Chapter 7 - The Uncle Who Claimed He Came to Save Me
Luca Romano arrived the next morning.
He did not sneak in.
He did not call.
He walked into the lobby of the federal building with three attorneys and requested to see his niece.
Me.
Agent Mercer, the lead investigator assigned to the Romano ledgers, advised against it.
Nico advised much more colorfully against it.
I agreed to the meeting.
Nico stared at me.
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of men knowing my family history before I do.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“So could you.”
“That is becoming your favorite argument.”
“It works.”
He exhaled.
The meeting took place in a federal conference room.
Glass walls.
Cameras.
No weapons.
Luca Romano entered at 11:18 a.m.
He was fifty-eight.
Silver at the temples.
Dark eyes.
Elegant suit.
He looked like my mother.
Not exactly.
But enough to hurt.
His eyes filled when he saw me.
“Nora.”
I remained seated.
“Sit.”
He did.
Nico stood near the wall.
Luca looked at him.
“Antonio’s son.”
Nico’s expression hardened.
“You seem to know a lot of dead men.”
“I knew your father well.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Luca looked back at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not finding you sooner.”
“You knew where I lived.”
His face tightened.
“Edmund controlled access.”
“I attended Columbia.”
“I know.”
“You could have walked onto campus.”
“I was trying to keep Victor from knowing I was alive.”
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“So your plan failed.”
Nico’s mouth almost moved.
Luca noticed.
“Something amusing?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I interrupted.
“Why did you call Thomas now?”
“Because you are turning twenty-eight.”
“Money.”
His face changed.
“Freedom.”
“My mother used the same word.”
He looked surprised.
“You found Evelyn’s letter.”
“Yes.”
Tears entered his eyes.
“She prepared everything.”
“Did you help?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you save her?”
The question hurt him.
I did not regret it.
“I tried.”
“So did everyone after it was too late.”
Luca looked down.
“Evelyn refused to leave without you.”
“I was sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“Why couldn’t she take me?”
“Edmund had your passport.”
“He had guards.”
“Then why not police?”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“Victor had police.”
I thought of the ledgers.
Fair.
“And you?”
“I had weapons.”
“That didn’t save her either.”
“No.”
Silence.
I looked at him.
“Did you order Marco’s attack?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Edmund to transfer eight million?”
“No.”
“Do you want the Romano reserve?”
“I want you to accept it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He smiled sadly.
“You are Evelyn’s daughter.”
“Answer.”
“No. I cannot control the principal.”
“But you’re trustee.”
“Until your birthday.”
“Can you benefit?”
“No.”
“Then why did my mother warn me about you?”
His face changed.
“Did she?”
“She said Victor wanted the ledger destroyed. You wanted it exposed.”
“That is true.”
“Why?”
“Because those people killed our family.”
“Some of those names might also expose innocent relatives.”
“Truth has consequences.”
“So does revenge.”
Luca leaned back.
“You sound like her.”
“People keep saying that.”
“I suppose you hate it.”
“I don’t know her well enough to know whether it’s a compliment.”
Pain crossed his face.
Good.
My mother had become mythology to everyone.
To me, she was a woman who tucked blankets around my feet.
Sang badly while cooking.
Forgot where she placed reading glasses.
Cried once when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I wanted her human.
Not saint.
Not Romano princess.
Not murdered heiress.
Human.
“Who took the recent photographs of me?”
Luca’s expression changed.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Victor says everyone lies.”
“Victor lies even when truth would serve him better.”
Nico spoke.
“That part is accurate.”
Luca looked at him.
“You married her.”
“Yes.”
“Under coercion.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I’m fixing it.”
“How?”
Nico’s jaw tightened.
“None of your business.”
“It becomes my business if you touch her trust.”
Nico stepped forward.
I raised one hand.
Both men stopped.
That nearly made me laugh.
Two mafia families.
One raised finger.
Maybe my mother would have enjoyed the sight.
“Nico cannot access my trust,” I said.
Luca looked surprised.
“You read the documents.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Did you know my father hurt me?”
His face went white.
That answer told me.
“You knew.”
“Evelyn suspected—”
“After she died.”
“I saw reports.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I tried to contact you.”
“When?”
“Your first year at Columbia.”
My memory shifted.
A man had approached me outside a campus café.
