Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Knew How My Father DiedBy ten o'clock Friday night, I had learned three things about the Romano family.
First, their secrets were more dangerous than their enemies.
Second, nobody in that house seemed capable of having an ordinary conversation.
And third, Massimo Romano was much harder to hate when he stopped pretending he had all the answers.
We met Investigator Maya Torres in a private conference room above an attorney's office in downtown Chicago.
She was a federal investigator assigned to a joint financial-crimes task force, with dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and the kind of expression that suggested she had heard every possible lie and wasn't impressed by any of them.
She didn't seem particularly intimidated by Massimo.
That immediately made me like her.
"Mr. Romano," she said, taking her seat.
"Investigator."
"Your attorney informed us that you have information concerning fraudulent real estate transfers and potential threats against several witnesses."
"Yes."
"And you're voluntarily bringing it to us?"
"Yes."
Maya looked at him for a long moment.
"That's unusual."
Massimo didn't smile.
"I'm aware."
She opened her notebook.
"Let's start with Miss Miller."
I spent nearly forty minutes explaining everything.
My father's death.
The greenhouse.
Elena's warning.
The duplicate security badge.
The unauthorized floral shipment.
The forged property deed.
By the time I finished, my throat hurt.
Maya had asked questions throughout, but she hadn't interrupted unnecessarily.
When I showed her Dad's letter, she read it carefully.
Then she looked at me.
"Have you kept these documents in your possession since finding them?"
"Mostly. We made copies at my office."
"We'll need to establish how they were found and preserve the originals properly."
"Will they help?"
"Potentially. But I want to be clear about something."
She folded her hands.
"A handwritten note identifying a suspect isn't the same as proof of murder. And irregular business records don't automatically establish who ordered a fire."
I nodded.
"I understand."
"That doesn't mean your father's concerns were unfounded. It means we need independent evidence."
Massimo leaned forward.
"How quickly can you act?"
Maya looked directly at him.
"That depends on what we can corroborate. We can investigate threats and preserve records immediately. Search warrants and arrests require specific legal grounds."
"And the gala?"
"If there's credible evidence of an immediate danger, we'll involve local authorities and the fire department. But I won't use a charity event as bait."
I felt a wave of relief.
For the first time, someone was treating the situation as something that needed to be investigated rather than controlled.
Adriana handed over copies of the partnership agreement and the property transfer.
Maya studied the signatures.
Then she looked at Massimo.
"You're saying you didn't sign this?"
"Correct."
"Would you submit handwriting samples?"
"Yes."
"Would you authorize an independent review of the affected accounts?"
"With counsel present, yes."
Maya made a note.
I looked at him in surprise.
He noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sophie."
"I just wasn't expecting you to cooperate."
"Neither was she," he said, glancing toward Maya.
The investigator didn't deny it.
Instead, she asked him something I hadn't considered.
"Mr. Romano, are you prepared for this investigation to uncover crimes committed by people working under your authority?"
Massimo went still.
I watched him.
It would have been easy for him to make a speech about loyalty.
To insist his family was innocent.
To claim everything was someone else's fault.
Instead, he said, "If crimes were committed, they should be investigated."
Maya leaned back.
"Even if that includes you?"
A long silence followed.
Finally, Massimo answered.
"Even then."
I believed he meant it.
What frightened me was how much it might cost him.
We left the meeting with a plan.
Maya would begin verifying the property records and financial transfers.
Her team would coordinate with local authorities about the security breach at the Romano estate.
We were to preserve the originals, keep our phones available, and report anything suspicious.
My employees would provide statements about the deliveries and break-in.
Elena would also be interviewed.
And the gala would not proceed without an independent security and fire-safety assessment.
It wasn't a dramatic solution.
Nobody stormed a warehouse.
Nobody made a threatening phone call.
But it was the first time I felt as though someone was actually trying to stop the people responsible.
Outside, Chicago was cold and windy.
I pulled my coat tighter.
Massimo walked beside me.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
I looked at him.
"Excuse me?"
"Have you eaten?"
I tried to remember.
A pastry at breakfast.
Half a sandwich around noon.
Three cups of terrible coffee.
"No."
"Neither have I."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Are you asking me to dinner?"
