Chapter 17 Roman
ROMAN
I freeze in the hallway, hearing Isabella's voice drift from the living room.
”There was a moment when something passed between us that felt… real."
My breath catches. She thought she could love me? How is that possible considering how much she’s lied and hidden from me? Is she putting on a show for Elena?
"He controls every aspect of my existence. Roman makes sure I know that he's the enforcer and my life exists now only because he allows it."
Fuck. Heat rises to my face.
Embarrassment, shame.
I've spent decades cultivating fear, making it my currency. Now, hearing Isabella say those words makes me feel like garbage.
I run a hand over my face. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I wanted her afraid enough to be honest, compliant enough to keep us all safe and yes, help with the investigation.
But hearing her speak about me like I'm some monster…
The worst part? It was what I wanted.
I remember the terror in her eyes when I confronted her last night. I remember thinking it was necessary, justified.
My mind flashes to Angelica playing with Isabella, to Isabella's small smile when I brought her sewing supplies, to the way she trusted me with her body.
Then to her defeated expression when she handed over the phone.
"I'm already dead," she'd said last night.
Part of me wants to storm in there, tell Elena to mind her own business, remind Isabella that I'm keeping her alive. The enforcer in me says fear is good. It keeps people in line, keeps my family safe.
But another part, the part that remembers what it was like to be loved by Emilia, aches at what I've done.
I've become exactly what Isabella believes me to be.
And somehow, despite everything, she once thought she could love me anyway.
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I stride to my office. I collapse into my office chair, loosening my tie.
The day's been a fucking nightmare. One fire after another. Marco called me at 5 AM about a shipment issue at the docks.
Three hours of negotiations with the port authority later, I had to break up a territory dispute between two captains who should know better.
Then Marco needed me at a sit-down with the Russians that resulted in nothing. And the day has barely started.
My phone buzzes again. I ignore it. Five minutes of peace is all I'm asking for.
My mind drifts back to Ernie Abruzzo. The connection to Mrs. Ferraza keeps nagging at me. What the hell was she doing meeting with a bottom-feeder like him? Ernie was a nobody. Nothing that would put him on the radar of a Don's wife.
I pull out my notebook, flipping through the pages of scribbled notes. The timeline doesn't add up.
Mrs. Ferraza meets with Ernie multiple times in the weeks before her death.
Ernie overdoses days after she's killed.
Don Ferraza claims no knowledge of these meetings.
And now Isabella gets approached by the Feds with doctored evidence pointing at us. Is it all just a bunch of weird unrelated coincidences or is someone playing a long game against us?
I rub my temples, feeling the tension headache building.
The weight of it all, protecting Marco, keeping Angelica safe, figuring out what the hell is happening with Isabella, it's crushing. But I have to endure it because one wrong move and everything falls apart.
I glance at the bottle of whiskey on my shelf. Tempting, but I need a clear head.
What was Mrs. Ferraza's endgame? Was she trying to get Isabella out of the life or was there something deeper? And how did Ernie fit into it all?
My phone buzzes again. With a growl, I grab it, ready to tell Marco I need a goddamn minute, but it's not Marco.
It's Jimmy, one of my guys who works in the DA's office I contacted to find out if the news about Ernie was true and asked for anything he could find on Blackwood.
Got that info you wanted on Abruzzo. He was an informant, but not for Blackwood. Different handler - Agent Ricci. Started working for Feds 8 months before death.
I stare at the screen, fitting the pieces together. So Ernie was a rat, but not Blackwood's rat. So maybe this is all just a bunch of odd coincidences.
Any connection to Agent Blackwood? I text back.
The response comes quickly.
Nothing direct. But Blackwood would've had access to the files. He's supervisor of the FBI's organized crime unit. Been there 15 years. Rumor is he has a hard-on for La Corona.
Supervisor of the organized crime unit? That's not what Isabella told me. She said he was just an agent working her mother's case. Is she lying to me or is he lying to her?
I set the phone down, mind racing. If Blackwood's the supervisor, he has resources, connections, influence.
