Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss Discovered His Former Fiancée Had Been at the Fire—Then the Plus-Size Maid Remembered the Face She Had Tried to ForgetNorah stared at the photograph.
A black sedan stood near the rear entrance of the apartment building.
Snow covered the sidewalk.
Smoke rose behind the windows.
And beside the car stood a young woman in a dark coat.
Vanessa Caruso.
Nineteen years old.
Beautiful.
Composed.
Watching a building burn.
Norah felt sick.
“I remember her.”
Roman looked sharply toward her.
“What?”
Norah closed her eyes.
A memory returned.
Not the flames.
Not the stairwell.
Something from before.
A woman standing near the building's rear entrance.
Talking to a man.
A black car.
A silver necklace.
Norah opened her eyes.
“She was there.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
Roman leaned forward.
“Norah, are you sure?”
She nodded slowly.
“I didn't recognize her at the gala. She looks different now.”
Mara Ellis studied her carefully.
“What do you remember?”
Norah took a breath.
“I was coming home from work. It was around six in the evening.”
She looked at the photograph.
“There was a black car parked near the alley. A young woman stood beside it.”
Mara nodded.
“What was she doing?”
“Arguing with someone.”
“Who?”
Norah closed her eyes.
The memory was fragmented.
A tall man.
Dark coat.
Angry voice.
The woman shaking her head.
Then—
“She said something.”
Mara leaned forward.
“What?”
Norah swallowed.
“She said, 'There are still people inside.'”
Silence.
Roman's expression hardened.
Mara continued gently.
“And the man?”
Norah shook her head.
“I can't remember.”
She looked down.
“I tried to forget that night.”
Mara nodded.
“That's understandable.”
Norah stared at the photograph.
Then something else returned.
A flash of silver.
A ring.
A large black stone.
Her heart quickened.
“The man had a ring.”
Mara looked up.
“What kind?”
“Silver. With a black stone.”
Roman went completely still.
Norah noticed.
“What?”
He looked toward Teresa.
His mother had gone pale.
“Roman?” Norah asked.
He swallowed.
“My uncle wore a ring like that.”
Norah stared at him.
“Your uncle?”
Roman nodded.
“Giorgio Bellandi.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
The room became silent.
Because suddenly, the fire wasn't simply connected to the Caruso family.
It might also involve someone inside the Bellandi family.
Giorgio Bellandi had died five years earlier.
At least, that was what Roman believed.
He had been his father's younger brother.
A businessman.
A gambler.
A man whose charm concealed a talent for destroying everything he touched.
Roman remembered him as unpredictable.
Dangerous.
And always desperate for money.
But the possibility that Giorgio had been involved in the fire shocked him.
He looked at Teresa.
“Did you know?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Mom.”
Her eyes filled.
“I suspected.”
Roman stared at her.
“Suspected what?”
Teresa looked toward Norah.
Then whispered, “That Isabella's death wasn't an accident.”
Roman felt cold.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Teresa's voice broke.
“Because your father told me to stop asking questions.”
Silence.
Roman stared at his mother.
His father, Carlo Bellandi, had died three years earlier.
He had ruled the family through fear.
He had demanded loyalty.
And he had never tolerated disobedience.
Roman had spent years trying to change the organization he inherited.
Now he was discovering that the violence of the past had reached deeper into his family than he imagined.
Teresa continued.
“After the fire, I received a letter.”
Roman frowned.
“What letter?”
She looked down.
“Someone claimed Isabella had discovered something dangerous.”
Norah's stomach tightened.
“What?”
Teresa shook her head.
“I never knew.”
Mara Ellis leaned forward.
“Do you still have the letter?”
Teresa hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
Roman stared at her.
“Mom.”
She began crying.
“I was afraid.”
He softened.
“Of what?”
“Of losing you too.”
For a moment, Roman said nothing.
Then he reached for her hand.
“You should have told me.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
The letter was hidden inside a jewelry box in Teresa's bedroom.
The paper had yellowed.
The ink was faded.
But the message remained readable.
ISABELLA FOUND THE ACCOUNTS.
SHE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO DIE.
ASK GIORGIO ABOUT THE BUILDING.
Roman stared at the words.
Norah felt cold.
Isabella.
The little girl's mother.
Had discovered financial records.
And then the building burned.
Mara photographed the letter.
“We'll examine it.”
Roman looked at his mother.
“Who sent it?”
Teresa shook her head.
“There was no name.”
Norah stared at the paper.
Something bothered her.
The handwriting.
The shape of the letters.
She leaned closer.
“I've seen this before.”
Mara looked up.
“Where?”
Norah frowned.
“I don't know.”
She studied the handwriting.
The capital A.
The narrow S.
The unusual way the writer crossed the letter T.
Then she remembered.
Her aunt.
Margaret Bennett.
The woman she had lived with before the fire.
Margaret had been a bookkeeper.
She had worked for several property management companies.
And she had died in the same fire.
Norah looked up.
“My aunt.”
Roman frowned.
“What?”
“She wrote like this.”
Mara leaned forward.