"Yes."
"After all that?"
"Especially after all that."
I should have refused.
I was exhausted.
My father's death was suddenly under investigation.
Someone had forged my signature and threatened my employees.
And the man beside me belonged to the family at the center of everything.
But I was hungry.
And I was tired of being frightened.
So I said, "Only if we go somewhere normal."
Massimo considered that.
"Define normal."
"No private dining room. No expensive restaurant with twelve forks. No one calling you sir."
He glanced at Enzo.
"Can you find somewhere that meets those requirements?"
Enzo thought for a moment.
"There's a diner on the North Side."
"Perfect," I said.
Massimo looked as though he'd agreed to visit another planet.
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in a red vinyl booth under fluorescent lights.
A waitress named Donna brought menus.
She looked at Massimo.
Then at me.
"Coffee?"
"Please," I said.
Massimo nodded.
Donna poured two cups.
"Kitchen closes at eleven. You two better decide fast."
I almost laughed.
Nobody in the Romano mansion spoke to him that way.
I ordered a cheeseburger and fries.
Massimo ordered the same.
When Donna left, he examined the sugar packets.
"Do you come here often?" he asked.
"No. But places like this remind me of my dad."
"How?"
"After wedding deliveries, we'd stop at whatever diner was still open. He always ordered pancakes, even at midnight."
Massimo smiled faintly.
"Your father sounds like a good man."
"He was."
I looked down at the table.
"He used to leave notes in my lunch bag. Terrible jokes. Things like, 'Why did the gardener plant a light bulb?'"
Massimo raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"He wanted to grow a power plant."
Massimo stared.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a polite chuckle.
It was a real laugh.
Low and surprised.
I stared at him.
"What?"
"I didn't expect that."
"Neither did I."
He shook his head.
"That was terrible."
"Absolutely."
I smiled.
For a few precious minutes, we were simply two tired people eating dinner.
No guns.
No forged documents.
No family politics.
Just a man and a woman sharing fries.
Then I asked the question I'd been avoiding.
"Have you ever hurt someone who didn't deserve it?"
Massimo put down his burger.
He looked at me carefully.
"Yes."
I hadn't expected such a direct answer.
"Why?"
"Because I believed something I was told. Because I was angry. Because I thought fear solved problems."
"Do you regret it?"
"Every day."
I studied his face.
"Does regret change anything?"
"No."
The answer was quiet.
"Not by itself."
I looked away.
He continued.
"I grew up believing that loyalty meant protecting my family from consequences. My father taught me that. Then, near the end of his life, he began questioning everything he'd built."
"What changed him?"
"People got hurt who were never supposed to be involved."
My stomach tightened.
"Like my father?"
Massimo didn't look away.
"Possibly."
I pushed my plate aside.
"I can't pretend your family has nothing to do with what happened."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"And I can't be grateful for your help if it means forgetting what you've done."
"I don't want that either."
I looked at him.
"Then what do you want?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"To find out what happened. And to make sure it doesn't happen again."
There was something painfully sincere in his voice.
It didn't erase his past.
It didn't make him safe.
But it made him human.
We returned to the mansion shortly after midnight.
I had intended to collect my belongings and go home.
Then Lucia Romano asked to speak with me.
Alone.
She was waiting in the library.
A fire burned in the marble fireplace.
On the table sat a small black leather folder.
Lucia looked older than she had at breakfast.
Her immaculate makeup couldn't hide the exhaustion in her eyes.
"Thank you for coming, Sophie."
I remained near the door.
"What do you want?"
"To apologize."
I blinked.
"For what?"
"For the way I treated you this morning. And for something much more serious."
She opened the folder.
Inside were several old documents.
One bore my father's name.
Another contained her signature.
I stared.
"What is this?"
"A procurement authorization. Eight years ago, my husband asked me to sign a routine financial release for a company that used the South Branch warehouse."
"And?"
"I signed it."
She swallowed.
"Later, I discovered the version submitted to the insurance company included additional language authorizing shipments I had never reviewed."
"Who changed it?"
"I believe Carlo did."
My heart began pounding.
"Then why didn't you report it?"
Lucia looked toward the fireplace.
