Chapter 7 - When the Rain Came Back
Three months later, rain returned to the city.
Sadi Morgan stood inside the Harbor Room wearing a fitted black manager’s jacket instead of a diner uniform.
Her bruises were gone.
Her ribs had healed.
Her shoulder still complained when the weather changed, but Dr. Bennett said that would fade.
The restaurant was full.
A senator waited twenty minutes because Sadi refused to move another customer’s reservation.
A celebrity complained about a table.
Sadi told him the table didn’t care.
Roman watched from the private dining room.
Marcus stood beside him.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’ve been observing for eighteen minutes.”
Roman looked at him.
Marcus lifted both hands.
“I’m leaving.”
Sadi entered carrying paperwork.
“You rejected another VIP?”
“He arrived forty minutes late.”
“He’s a senator.”
“He can legislate himself a new reservation.”
Roman sat back.
“You’re terrifying my customers.”
“They tip better afterward.”
His phone buzzed.
Roman glanced at the screen.
Then smiled.
“What?” Sadi asked.
He handed her the phone.
A message from Ben.
THREE MONTHS CLEAN. FIRST DEBT PAYMENT DONE. ALSO PITTSBURGH STILL SUCKS. CALL SUNDAY.
Sadi stared at it.
Roman watched her.
“He’s doing well.”
“He complains constantly.”
“That means he’s alive.”
Her smile faded into something quieter.
“Yes.”
Roman stood.
“Walk with me.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
They left through the rear entrance beneath an umbrella.
Sadi stopped when she realized where they were going.
The alley behind Dempsey’s.
Her breathing changed.
Roman noticed.
“We can leave.”
“No.”
“Sadi.”
“I said no.”
They walked farther.
The dumpster was gone.
The broken cleaning jug was gone.
Dempsey’s Market had closed.
A new sign hung over the service entrance.
Sadi read it.
MORGAN COMMUNITY KITCHEN
She looked at Roman.
“What is this?”
“A nonprofit kitchen.”
“Roman.”
“It serves free meals at night.”
“Roman.”
“And offers emergency support for restaurant and service workers who—”
She turned fully toward him.
“You did this?”
Roman hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the building was for sale.”
“That isn’t why.”
“No.”
Rain tapped on the umbrella.
Sadi looked toward the place where she had once believed nobody would come.
“You bought the whole building?”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’ve heard that.”
She shook her head.
“You named it Morgan?”
“Your brother suggested it.”
“Ben knew?”
“For two months.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line.”
Sadi laughed.
Roman handed her a key.
She stared at it.
“What?”
“The kitchen needs someone on the board who understands what it’s like to work double shifts and still worry about rent.”
Sadi looked at him.
“This is real?”
“Yes.”
“No hidden contract?”
“No.”
“No debt?”
“No.”
“No favor I owe you?”
Roman’s eyes held hers.
“Nothing.”
She closed her fingers around the key.
Across the alley, headlights passed.
For one instant, Sadi remembered that night.
Cold pavement.
Rain in her mouth.
Tommy’s voice.
Forty-eight hours.
She looked at Roman.
“You know what’s strange?”
“What?”
“I thought this alley was where my life ended.”
Roman stepped closer.
“It almost did.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“It was where the old one ended.”
Roman was quiet.
Then he said, “Sadi.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve spent three months trying not to make your life complicated.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“How’s that going?”
“Badly.”
She smiled.
Roman continued.
“I don’t know how to do normal.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t date.”
“Also noticed.”
“I don’t trust easily.”
“Definitely noticed.”
He took a breath.
Sadi waited.
Roman Hail, the man politicians returned calls to, the man grown men feared disappointing, looked almost uncomfortable.
Sadi enjoyed it enormously.
“Are you going to ask me something?”
“Yes.”
“Eventually?”
Roman gave her a look.
She smiled.
He finally said, “Dinner.”
“We own a restaurant.”
“Not there.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you choose.”
“Is this a date?”
“Yes.”
Sadi pretended to consider.
Roman’s confidence cracked slightly.
She enjoyed that even more.
“Friday.”
His expression changed.
“Friday?”
“Seven thirty.”
“I’ll send a car.”
“No.”
Roman blinked.
“No?”
“You pick me up yourself.”
“In what?”
“Something that doesn’t look like it transports presidents or bodies.”
Roman stared at her.
“That limits my garage significantly.”
Sadi laughed.
“Figure it out.”
She started walking toward the street.
Roman followed beneath the umbrella.
Halfway there, she stopped.
“Roman?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
His expression softened.
“For the kitchen?”
“For stopping the car.”
He looked back toward the alley.
Then at her.
“You told me not to touch you.”
“I remember.”
“You also told me to stay away.”
“I remember that too.”
“You were difficult from the beginning.”
Sadi stepped beneath the umbrella until her shoulder brushed his.
“And yet here you are.”
Roman smiled.
“And yet here I am.”
They walked out of the alley together.
Behind them, lights came on inside the Morgan Community Kitchen for the first time.
Ahead of them, the rain continued falling over the city.
But this time Sadi was not alone in it.
And Roman Hail—the man everyone believed feared nothing and needed no one—finally understood that finding her beside that dumpster had not made him her rescuer.
It had simply forced two people who had spent years surviving alone to stop walking past each other.
On Friday night, Roman arrived at Sadi’s apartment in an ordinary black sedan.
No convoy.
No guards at the door.
No armored limousine.
Sadi stepped outside, looked at the car, and smiled.
“You actually listened.”
Roman opened the passenger door.
“Don’t get used to it.”
She climbed in.
“Where are we going?”
Roman walked around the hood.
“Dinner.”
“Expensive?”
“Probably.”
“Pretentious?”
“Definitely.”
“Good coffee?”
Roman stopped.
Sadi grinned.
He shook his head.
“I can still cancel.”
“No, you can’t.”
Roman got behind the wheel.
Sadi looked at him.
“Roman?”
“What?”
May you like
“Drive.”
And for once, the most feared man in the city did exactly what he was told.
