Chapter 3 - The Secret Her Father Took to His GraveClare did not sleep.
At dawn, she packed a bag.
Not because she believed her mother.
Because she believed the fear in her mother's voice.
Roman arrived thirty minutes later.
His security team surrounded the building.
Clare opened the door.
“You came.”
“I told you not to open it.”
“You're not a stranger.”
Roman stepped inside.
His gaze immediately moved over the room.
Windows.
Doors.
Fire escape.
Then her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“She won't leave her house.”
“We'll get her.”
Clare stared.
“You said you didn't want me involved.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled.
Then she handed him an old photograph.
“My father.”
Roman looked.
Beside Clare's father stood Roman's father.
And a third man.
Roman's face hardened.
“That's Frank DeLuca.”
“My father?”
“My father.”
“And?”
Clare pointed.
“That's Anthony Rizzo.”
Roman went still.
“All three knew each other.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Clare's voice broke.
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
They went to Linda's house.
She finally opened the door.
When she saw Roman, she stepped backward.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn't have brought him here.”
Clare stared.
“You know him.”
Linda looked at Roman.
“I know his family.”
Roman said nothing.
Linda sat down.
“Your father was an accountant for Frank.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“He never told me.”
“He wanted you out of it.”
“What was it?”
Linda looked at Clare.
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make people kill for it.”
Linda revealed that Frank DeLuca had once controlled a smuggling network hidden inside legitimate shipping operations.
Thomas Bennett had discovered financial records proving that someone within the operation had been stealing millions.
He tried to expose it.
Instead, he was killed.
The official story was a car accident.
It had been twelve years ago.
Clare had been sixteen.
She remembered the funeral.
The flowers.
The rain.
Her mother crying behind a closed door.
Roman listened without moving.
“Who killed him?”
Linda whispered:
“I don't know.”
“Who ordered it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why bring North Harbor into this?”
“Because your father left something.”
She opened a locked cabinet.
Inside was a ledger.
Roman took it.
Numbers.
Initials.
Dates.
Payments.
Then he saw one recurring name.
R.
Another page.
A. Rizzo.
Another.
F. DeLuca.
Clare looked at Roman.
“What does it mean?”
Roman's eyes remained on the book.
“It means my father wasn't the man I thought.”
That realization hurt.
But the ledger contained more.
An account labeled:
Harbor Trust.
Roman recognized it immediately.
It had been transferred into a holding company he now controlled.
Which meant part of his legitimate empire might have been built on stolen money.
He looked at Clare.
“I need to know everything.”
She nodded.
“Then we're doing this together.”
“No.”
She crossed her arms.
“You just said you changed your mind.”
“I did.”
“Then don't change it again.”
Roman smiled faintly.
“You're very difficult.”
“You like that.”
His smile vanished.
“Yes.”
The admission hung between them.
Then the house exploded into chaos.
A car crashed through the front gate.
Gunfire erupted.
Roman pulled Clare down.
His security team moved.
Linda screamed.
Roman covered Clare with his body.
“Stay here.”
“I can help.”
“No.”
“Roman.”
He looked at her.
“Please.”
The word stunned her.
Not a command.
A plea.
He ran outside.
Minutes later, the attackers fled.
One body remained.
Roman approached the vehicle.
Inside was a photograph.
Clare and Roman together.
Taken two days earlier.
On the back:
You were warned.
Roman closed his eyes.
This was no longer about the past.
May you like
It was about them.
And someone wanted Clare dead.
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