Chapter 10 - The Family Roman Chose Instead of the ThroneFour years later, Roman Duca was awakened by a small foot hitting his ribs.
He opened one eye.
A three-year-old girl stood on his stomach.
“Daddy.”
Roman closed his eye again.
“No.”
She frowned.
“Daddy.”
“No Daddy before seven.”
She looked toward the window.
“Sun.”
“The sun does not control me.”
The bedroom door opened.
Elena entered wearing a navy suit and carrying coffee.
“Apparently Lucia disagrees.”
Roman opened both eyes.
“You sent her.”
“I did not.”
Lucia bounced.
“Mommy said wake Daddy.”
Roman stared at his wife.
Elena smiled.
“I may have provided strategic guidance.”
“Betrayal.”
“You married into it.”
“Twice.”
Lucia jumped again.
Roman caught her and rolled her beneath the blankets.
She screamed with laughter.
Elena placed his coffee on the nightstand.
Four years had changed the Duca family.
The old estate had been sold to a private educational foundation.
Roman had expected Isabella to protest.
She did.
For three months.
Then she moved into a luxury apartment overlooking Central Park and announced it was better because “old houses contain drafts and ghosts.”
Duca Holdings became entirely legitimate.
Construction.
Shipping.
Commercial property.
Restaurants.
Roman still attended board meetings.
He hated most of them.
Matteo became chief operating officer and complained constantly that legal business involved more paperwork than crime.
Roman considered this justice.
Elena finished law school.
Then passed the bar.
She created a legal aid foundation using part of the Santoro trust.
The Gabriel and Lorenzo Justice Initiative specialized in helping families affected by organized crime, corruption, coercive debt, and witness intimidation.
Roman had wanted his father’s name listed second.
Elena refused.
“Alphabetical fairness.”
“D comes before S.”
“Emotionally alphabetical.”
Roman gave up.
Gabriel lived nearby.
His health remained fragile, but he remembered Elena every day now.
Sometimes he confused Roman with Lorenzo.
Roman no longer minded.
Lucia adored him.
So did Isabella.
This concerned everyone.
Two elderly people with decades of secrets and no respect for boundaries were dangerous together.
At breakfast, Isabella was already in Roman’s kitchen.
He stopped.
“How?”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“You don’t live here.”
“I have a key.”
Roman turned toward Elena.
She lifted both hands.
“Not me.”
Matteo entered carrying pastries.
Roman closed his eyes.
“You gave her a key.”
Matteo placed the bag down.
“She threatened me.”
“With what?”
“Details are private.”
Isabella smiled.
Roman made a note never to ask.
Lucia ran toward her grandmother.
“Nonna!”
Isabella lifted her.
“You are my favorite Duca.”
Roman looked offended.
“What about me?”
“You know what you did.”
“I genuinely don’t.”
“Exactly.”
Elena kissed Roman’s cheek.
“You have to leave in thirty minutes.”
“For what?”
She stared.
“The foundation gala.”
Roman froze.
“No.”
“You promised.”
“I was under emotional pressure.”
“You signed a calendar.”
“That document was coercive.”
Elena laughed.
The annual gala was being held in the same hotel ballroom where their lives changed.
Roman had avoided the room for years.
Elena knew.
That was why she chose it.
Not to torment him.
To reclaim it.
The ballroom looked different in daylight.
Fewer security men.
No hidden guns.
No criminal captains controlling doors.
Tables held donations for legal aid, trauma programs, scholarships, and witness-protection charities.
Roman stood beneath the chandelier.
Elena approached.
“What?”
He looked at the marble pillar.
The same one.
“I remember seeing your hands.”
Her expression softened.
“So do I.”
“I thought the blood changed everything.”
“It did.”
Roman looked toward her.
“You almost died.”
“You almost killed six people.”
“Four.”
“Roman.”
“I am simply correcting history.”
She shook her head.
Then touched his hand.
“Does being here bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Want to leave?”
Roman looked around.
Children from Saint Gabriel’s community program were arranging auction items.
Gabriel sat beside Isabella arguing about old Italian music.
Matteo tried to keep Lucia from eating an entire plate of desserts.
The ballroom where their marriage nearly ended now held everyone they loved.
“No.”
Roman squeezed her hand.
“I want to stay.”
Elena smiled.
That evening, Roman was scheduled to speak.
