Chapter 6 - The Secret Beneath the Duca NameVictor survived.
Roman was not sure whether that pleased him.
The bullet Matteo fired destroyed Victor’s shoulder but spared his life.
Federal agents placed him under guard at a secure medical facility.
Within forty-eight hours, investigators executed warrants across six states.
Vesper Holdings collapsed.
Accounts were frozen.
Police officers disappeared from precincts and reappeared in federal custody.
Two judges resigned.
Three businessmen fled the country.
The newspapers described it as a historic organized-crime scandal.
Roman described it as Tuesday.
Elena sat across from him at breakfast.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m reading.”
“You’ve been reading that same paragraph for ten minutes.”
Roman lowered the newspaper.
“Are you monitoring me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You become unpleasant when you skip meals.”
“I am always unpleasant.”
“You become creatively unpleasant.”
Roman folded the paper.
They were staying at the Queens house again.
Not the estate.
Roman no longer trusted the old mansion.
Too many rooms had secrets.
Too many walls had listened.
Elena buttered toast.
Roman watched her.
She wore one of his shirts over black pants.
Her hair was tied carelessly.
No ballroom gown.
No blood.
No strangers touching her.
He preferred this version of life more than he wanted to admit.
Elena noticed.
“You’re staring.”
“I am married to you.”
“That is not a legal excuse for staring.”
“It should be.”
She smiled.
Roman felt something ridiculous happen in his chest.
For eight months, he had lived with Elena without permitting himself to enjoy her.
Now everything she did seemed dangerously important.
The way she drank coffee.
The way she read messages with one eyebrow raised.
The way she stole the center section of toast and left crusts.
“You cut off the crusts?”
“Yes.”
“You are thirty-one.”
“And?”
Roman shook his head.
“You killed a trained assassin but fear toast crust.”
“I do not fear it.”
“Clearly.”
Elena threw one at him.
Roman caught it.
For five minutes, they were normal.
Then Isabella arrived.
No announcement.
No invitation.
She entered carrying a folder.
“You two look disgustingly domestic.”
Roman frowned.
“How did you get in?”
“I have a key.”
“I changed the locks.”
“I have Matteo.”
Roman made a mental note to fire him again.
Isabella sat.
“I spoke with federal investigators.”
Roman stared.
“You what?”
“I’m old, not dead.”
“You do not speak to investigators without counsel.”
Elena looked at him.
“You really enjoy giving orders.”
“Yes.”
Isabella slid the folder over.
“There is a problem.”
Roman opened it.
Victor had been offered a cooperation agreement.
In exchange for naming politicians and financial partners, prosecutors might reduce charges.
Roman’s face darkened.
“He murdered my father.”
“They cannot prove that yet.”
“We have recordings.”
“Conspiracy, yes. The murder itself is harder.”
Elena sat beside him.
“What do they need?”
Isabella looked at her.
“Gabriel.”
Silence.
Elena’s expression changed.
“My father is dead.”
“Maybe.”
Roman turned.
“What?”
Isabella removed a document.
A medical transfer record.
Gabriel Santoro had been moved from St. Vincent sixteen years ago.
Destination redacted.
No death record afterward.
Elena stared.
“He survived two years.”
“At least.”
Roman touched her hand.
She barely seemed aware.
“Where did they move him?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Victor knows.”
Roman stood.
“Then I ask.”
Elena grabbed his wrist.
“Not like that.”
He looked down.
“I was going to speak.”
“You were going to threaten.”
“I can do both.”
She stood.
“I’m coming.”
Victor smiled when Roman and Elena entered the secure visiting room.
His arm was immobilized.
His face bruised.
But the arrogance remained.
“Marriage suits you.”
Roman sat.
“Where is Gabriel?”
Victor’s smile faded slightly.
Elena remained standing.
“My father.”
Victor looked at her.
“You have his eyes.”
Roman’s voice lowered.
“Answer.”
Victor leaned back.
“Gabriel was stubborn.”
“Where did you take him?”
“Why should I tell you?”
Elena stepped forward.
“Because you’ve lost.”
Victor smiled.
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“You are still married to a Duca.”
Elena’s eyes hardened.
“By choice.”
Victor looked toward Roman.
That irritated him more than anything.
Roman saw it.
“Where is Gabriel?”
Victor sighed.
“Colorado.”
Elena stopped.
“What?”
“A private psychiatric facility.”
Roman stared.
“You kept him imprisoned for twenty years?”
“Not twenty.”
“How long?”
Victor looked at Elena.
“Eleven.”
She went white.
