Chapter 1 - THE DRESS THAT MADE ROMAN COSTA STOP BREATHING
Roman Costa had built his life around control.
He owned buildings, shipping interests, politicians’ favors, and enough secrets to make powerful men lower their voices when he entered a room. Yet for nearly a decade, nothing had made him feel truly alive.
Then, at one of his Manhattan gallery openings, he noticed a woman who clearly did not belong among the wealthy collectors and polished frauds.
Her name was Gemma.
She was an exhausted art restorer carrying supplies in an inexpensive emerald-green slip dress. Paint stained her fingers. Charcoal marked her collarbone. While crossing the nearly empty gallery, the hem of her dress caught on exposed brass hardware.
She kept walking.
The silk pulled tight before tearing violently along her thigh.
Roman watched from the mezzanine, unexpectedly shaken by the raw, unscripted moment.
Then he noticed blood on her ankle.
He approached.
Gemma was wary, especially when Roman’s holster became visible beneath his jacket, but she was too tired and cold to pretend she did not need help.
Roman gave her his black cashmere overcoat.
When Gemma protested that she could take the subway home, Roman refused.
His driver would take her.
“That isn’t up for debate.”
Only afterward did they exchange names.
The following morning, Gemma sat inside her modest Brooklyn apartment staring at Roman’s expensive coat and wondering why accepting one kind gesture from a dangerous man felt like stepping through a door she should never have opened.
Across the river, Roman sat with Dominic, his longtime underboss, discussing threats, money, and a dock dispute.
But Roman barely heard him.
His mind remained on Gemma.
The torn green silk.
Her stubborn hazel eyes.
The strange feeling that something had shifted.
Dominic finally asked whether something was wrong.
Roman said he was fine.
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Then he walked toward the penthouse windows.
And for the first time in years, Roman Costa realized he was lying.
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