He could pull strings across multiple departments, access confidential informants from other divisions.
He could probably bury evidence.
Hell, he could fabricate it if he wanted to.
Why lie to Isabella about his position? Why use her at all when he has the power to move directly against us?
I grab my laptop and pull up the search engine, typing "Victor Blackwood FBI." News articles pop up, mostly standard press releases about busts and indictments. Nothing that jumps out.
Then I try "Victor Blackwood family."
Nothing useful there, either.
I lean back in my chair, frustration building. Something's off about this whole situation.
Blackwood's not just some agent.
He's high up enough to orchestrate a complex operation.
Yet he's working Isabella personally, feeding her doctored evidence, manipulating her emotions.
Not that law enforcement isn’t allowed to lie and deceive, because they are. Is that what’s happening here?
I need to find out more about Blackwood. His history, his motivations.
Because one thing's becoming clear.
Isabella isn't the mastermind here. She's just another pawn in whatever game Blackwood is playing.
Even so, she’s an active participant, letting him use her, so I need to stay on my guard with her.
I head toward the kitchen, deciding on a snack instead of whisky. The sound of children's laughter breaks through my dark thoughts. I change course and go to Angelica’s room.
She sits cross-legged on the floor with Elena's triplets. They've created some kind of makeshift fort with pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets.
Rocco and Elio are arguing over who gets to be the knight while Adalina carefully arranges a row of stuffed animals as the kingdom's subjects.
"Daddy!" Angelica spots me and waves. "We built a castle!"
The tightness in my chest loosens at the sight of her smile. No matter how complicated everything else gets, her happiness brings light into the dark areas of my life.
"I can see that, Angel. Looks like you've got quite the kingdom going."
"I'm the queen," she announces proudly. "Adelina's the princess, and the boys are knights."
"Very impressive," I say, crouching down to her level. "You having fun?"
“Yeah.” Her smile dims slightly. "More fun than with Isabella. She was mean to me.”
“Oh.” My hackles rise, wondering if Isabella took out her anger at me on my daughter. I hope not. I told her to stay away.
“She wouldn't teach me to sew today. She promised she would."
Guilt over thinking the worst of Isabella tries to cut in. "Did she say why?"
Angelica shrugs. "She just said 'not now'. She's mean. I asked nice and everything."
I glance toward the hallway where I'd overheard Isabella talking with Elena. The pieces click together. Isabella had heeded my warning to avoid Angelica and in the end, hurt her.
"Hey," I say gently, tucking a strand of hair behind Angelica's ear. "Isabella's not mean. She's just having a tough time right now."
“Why? We’re nice to her. She doesn’t even have to do chores or anything.”
"Remember when you started at your new school last year? How scary that felt?"
She nods solemnly.
"Well, Isabella's feeling kind of like that. Everything's new and different for her."
"But I wanted to learn to make a dress for my doll," Angelica says, pouting.
"I know, Angel. And I bet Isabella wants to teach you. How about we give her a little time? Maybe tomorrow, you can ask her again." I make a mental note to allow Isabella to be with Angelica. As long as Mrs. Rossi is here, everything should be okay.
I leave Angelica to her castle-building with the triplets and head toward the kitchen for some coffee and cookies.
As I round the corner, I come face-to-face with Isabella and Elena standing in the hallway, clearly preparing to leave.
Isabella flinches when she sees me. Her body language shifts instantly, shoulders hunching slightly, eyes darting down.
She takes a half-step back, putting more distance between us.
Fuck. This isn't the reaction of a woman who once thought she could love me. This is the reaction of someone who fears for her life.
"Roman," Elena says. "I was just telling Isabella I should get the kids home for dinner."
I nod, but my eyes stay on Isabella.
She's wearing a black sweater and her hair is pulled back in a way that makes me think of one of the Golden Age of Hollywood starlets my grandmother used to always make me watch.
Audrey Hepburn, maybe.
Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.
"Thanks for bringing the kids over," I say to Elena, forcing myself to sound normal. "Angelica loves playing with them."
