Chapter 21 Roman
ROMAN
I snap the burner phone shut and pocket it, jaw clenched so tightly I can feel a headache building at my temples.
Three of our shipments were nearly intercepted this week.
Do we have a traitor in our midst or are the Feds getting lucky?
"Problems, Boss?" Nico, one of my men, leans against the doorframe of my office, arms crossed. The kid's only twenty-six but already one of my most reliable soldiers.
"Nothing I can't handle." I pull up the shipping manifests on my laptop. "Tell Vito we're changing the route for tomorrow. Use the backup plan we discussed last month."
"The expensive one?" Nico raises an eyebrow.
"Worth every penny if it works." I stand, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. "And get me Salvatore."
While Nico makes the call, I study the map on my wall.
Red pins mark the areas we nearly had our shipments lost.
I've spent over two decades building this operation for Marco, making it bulletproof.
I'm not about to let some rat destroy it all.
My phone vibrates. Salvatore.
"You have five minutes to explain why three of your crews nearly lost product on my watch," I say without preamble.
"Roman, I swear—"
"I don't want excuses." My voice drops lower. "I want names."
"Could be anyone. Could be your pretty new wife for all we know."
My hand tightens around the phone. "Watch your fucking mouth, Sal. I have eyes on my wife. Do I need them on you and your men too?"
"Maybe it's time to clean house. Starting with Dante's crew."
I consider this. Dante's been loyal for years, but his brother-in-law joined the operation six months ago. Right when our troubles began.
"Have Dante bring his brother-in-law to the warehouse tonight. I'll handle it personally."
"And if Dante refuses?"
"Then bring them both." I end the call.
This is the part of my job I never wanted Angelica to know about. The necessary violence that keeps our world in order. But weakness isn't an option, not when our family's security is at stake.
Emilia's face appears in my thoughts, the way it always does when I'm about to do something particularly brutal.
She never approved of this part of my life, though she understood its necessity. "Just don't bring it home," she'd say. "Be Roman the father at our door, not Roman the enforcer."
My thoughts drift to Isabella and her mother.
The parallels aren't lost on me.
Another woman taken from her family, another daughter left with questions.
The difference is that Emilia died from an illness whereas Isabella's mother was brutally murdered.
What would Emilia think of Isabella? Of this arrangement?
She'd probably scold me for how I've handled it.
The threats, the intimidation.
She’d sympathize with Isabella.
The guilt sits heavily in my chest. Not just for how I've treated Isabella, but for the fact that sometimes, when I'm with her, Emilia's memory fades just slightly around the edges.
As if I'm betraying my wife by allowing another woman to matter.
And matter Isabella does.
It fucking terrifies me, although I’m not sure why.
Is it because I risk losing again?
I remember the promise I made to Isabella to help her break free of this life. It’s one of the best reasons to keep my heart out of this marriage.
It’s also a reason I need to find out the truth about her mother’s murder.
There’s no time like the present. I grab my coat and drive to Leonardo Ferraza's estate, parking in the circular driveway.
The security detail knows me well enough not to stop me, but their eyes follow my movements with caution. I'm not exactly a welcome sight in most places.
Too often, if I’m showing up, it’s bad news.
Leonardo's waiting in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey despite the early hour. His silver hair is immaculate as always, his suit pressed to perfection. The picture of Mafia royalty.
"Roman." He doesn't stand when I enter. "I didn’t hear from Marco that you’d be coming.”
I take the seat across from him without invitation. "I promised Isabella that I’d help her find out about her mother’s murder.”
His face remains impassive, but his knuckles whiten around his glass. "You’re supposed to focus on keeping my daughter safe and away from all that business."
“Have you met your daughter?”
His lips twitch upward. “Yes, well, our goal is to protect her and La Corona. Surely, that’s not too much for you to handle.”
“With all due respect, Don Ferraza, I believe there’s more to your wife's death. Something that puts La Corona at risk."
"Your job is to protect her, not encourage her obsession with the past. She should be raising your child. Maybe having one of her own."
"A child won't make her drop this, and even if it did, I wouldn't. There's something going on, Don Ferraza." I lean forward. "Whoever killed your wife is still out there, still targeting La Corona."
Leonardo sets his glass down. "My daughter has suffered enough. I won't have her dragged further into this mess."
