Chapter 2: The Emerald Dress

At exactly 5:43 the following evening, Sadi stood in the foyer of her tiny apartment staring into a cheap full-length mirror.

She felt sick.

Her stomach churned with dread and a bizarre, terrifying adrenaline.

She wore a deep emerald-green dress. It wrapped around her waist, plunged slightly at the neckline, and fell in heavy, elegant folds to her calves.

She had bought it three months earlier, promising herself she would lose ten pounds before wearing it.

She had not lost a single ounce.

Yet now, looking at herself, she saw that the rich green complemented her dark hair. The cut hugged her hips in a way that made her appear lush rather than merely heavy.

Her hands still shook as she adjusted the strap.

What was she doing?

She was taking a mobster to a country club.

She was going to end up in jail.

Or worse, she would be humiliated when Roman realized how absurd the entire situation was and abandoned her.

A low, heavy engine rumbled outside, vibrating the apartment windows.

Sadi looked through the blinds.

A matte-black SUV idled at the curb.

It resembled a military vehicle stripped of its turrets.

She grabbed her clutch and went downstairs, heels clicking loudly against the concrete steps.

As she reached the bottom, the driver’s door opened.

Sadi stopped.

Roman Rossi stepped onto the cracked pavement.

The contrast was jarring.

He belonged to darkness, mahogany rooms, and cigar smoke.

Under the fading afternoon sun, he seemed far too real.

Roman wore a dark navy suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone.

He did not look like a thug.

He looked like old, dangerous money.

He did not smile when she approached.

He simply looked at her.

His dark eyes swept from the crown of her carefully styled hair down to her green heels. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before his expression flattened into absolute indifference.

“You’re wearing green,” he observed, opening the passenger door for her.

“Is that a problem?” Sadi asked defensively, sliding into the leather seat.

“No,” Roman said, closing the door with a solid, reassuring thud. “It suits you.”

He slid into the driver’s seat, the cabin immediately filling with the scent of him—leather, cedarwood, and clean linen.

As they pulled away from the curb, Sadi clutched her small handbag in her lap.

“I sent the text to my mother,” she whispered.

“And?”

“I told her we’re sitting at table four. She replied with five question marks and a warning that the seating charts were laminated.”

A low rumble of amusement vibrated in Roman’s chest.

“Tell her we’ll cover the lamination fee.”

The drive to Naperville took forty minutes. Most of it passed in silence, save for the low hum of the engine and the faint strains of classical music playing on the radio. Sadi stared out the window, watching the city give way to manicured lawns, sprawling country clubs, and expensive suburban homes.

“Are you nervous?” Roman asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Terrified,” Sadi admitted honestly. “Not of you. Well, a little of you. But mostly of them. My family has spent my entire life pointing out every single flaw I have. My mother thinks love is a performance review.”

Roman kept his hands steady on the steering wheel.

“People like that look for targets because they’re terrified of their own emptiness,” he said quietly. “Let them look.”

Sadi glanced sideways at him.

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“My father was a very demanding man,” Roman said flatly. “He believed weakness was a contagious disease. I cured myself of it early.”

There was no self-pity in his voice. Just cold, absolute fact.

It made Sadi’s chest ache in a strange, unexpected way.

“Well,” Sadi murmured, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her knees. “Tonight, you aren’t running a criminal empire. You’re just a corporate consultant dating a chubby maid.”

Roman turned the SUV into the grand, stone-pillared entrance of the Oakridge Country Club.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Sadi,” he said, putting the vehicle in park and turning to look directly at her. His gaze was fierce, pinning her in place. “You are many things. Chubby is a descriptive word. But never use it as an insult to yourself again. You are a striking woman. Act like it.”

Before Sadi could process the fierce heat rising in her cheeks, Roman unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out of the SUV, and walked around to open her door.

He extended a large, warm hand.

Sadi took it.

As her fingers slid into his, sending a jolt of electricity straight up her arm, Roman pulled her gently out of the car. He did not let go of her hand. Instead, he laced his fingers firmly through hers, his thumb brushing reassuringly over her knuckles.

“Remember,” Roman murmured as they walked toward the glowing glass doors of the country club. “I am entirely devoted to you. Try to look like you can barely stand to be away from me.”

Sadi swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and lifted her chin.

“Show-off,” she muttered.

“Always,” Roman replied.