My father’s security pulled me away.
They said he was a stalker.
“That was you?”
“No. Someone I sent.”
“What happened to him?”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Edmund’s men beat him nearly to death.”
My stomach twisted.
“I stopped sending people because I thought it increased danger to you.”
“So you watched.”
“Yes.”
“The photographs.”
He froze.
There it was.
Nico straightened.
Luca closed his eyes.
“You took them.”
“Some.”
I felt sick.
“You had me followed.”
“To keep you alive.”
“No.”
“Nora—”
“No. Do not use protection as a synonym for surveillance.”
He flinched.
“The recent photograph?”
“Yes.”
“So someone from your organization followed me into the Ferrara estate.”
“Yes.”
Nico’s voice became deadly.
“Who?”
“A man named Adrian Vale.”
Sal, standing outside, was summoned.
Luca provided a photograph.
Sal recognized him.
One of the temporary security contractors hired after Marco’s crash.
A Ferrara employee.
Inside Nico’s house.
My skin crawled.
“Where is he now?”
No one knew.
Nico called security.
Adrian had failed to report that morning.
His apartment was empty.
His phone dead.
Luca looked at me.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By infiltrating my husband’s security?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t see anything wrong with that?”
“I see many things wrong with it.”
“Then why?”
“Because I did not trust Ferrara.”
Nico laughed coldly.
“Mutual.”
I stood.
“I am leaving.”
Luca rose.
“Nora.”
I turned.
“You want a relationship with me?”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
“Then no more watching.”
He nodded.
“No people following me.”
“Yes.”
“No hidden guards.”
“Yes.”
“No decisions made because you think you know what I need.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“You get one chance.”
His breath caught.
“One.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t.”
I left.
Nico followed.
In the hallway, he said, “You handled that well.”
“I’ve had practice with controlling men.”
He winced.
“That included me.”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
We walked toward the elevator.
“Nico.”
“Yes?”
“What happens to our marriage?”
He stopped.
I had avoided the question since the wedding.
Too much happened.
Now there was silence between crises.
Dangerous.
“You tell me.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Why?”
“Because you created it.”
His face tightened.
“You’re right.”
He looked at me.
“I signed divorce documents this morning.”
My chest did something unexpected.
“What?”
“They’re with my attorney.”
“You already signed?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“I’m not filing them without your consent.”
“But you signed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So you know leaving is real.”
I stared.
“You could have told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Something inside me hurt.
Ridiculous.
I wanted freedom.
I had demanded choice.
And now that he placed the exit in front of me, some part of me hated seeing it.
Trauma does not make feelings logical.
“Do you want the divorce?”
Nico was quiet.
“No.”
My heartbeat changed.
“But what I want matters less than whether you can ever look at me without remembering the night I treated you like something I owned.”
I looked away.
“I remember.”
“I know.”
“You stopped.”
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I will live with that.”
Silence.
Then I asked, “Why don’t you want the divorce?”
His gaze held mine.
“Because somewhere between seeing your scars and watching you hit Victor Barone with a thirty-year-old crime ledger, I fell in love with you.”
I stared.
No dramatic music.
No candlelight.
Just fluorescent federal hallway lighting.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough to want to.”
“That is not love.”
“Maybe not.”
He exhaled.
“Then call it the beginning of something I have no right to ask for.”
My throat tightened.
“Nico.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“Good.”
“I mean it.”
The elevator opened.
We entered.
Neither spoke.
At the lobby, Sal approached quickly.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Adrian Vale was found.”
“Where?”
“Hudson River.”
My stomach dropped.
“Dead?”
Sal nodded.
“Shot twice.”
Nico’s face hardened.
“Anything on him?”
“A phone.”
“Usable?”
“Federal tech is working on it.”
Sal looked at me.
“And a photograph.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Who?”
He handed Nico an evidence copy.
My father.
Edmund Ashford.
Standing beside Adrian.
Timestamped three days before the wedding.
I stared.
My father had claimed he did not know who ordered Marco’s attack.
Now one of the men watching me had met him days earlier.
“Nora,” Nico said carefully.
I barely heard.
Because there was writing on the back of the photograph.
My father’s handwriting.
May you like
One sentence.
IF NORA MARRIES FERRARA, PHASE TWO BEGINS.
