Chapter 1 - The Woman from Queens
Before Roman Kane entered her life, Bianca Moretti had never imagined herself inside a mansion guarded by armed men.
She had grown up in a narrow apartment above a discount pharmacy in Queens. The pipes rattled in winter, the windows leaked during storms, and the smell of fried onions from the restaurant next door settled permanently into the hallway.
Her mother, Elena, worked double shifts at a nursing home. She came home exhausted but never defeated.
“We don’t have their money,” Elena often told Bianca, “but money is not the same as worth.”
Bianca carried those words into adulthood.
By twenty-six, she was operations manager at Bellafonte, a busy restaurant near Gramercy Park. She could calm an angry customer, replace a missing delivery, reorganize a kitchen, and convince exhausted employees to survive one more dinner rush.
Then, one rainy Tuesday night, she found Roman Kane in the alley behind the restaurant.
He was sitting against the brick wall in a ruined charcoal suit, one hand pressed to his side. His face was pale, but his eyes were alert.
Bianca stopped several feet away.
“Are you being robbed?”
“No.”
“Did you rob someone?”
Roman almost smiled. “No.”
She noticed the dark stain spreading beneath his hand.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No ambulance.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
His gaze sharpened. Most people would have stepped back.
Bianca stepped closer.
“You can refuse help after I stop you from bleeding on my loading dock.”
She took him into the closed restaurant, sat him in the manager’s office, and cleaned the wound with supplies from the kitchen first-aid cabinet. It was not as serious as it looked, but it needed attention.
Roman watched her work.
“You aren’t afraid of me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“That has never stopped people before.”
Twenty minutes later, two black vehicles appeared in the alley. Men in suits rushed inside, addressing him as Mr. Kane.
Before leaving, Roman asked her name.
“Bianca.”
“Bianca what?”
“Moretti. Why?”
“So I know who saved my life.”
“I cleaned a cut. Don’t make it dramatic.”
Three weeks later, he returned to Bellafonte.
He arrived alone, wearing a dark coat and carrying no visible injury. He requested a table in Bianca’s section, though Bianca was not a server.
When she approached, he placed a small box on the table.
Inside was a new first-aid kit.
She stared at it.
“You came back to replace bandages?”
“You used your last package.”
“That is strangely observant.”
Roman looked at her for a moment. “Have dinner with me.”
“No.”
He blinked.
Bianca continued, “You appeared in an alley bleeding, refused an ambulance, and left with men who looked like they could make witnesses disappear. That is not a strong introduction.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“No.”
“Friday?”
She folded her arms. “Do you always ignore answers you dislike?”
“Only temporary answers.”
She should have remained firm.
Instead, she laughed.
Roman returned the following week, and the week after that. He never pressured her. He simply appeared, ordered coffee, and talked to her whenever she had a quiet moment.
Eventually, she agreed to dinner.
Months passed before Bianca learned the full weight of the Kane name.
The family controlled construction companies, shipping contracts, private security firms, and businesses that existed only on paper. Judges returned Roman’s calls. Politicians attended Kane charity events. Men twice his age lowered their voices when he entered a room.
One evening, Bianca asked him directly, “Are you dangerous?”
Roman did not insult her with a lie.
“Yes.”
“To me?”
“Never.”
When he proposed a year later, he did it inside the empty Bellafonte restaurant after closing. No cameras. No musicians. No crowd.
Only Roman, one ring, and the table where they had shared their first meal.
May you like
Bianca said yes.
Vivienne Kane never forgave her.
