Chapter 4 - The Bargain of Hanover Street
Clara held the heavy oilcloth package tighter against her ribs, feeling the burden of her father’s dangerous legacy pressing into her bones. "If I hand this ledger over to you, what happens to my shop? What happens to my home?"
Roman took a slow step closer, his presence radiating an undeniable warmth against the cellar’s damp chill. He reached out with one gloved hand, his long fingers gently brushing a stray strand of dark hair away from her face. The gesture was surprisingly tender for a man whose name struck terror into the hearts of city officials.
"If you give me the ledger," Roman said softly, his voice dropping into a solemn vow, "your father's debts are canceled immediately. The mortgage on this building will be paid off in full by morning. The title deed will be placed exclusively in your name by noon tomorrow. No loan shark, no developer, and no syndicate enforcer will ever set foot on your property again."
Clara looked down at the black oilcloth wrapping. "And if I choose to keep it?"
"Then I park my men at both ends of Hanover Street," Roman replied without hesitation. "And I stay right here until you realize that you can trust me to keep you safe."
She looked back up, meeting his silver gaze. She saw no cruelty in him, only the heavy, exhausting weight of a man who had spent his entire life commanding monsters in the dark and was now reaching toward something genuine in the light.
Slowly, deliberately, Clara extended her arms and placed the heavy, leather-bound ledger directly into Roman's waiting hands.
Roman took the weight of the book, his bare fingers brushing against hers. He held it for a moment, acknowledging the immense trust she had just placed in him, before tucking it securely inside the inner pocket of his heavy wool overcoat.
"A wise choice, Miss Evans," Roman murmured. "Now go back upstairs, lock your apartment door, and get some rest. My security detail will be stationed in the alley all night."
"Roman," she called out just as he turned toward the wooden stairs.
He paused, looking back over his dark shoulder. "Yes?"
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"Don't get killed out there," she said softly. "I'd hate to lose my highest-paying customer."
Roman laughed—a low, genuine sound that seemed to warm the icy basement air. "I will be back at eight sharp, Clara. Make sure those cinnamon rolls are hot."