He hated speeches.
Elena enjoyed making him give them.
She introduced him.
“My husband, Roman Duca.”
People applauded.
Roman walked toward the microphone.
Lucia shouted from the front.
“DADDY!”
Everyone laughed.
Roman looked at Elena.
“This was your idea.”
“Yes.”
He faced the room.
“Four years ago, something happened in this ballroom.”
The room quieted.
“My wife was found with blood on her hands.”
Elena folded her arms.
Roman continued.
“I reacted exactly as everyone expected Roman Duca to react.”
Matteo whispered loudly, “Badly.”
Laughter.
Roman glared.
“Mr. Ricci is available for new employment.”
More laughter.
Roman continued.
“I believed protecting my family meant threatening anyone who came near them.”
His expression became serious.
“I had spent most of my life believing fear was the same thing as respect.”
He looked toward Isabella.
“My father understood the difference before I did.”
Then Gabriel.
“So did Elena’s father.”
Finally Elena.
“And eventually, my wife forced me to learn.”
She smiled.
Roman looked across the ballroom.
“Power is easy when everyone is afraid to tell you no.”
Silence.
“The difficult thing is building something people choose.”
He paused.
“A marriage.”
“Business.”
“Family.”
“A community.”
Roman looked toward Elena.
“When I first married her, I thought I was settling a debt.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“There was no debt.”
Roman smiled slightly.
“Unless we count the number of times she has reminded me I was wrong.”
Elena called, “Still increasing.”
Laughter.
Roman nodded.
“I walked into marriage believing Elena needed my protection.”
His voice softened.
“She ended up saving me from the person I might have become.”
The room grew silent.
Roman looked at his wife.
“And before she argues later, yes, I know she did not fix me.”
Elena nodded approvingly.
“I had to choose change myself.”
He glanced toward the room.
“But she made me want to choose it.”
Applause rose.
Roman stepped away from the microphone before he became emotional enough for Matteo to notice.
Too late.
Matteo met him.
“You almost cried.”
Roman stared.
“You’re fired.”
“Three hundred and seventh time.”
Roman walked past.
After the gala, guests left slowly.
Eventually only family remained.
Lucia slept in Isabella’s arms.
Gabriel had gone home with his nurse.
Matteo supervised cleanup.
Roman stood by the balcony doors.
Elena joined him.
“You did well.”
“I survived.”
“Same standard?”
“Yes.”
She leaned against him.
For several minutes, they watched Manhattan lights.
Then Elena said, “I have something.”
Roman immediately looked suspicious.
“What?”
She handed him a folded paper.
He opened it.
At the top:
DUCA-SANTORO MARRIAGE AGREEMENT — FINAL VERSION.
Roman stared.
“No.”
Elena laughed.
“Read.”
He sighed.
Rule One:
Roman must not threaten people before breakfast unless there is an actual emergency.
He looked up.
“Unreasonable.”
“Continue.”
Rule Two:
Elena must tell Roman before investigating armed conspirators alone.
Roman nodded.
“Excellent.”
Rule Three:
Neither spouse may hide evidence, secret ledgers, criminal recordings, or federal witnesses inside the house.
“Very specific.”
“Experience.”
Rule Four:
Lucia cannot date until age thirty.
Elena had crossed it out and written sixteen.
Roman stared.
“No.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Thirty.”
“Roman.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“We’ll revisit.”
Rule Five:
Isabella Duca may not possess keys to every family property.
Roman looked toward his mother.
“Yes.”
Isabella called from across the room, “No.”
Elena laughed.
Roman continued.
Rule Six:
No spouse is required to stay because of fear, money, family pressure, business, reputation, guilt, or obligation.
His smile faded.
He read it twice.
Then Rule Seven:
Both agree to keep choosing each other while choosing remains what they want.
Roman looked at Elena.
She smiled softly.
“You still need that rule?”
“Yes.”
“After four years?”
“Especially after four years.”
Roman folded the page carefully.
“Where is the pen?”
Elena laughed.
“You’re signing?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you hated contracts.”
“I hate contracts written by Victor.”
He kissed her forehead.
“This one is yours.”
“Ours.”
Roman took the pen.
Signed.
Elena signed beneath him.
Roman folded the contract and placed it inside his jacket.
“You’re keeping it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Roman looked toward the marble pillar.