"Because two days later, the warehouse burned."
I stepped closer.
"What happened?"
"Giulio was furious. He believed someone had falsified the storage records. He told Carlo to stop the operation immediately."
"And Carlo refused?"
"Yes."
I gripped the back of a chair.
"Did your husband know my father was going to die?"
Lucia's eyes filled with tears.
"No. He was trying to prevent anyone from getting hurt."
"Then why didn't he call the police?"
"He planned to bring the documents to an attorney. But by the time he understood how serious it was, the fire had already happened."
I stared.
"That's not an excuse."
"I know."
"Two men died."
"I know."
"My father never came home."
Lucia began crying.
"I know, Sophie."
I wanted to hate her.
Part of me did.
For eight years, she had lived in this beautiful house while I struggled to keep my father's business alive.
She had worn expensive jewelry.
Hosted charity dinners.
Raised her family.
And she'd known there were questions about the fire.
Questions that might have changed everything.
"Why are you telling me now?"
She reached into the folder.
"Because Giulio left something behind."
She handed me a sealed envelope.
The front was addressed to Massimo.
The date was from four years earlier, shortly before Giulio Romano's death.
"Why didn't you give him this?"
"I was afraid."
"Of Carlo?"
She nodded.
"He threatened my sons. He said if Giulio accused him publicly, the entire family would collapse."
I looked down at the envelope.
"And you believed him?"
"I believed he was capable of doing terrible things."
I thought about my father.
The letters.
The forged documents.
The threats against Elena's daughter.
"Maybe he was."
Lucia wiped her cheeks.
"Massimo deserves to know the truth. So do you."
I took the envelope.
Then I walked out of the library.
Massimo was waiting in the hallway.
He looked from my face to the envelope.
"What happened?"
I handed it to him.
"Your mother has something to tell you."
He opened the letter carefully.
I watched his expression change as he read.
His father's handwriting filled two pages.
Most of it concerned the family business.
The people Giulio had trusted.
The mistakes he regretted.
But near the end, there was a paragraph that made Massimo stop breathing.
He read it aloud.
"Benjamin Miller was an honest man. If I had listened to him sooner, he might still be alive."
His voice broke slightly.
Then he continued.
"I have reason to believe Carlo authorized the removal of records before the South Branch fire. I cannot prove who started it. But if anything happens to me, do not let loyalty prevent you from asking questions."
Massimo lowered the letter.
His face was pale.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "He never told me."
I looked at him.
"Maybe he was trying to protect you."
Massimo shook his head.
"That's what everyone in this family says."
He looked toward the library.
"We protect each other by hiding things. We protect each other by lying. We protect each other until someone innocent pays the price."
His voice hardened.
"No more."
I believed him.
And that terrified me.
Because powerful families don't surrender their secrets easily.
I stepped closer.
"Massimo."
He looked at me.
"Whatever happens next, don't become the man you're trying to stop."
His eyes searched mine.
"Why do you care?"
The question caught me off guard.
I could have said I didn't.
I could have reminded him that we'd known each other for less than two days.
I could have walked away.
Instead, I said, "Because I think there's a better man underneath all the things you've been taught to be."
Massimo looked at me as though nobody had ever said something like that to him before.
For one suspended moment, I thought he might kiss me.
I wasn't certain I wanted him to.
I wasn't certain I didn't.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
"Enzo?"
A pause.
"Where?"
His jaw tightened.
"Don't let him leave."
He ended the call.
"What happened?" I asked.
Massimo looked toward the dark windows.
"Dominic Vale has been found."
My heart raced.
"Where?"
"At the South Branch development office."
"Did they arrest him?"
"Not yet."
He looked down at the letter.
"Enzo says Dominic was carrying a folder of documents."
"What documents?"
Massimo's expression turned cold.
"Instructions for tomorrow's gala."
I stared at him.
"And?"
He swallowed.
"One of the pages is a security schedule."
"Why is that important?"
"Because someone marked the exact time I was supposed to stand onstage."
I felt a chill.
"9:30?"
"Yes."
He looked directly at me.
"And beside my name, someone wrote one word."
I barely managed to speak.
"What word?"
May you like
Massimo's answer was quiet.
"Target."
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