Roman stood so quickly the chair fell.
Victor smiled.
“Sit down.”
Roman lunged toward the glass.
Guards stepped forward.
Elena caught Roman’s arm.
“Roman.”
Victor continued.
“Gabriel developed medical problems. We moved him. Eventually he became less useful.”
“What happened?”
Victor shrugged.
“We stopped paying.”
Elena’s face crumpled.
Roman wanted to kill Victor.
Victor knew.
He smiled.
“Go ahead, Roman. Break the glass.”
Roman’s fists clenched.
Elena held tighter.
“Don’t give him what he wants.”
Roman breathed.
Once.
Twice.
Then stepped back.
Victor’s smile faded.
“Facility name.”
Victor looked at Elena.
“Mountain Crest.”
They left immediately.
Mountain Crest still operated under a different corporation.
Federal investigators obtained records.
One patient admitted under the name George Santos had arrived sixteen years earlier.
No Social Security number.
No family contacts.
Severe injuries.
Memory trauma.
Patient transferred eleven years ago.
To where?
A charitable long-term care home in Vermont.
Elena sat silently during the flight.
Roman remained beside her.
He did not offer false hope.
He simply held her hand.
The home stood beside a lake.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
A nurse met them.
“We have a patient named George.”
Elena stopped breathing.
“Age?”
“Sixty-four.”
Her father would be sixty-four.
The nurse led them outside.
A man sat in a wheelchair near the water.
Gray hair.
Thin.
One hand resting on a blanket.
Elena froze.
Roman looked at her.
She could not move.
“That’s him.”
She whispered it.
Then again.
“That’s my father.”
Gabriel turned.
His eyes moved toward them.
No recognition.
Elena walked slowly.
“Dad?”
The man stared.
Roman remained several feet behind.
Elena knelt.
“It’s Elena.”
Nothing.
Her voice broke.
“Your daughter.”
Gabriel’s fingers moved.
He looked at her face.
A minute passed.
Then he whispered one word.
“Lena?”
She began crying.
Gabriel lifted a trembling hand.
Touched her cheek.
“My little Lena.”
Elena collapsed against him.
Roman looked away.
Some reunions did not belong to witnesses.
Gabriel remembered pieces.
Not everything.
Years of trauma had damaged him.
But he remembered Victor.
He remembered Lorenzo.
And he remembered the night Lorenzo died.
Later, in a private room, Gabriel looked at Roman.
“You’re Lorenzo’s boy.”
Roman nodded.
Gabriel smiled sadly.
“You have his eyes.”
Roman sat.
“What happened that night?”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
“Victor wanted control.”
Roman waited.
“Your father was leaving.”
Roman frowned.
“Leaving what?”
“The criminal business.”
Roman stared.
Gabriel nodded.
“Lorenzo wanted to legitimize everything.”
Roman had never known.
“He wanted you out.”
Gabriel smiled.
“He said you hated that world.”
Roman remembered being seventeen and telling Lorenzo he would never become him.
Then his father died.
And Roman became exactly him.
Gabriel continued.
“Victor couldn’t allow it. Too much money. Too much influence.”
“So he killed him.”
“Yes.”
Roman closed his eyes.
Elena took his hand.
Gabriel watched them.
“You married?”
Roman nodded.
Gabriel looked at Elena.
“Why would you marry him?”
Roman almost laughed.
Elena smiled through tears.
“It’s complicated.”
Gabriel looked at Roman.
“Treat her well.”
Roman’s voice was quiet.
“I’m trying.”
Gabriel nodded.
“That matters.”
Then he said something Roman did not expect.
“Lorenzo knew.”
Roman frowned.
“Knew what?”
“That Victor might kill him.”
Roman stared.
“He told me if he died, not to make you spend your life avenging him.”
Roman’s throat tightened.
Gabriel looked directly at him.
“He said, ‘If Roman becomes a man who kills everyone who hurts him, Victor wins even if Victor dies.’”
Roman stopped breathing.
Twenty years of anger.
Twenty years of violence.
His father had understood before it happened.
Roman looked down.
Elena squeezed his hand.
Gabriel whispered, “You still have time.”
Roman looked at him.
“For what?”
“To become the son he wanted.”
Roman’s eyes burned.
He had not cried when Lorenzo was buried.
He had not cried when he took command.
He had not cried when Victor confessed through evidence.
But sitting beside the man who carried his father’s last hope across twenty years, Roman finally did.
Quietly.
Elena rested against him.
May you like
And Roman understood that defeating Victor would not be the end.
The real victory would be deciding what kind of man remained afterward.
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