Years earlier, he had stood there seeing blood on Elena’s hands and believing the night’s greatest danger was whoever had touched his wife.
He had been wrong.
The true danger was everything he believed before that moment.
That love meant possession.
That strength meant violence.
That family loyalty required blindness.
That powerful men could define truth if they frightened enough people into silence.
Victor destroyed Lorenzo.
Tortured Gabriel.
Manipulated Roman.
Threatened Elena.
But Victor failed at the one thing he believed most deeply.
He failed to prove fear was stronger than love freely chosen.
Roman took Elena’s hand.
“You know what I thought when I saw you covered in blood?”
“That I murdered someone?”
“That too.”
She laughed.
Roman’s expression softened.
“I thought I was about to lose you.”
“You barely spoke to me back then.”
“I know.”
“You slept in another wing.”
“I know.”
“You told Matteo our marriage was ‘administratively convenient.’”
Roman winced.
“You heard that?”
“The walls were thin.”
“I was an idiot.”
“Yes.”
He looked offended.
“You agreed quickly.”
“You have grown.”
Roman smiled.
“Marginally.”
Elena leaned closer.
“What do you think now?”
Roman looked at their joined hands.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He thought.
“No blood.”
“Excellent observation.”
“No enemies.”
“Hopefully.”
“No contract forcing you to stay.”
Elena smiled.
Roman lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.
“Now I know exactly why you’re here.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to be.”
Elena looked at him.
“And you?”
Roman wrapped his arm around her waist.
“I spent half my life fighting to control things.”
He looked through the windows toward the city.
“Territory. Men. money. outcomes.”
His gaze returned to her.
“You are the first thing I loved enough not to control.”
Her eyes filled.
Roman sighed.
“Not the crying.”
“Too late.”
“I specifically requested no crying.”
“You signed nothing about crying.”
Roman pulled out the agreement.
“We can amend.”
Elena laughed and kissed him.
Across the ballroom, Isabella groaned.
“Must you do that where people can see?”
Roman pulled away.
“You engineered half our marriage!”
“I did not ask for demonstrations.”
Matteo called, “I think it’s romantic.”
Roman pointed at him.
“You are definitely fired.”
Lucia woke.
“Daddy!”
Roman walked over and took his daughter.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
“Home?”
“Yes.”
Elena picked up her coat.
Roman looked around the ballroom one final time.
The chandeliers.
The pillar.
The staircase.
Once, this room had been where he learned the man he trusted most wanted him dead.
Where he saw blood on Elena’s hands.
Where he believed everything was falling apart.
He understood now.
Sometimes a life had to fall apart before anyone could see which pieces were worth keeping.
Roman kept Elena.
Not because she was his wife.
Because she chose him again after she was free.
He kept Matteo.
Not because loyalty was demanded.
Because it had been proven.
He kept his mother.
There was apparently no legal method of removing Isabella Duca from his life.
He kept his father’s name.
But not his father’s empire.
And he kept the lesson Gabriel had carried through twenty years of suffering.
Power built on fear eventually belonged to whoever frightened people most.
Love worked differently.
Love only existed while people kept choosing it.
Roman carried Lucia toward the doors.
Elena walked beside him.
“Roman?”
“Yes?”
“You know tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Yes.”
“The agreement says you make breakfast.”
He stopped.
“What?”
She smiled.
“Page two.”
“There was no page two.”
“There is.”
“You tricked me.”
“Legally.”
Roman looked toward Matteo.
“Witness this fraud.”
Matteo laughed.
Roman shook his head.
Then followed his wife into the hallway.
No bodyguards rushed ahead.
No enemies waited outside.
No gunfire followed them.
Just an ordinary evening.
A sleeping child.
An argumentative mother.
A best friend who refused to remain fired.
A father-in-law waiting for them to visit tomorrow.
And Elena.
The woman Roman once believed had entered his life because of debt.
The woman whose bloody hands exposed a twenty-year betrayal.
The woman who had lied to him, protected him, challenged him, left him, chosen him, and finally taught him that protection did not mean placing someone behind you.
Sometimes it meant standing beside them.
Elena looked back.
“You coming?”
Roman smiled.
“Always.”
She held out her hand.
He took it.
And Roman Duca—the man who had once ruled through fear—walked home with the family he had finally learned not to own.
May you like
Only to love.
The End.