"Of course. They've been begging to come." Elena glances between Isabella and me, clearly sensing that something's off. "Isabella's been wonderful company. We should do this more often."
Isabella's hands fidget with the hem of her sweater. She's still not looking at me.
I've seen that same posture on countless men right before I've broken their fingers or worse.
That defensive stance, bracing for pain.
Except I don’t want Isabella to look at me that way.
"You’re all coming to the Winter Village tomorrow, right? The first day of winter break from school, we always get together,” she says to Isabella.
It seems like Isabella should know that.
It’s been a La Corona tradition for over thirty years. Then I remember that Isabella rarely participated in La Corona events. Only the official dinners.
“The kids have been talking about nothing else for days,” Elena finishes.
Shit. With everything going on, I'd completely forgotten about the annual holiday family outing. "Of course," I say, forcing a smile. "Wouldn't miss it."
Elena beams. "Perfect. Everyone will be there. Well, not Luca.” She makes a face of distaste. “I guess he’s found his la vita bella in Italy."
“It’s where Don Monti wants him,” I say.
“Gabriella will be there, though. And of course, me and my passel.”
“We’ll be there.” Family outings matter. They remind us of what we're fighting to protect.
I glance at Isabella, who's staring at the floor like it holds the secrets of the universe. "All of us."
Isabella's head snaps up, eyes finally meeting mine. The surprise there is almost painful to see.
"Great!" Elena claps her hands together. "The triplets will be thrilled to have Angelica there. And Isabella, you'll love it—the market is beautiful this time of year."
Isabella manages a small smile. "It sounds lovely."
Maybe this outing will be a chance to feel more like she’s part of the family. Not just mine, but La Corona.
Maybe a few hours of normalcy are exactly what we both need.
"I'll get the kids," Elena says, slipping past me toward Angelica’s room, leaving Isabella and me alone in the hallway.
The silence stretches between us. I should say something, but what?
That I heard her talking about me?
That I'm sorry for scaring her even though I’m not entirely sorry?
That despite everything, I'm trying to protect her?
None of it feels right. Not when she's standing there like she's expecting me to lash out at any moment.
Fear is a tool, a weapon, and even sometimes a shield crucial in my life and work.
But seeing it on Isabella's face now just makes me feel like shit.
A few moments later, Elena reappears with her brood. They head out the front door, again leaving us in silence. Isabella stands frozen in the hallway, like a deer sensing danger. I hate that look on her face. I hate even more that I put it there.
"Isabella," I start, not even sure what I'm going to say.
She takes a step back. "I need to check on something."
"We need to talk." My voice comes out rough, and I wince when she flinches again.
“It can’t wait.”
I know she’s lying. She heads for the bedroom. What the hell can be so important there?
"For fuck's sake, Isabella. I'm not going to hurt you."
Her eyes finally meet mine, wary, disbelieving. "Aren't you?"
The question lands in the center of my chest. Like she’s taken a sledgehammer and struck me front and center.
Before I can respond, the patter of small feet interrupts us. "Daddy!" Angelica races down the hallway, launching herself at my legs. "Can we have pizza tonight? Mrs. Rossi said I have to ask you."
I catch her mid-jump, swinging her up into my arms, grateful for the distraction. "I don't know, Angel, she might have other plans."
"Please?" She draws out the word, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes. "Rocco said they're having pizza for dinner."
I glance back to where Isabella was standing, but she's already slipped away, disappearing toward the bedroom.
"Did he now?" I focus on my daughter, pushing down the unresolved tension. "And if Rocco said he was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you want to do that too?"
Angelica giggles. "No! That's dangerous!"
"Smart girl." I tap her nose. "Tell you what, we'll have whatever Mrs. Rossi has planned for tonight, and maybe pizza tomorrow. Deal?"
"Deal." She wriggles to be put down. "Can I go tell Mrs. Rossi?"
"Go ahead."
I watch her sprint toward the kitchen.
The contrast between my daughter and wife couldn’t be more different.
My daughter is full of life and love and laughter, while my wife appears lifeless, hiding in fear of me.