“Are you saying your aunt wrote the letter?”
Norah nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
Silence.
Teresa covered her mouth.
Norah felt the room tilt.
Her aunt had known.
She had known Isabella discovered something.
She had known Giorgio was involved.
And she had tried to warn Teresa.
But she died before anyone could act.
Norah closed her eyes.
For thirteen years, she had believed Margaret was simply another victim of a tragic accident.
Now she understood that her aunt might have been killed because of what she knew.
The investigation widened.
Financial records from the old property company were recovered.
Former employees were interviewed.
Insurance documents were examined.
And gradually, a picture emerged.
Isabella Bellandi had discovered that Giorgio and Dominic Caruso were using a network of real estate companies to conceal illegal payments.
The West Addison building was one of those properties.
Margaret Bennett had helped Isabella review the accounts.
Together, they had uncovered evidence of fraud.
They planned to report it.
Then the fire happened.
Norah sat beside Roman as Mara explained the findings.
Her hands trembled.
“My aunt was helping Isabella?”
Mara nodded.
“Yes.”
Norah looked down.
“She never told me.”
Mara's expression softened.
“She may have been trying to protect you.”
Norah laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps protecting me by keeping secrets.”
Roman looked at her.
She met his eyes.
He nodded slowly.
“You're right.”
Norah swallowed.
“I don't want any more secrets.”
Roman reached for her hand.
“Neither do I.”
Three days later, Vanessa Caruso was arrested.
The news spread through Chicago's social circles like wildfire.
The beautiful heiress.
The former fiancée of Roman Bellandi.
The woman who had humiliated a maid at an engagement party.
Now facing questions about a thirteen-year-old fire.
Norah watched the news from the estate's sitting room.
Vanessa appeared outside a courthouse.
Her face was pale.
Her attorney stood beside her.
Reporters shouted questions.
“Did you know people were inside the building?”
“Were you involved in the fire?”
“Did you deliberately alter the evacuation notice?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Then a reporter asked:
“Why did you attack Norah Bennett at the engagement party?”
Vanessa stopped walking.
For one second, her expression changed.
Then she looked directly into the camera.
And smiled.
Norah felt cold.
Because she recognized that smile.
The same smile Vanessa wore before tearing her uniform.
The smile of someone who believed she still held power.
That evening, Norah found Roman in his office.
He stood beside the window.
A glass of untouched whiskey rested on the desk.
She approached quietly.
“Roman?”
He turned.
His expression softened.
“Norah.”
She looked at the glass.
“Bad day?”
He laughed bitterly.
“You could say that.”
She sat opposite him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Roman said, “I almost married her.”
Norah looked down.
He continued.
“I knew she was ambitious. I knew she could be cruel. But I convinced myself it didn't matter.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought the marriage would stabilize the family.”
Norah studied him.
“And now?”
He looked at her.
“Now I wonder how many people I ignored because they weren't powerful enough to make me listen.”
Norah felt her throat tighten.
Roman continued.
“You were one of them.”
She looked up.
He shook his head.
“I saw you working here for months. I knew you were competent. Kind. Reliable.”
His expression softened.
“But I didn't really see you.”
Norah swallowed.
He continued.
“And when Vanessa humiliated you, I realized how much I'd allowed people around me to get away with.”
Norah looked down.
“I didn't need you to rescue me.”
“I know.”
She looked up.
“I needed someone to believe me.”
Roman nodded.
“I do.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he reached across the desk.
“Norah.”
She looked at him.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
Her heart stopped.
“What?”
He smiled nervously.
“A real dinner.”
She stared at him.
“Roman, I'm your employee.”
“I know.”
“And your family is involved in a criminal investigation.”
“I know.”
“And you just ended an engagement.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Norah crossed her arms.
“Then why are you asking?”
Roman looked at her.
“Because I like you.”
Her heart hammered.
He continued.
“Not because you saved Lily. Not because I feel guilty about what happened.”
He smiled softly.
“Because you're intelligent, funny, stubborn, and kinder than most people I've ever met.”
Norah felt tears rise.
She looked away.
“Roman...”
He leaned back.
“You can say no.”
She looked at him.
He continued.
“And if you do, nothing changes about your job or how you're treated here.”
Norah studied his face.
For years, she had been taught that powerful men always wanted something.
Control.
Obedience.
Gratitude.
But Roman was offering her a choice.
And that made the question feel different.
She smiled faintly.
“Ask me again after the investigation.”
Roman smiled.
“Fair.”
That night, Norah received a message from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph.
A photograph of her aunt Margaret.
Standing beside Isabella Bellandi.
Both women smiling.
Both holding a folder.
Norah stared at the image.
Then another message appeared.
YOUR AUNT DIDN'T DIE IN THE FIRE.
Norah stopped breathing.
A third message followed.
SHE WAS TAKEN.
And then:
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHERE SHE IS, COME ALONE.
Norah stared at the screen.
Her heart hammered.
May you like
Because suddenly, the past had opened another door.
And behind it might be someone she had spent thirteen years mourning.
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