again, at the open ledgers.
“Should I have Maria clear these away? Mrs.Santoro shouldn’t trouble herself with business matters.”
The words are reasonable on the surface. Polite enough. My back teeth grind.
“That won’t be necessary.”
A pause. Romano’s expression doesn’t change, but his nostrils flare before he nods.
“As you wish, Don.”
He leaves. His footsteps fade down the hallway.
I stare at the empty threshold. My gut won’t settle.
Romano has been with this family since before I was born. Loyal, reliable, trusted. My father relied on him through the darkest years, when grief had hollowed Salvatore Santoro into a man who stopped eating, stopped speaking, stopped being anyone’s father. Romano kept things running. Handled operations. Earned his place a thousand times over.
So why did that exchange sit wrong?
The way his eyes lingered on those papers. The way he offered to have them cleared away, too eager. The turn of his wedding ring while he spoke.
I’m being paranoid. Exhaustion and sleeplessness making shadows where there are none.
“He doesn’t like me in here.”
Cassia’s voice, quiet.
I turn to find her studying the threshold with a small frown.
“Romano? He’s harmless. Been with my family longer than I’ve been alive.”
She nods. Lets it go. But her fingers tap against the desk, a tell I’m cataloging, and she doesn’t look convinced.
“Show me what you found.”
Her head comes up. “You want to see?”
“You said the numbers were wrong. Show me.”
She hesitates. Then she’s moving, gathering papers, spreading them across the desk with the quick efficiency of someone who knows what she’s doing.
“Here.” She points to a column of figures. “Supplier payments for the last eighteen months. On the surface, everything looks normal. Standard vendors, standard amounts, standard timing.”