"She's already in it," I counter. "Has been since her mother was killed. The only way out is through."
“You seriously think there’s some sort of conspiracy out there?”
“Why do you think your wife was killed?” I have this unsettling feeling that maybe Don Ferraza is behind his wife’s murder. Why else would he care so little about finding her killer?
His dark eyes bore into me. “I don’t believe you did it like the FBI wants my daughter to believe.”
“Good to know, but someone did kill her. Surely, you’re curious.”
He sits back and studies me. “I think she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You don’t think she was the target?” I haven’t heard this theory before.
He shrugs. “The world we live in, Roman, is filled with danger. You and me, we’re more likely to be killed by a rival or perhaps even from within, but it’s possible we’ll be hit by a car or struck by lightning. Same for our family.”
“Your wife wasn’t hit by a car or struck by lightning. She was gunned down in broad daylight.”
“Your point?”
Fucking hell. I decide to move on to the real purpose of my visit. “Isabella mentioned her mother kept a notebook. A journal of sorts."
“She kept many notebooks," he says dismissively. "She was always writing. Shopping lists, social engagements, household matters."
"This one was different," I press. "This one the police have kept. It makes me wonder what she had in it.”
"What exactly are you implying, Roman?"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm asking directly. What was in her notebook? If the cops kept it, it must be important."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
I study him, looking for signs of deceit or guilt. But I don’t see it. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not lying.
“Did you know your wife was hoping to have Isabella leave this life?”
His eyes narrow. “You should watch yourself. My family business is just that. My business.”
“Isabella is my wife. Her business is my business.”
His face hardens. "You're overstepping, Roman. Don't forget who you're speaking to."
"I know exactly who I'm speaking to. A father who claims to want to protect his daughter but may be hiding the very thing that would absolve her." I stand my ground as Leonardo's expression darkens. The tension between us crackles like a live wire.
"Watch yourself, Roman," he warns. "Your position with the Calabresi family doesn't give you the right to question me."
"I'm not questioning your authority. I'm trying to solve a murder that left your daughter without a mother. That could hint to something more. "
Leonardo's jaw tightens. "And I'm telling you to focus on your assigned task. Keep Isabella safe, keep her away from the Feds. That's all."
"How can I protect her if I don't know what I'm protecting her from?"
He rises from his chair, leaning forward on his knuckles. "You protect her by doing as you're told. Nothing more."
I study him for a long moment. All my years in this life have taught me to read men well, and everything about Leonardo's posture screams that he's hiding something.
"As you wish, Don Ferraza.” I stand in Leonardo's study, watching him retreat to his position of power behind his desk.
Something's not adding up.
The way he's deflecting… Does he know something?
Or is he trying to protect something or someone?
I get home too late to have dinner with Angelica and Isabella.
I’ve had to stop off at the office to wash off blood and change my suit. But I am able to play a game with Angelica and tuck her into bed.
After Angelica is asleep, I find Isabella in our bedroom, hunched over her sewing table.
She's sketching something new.
For a moment, I just watch her, wondering what it is about her that is ensnaring me.
"I put Angelica to bed," I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Isabella startles slightly, then composes herself. "Did she go down okay?"
"After three stories and a promise that Santa knows exactly where to find her this year." I step into the room, loosening my tie. "Which reminds me—I've got a pile of presents that need wrapping."
She sets her pencil down. "Oh?"
"I thought maybe we could do it together." I shrug, trying to sound casual. "If you're not busy. I've got everything set up in my office. Wrapping paper, ribbons, tags, a whole Santa’s workshop."
A small smile touches her lips. "I didn't take you for the wrapping type."
"There's a lot you don't know about me." I return her smile. "I've been wrapping Angelica's presents since she was born. Emilia used to say I had a gift for it."
The mention of my late wife hangs between us, but it doesn't feel heavy.
“I guess I can be an elf.” She sets her sketch aside.
In my office, I've cleared my desk of anything work-related. No files, no weapons. Just stacks of presents for Angelica and rolls of colorful paper.
"This is… unexpected," Isabella says, running her fingers over a sparkly silver ribbon.
"What? That the big, bad enforcer knows how to curl ribbon?" I demonstrate, pulling the blade of the scissors along the silver strand until it forms a perfect spiral.