Chapter 6
Roman did not speak for almost a minute.
Morgana left the letter on the desk.
She had learned that silence around Roman was not emptiness.
It was calculation.
Every emotion went through some internal machine before he allowed it to become language.
This time, the machine seemed broken.
“What happened to your mother?”
Roman’s eyes remained on the photograph.
“Car accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Then Roman looked at her.
“My father was.”
Morgana sat quietly.
Roman finally leaned back.
“It was raining. They were driving home from a charity dinner. Car went through a barrier on Route Nine.”
“Your father survived?”
“Broken collarbone. Three ribs.”
“And your mother?”
“Died before the ambulance arrived.”
Morgana looked at the message.
“Who told you what happened?”
“My father.”
There it was.
The problem.
Roman saw it too.
He stood.
“Wake Hayes.”
“He’s probably awake.”
“Then tell him to get the car.”
“Where are you going?”
“Boston.”
“At three in the morning?”
Roman was already reaching for his jacket.
Morgana stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
One word.
Automatic.
Morgana folded her arms.
Roman stopped.
“You just spent five months telling everyone I was your responsibility.”
“You aren’t anymore.”
“Excellent.”
Morgana picked up the letter.
“Then you can’t order me to stay.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“That logic is going to become extremely irritating.”
“I’m discovering freedom.”
“Discover it tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Morgana.”
“Roman.”
They stared at each other.
Hayes appeared in the doorway.
He had clearly heard enough.
“Should I get one overnight bag or two?”
Roman turned.
“Get the car.”
Hayes disappeared before Roman could answer the actual question.
Morgana smiled.
“I like him.”
“I’m reconsidering his employment.”
Two hours later, the armored SUV moved north through darkness.
Hayes drove.
Roman sat in the rear beside Morgana.
He spent most of the journey on the phone.
By sunrise, they crossed into Massachusetts.
Anthony Bell lived outside Boston in a colonial house surrounded by old maple trees.
There were no visible guards.
No cameras.
No armored gate.
Roman noticed immediately.
“Something’s wrong.”
Hayes slowed.
“What?”
“Bell represented my father for thirty-two years.”
Roman scanned the property.
“He knew enough to bury half the city.”
“And he lives like this?”
Morgana asked.
“He used to have security.”
Hayes parked.
Roman drew a pistol from beneath his jacket.
Morgana looked at it.
“You brought that?”
Roman glanced at her.
“I bring one to breakfast.”
“Comforting.”
“Stay behind me.”
She did.
Not because he ordered her.
Because it made sense.
Hayes knocked.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Roman tried the handle.
Unlocked.
His expression darkened.
The three entered.
The house smelled of old books and coffee.
A radio played quietly somewhere.
“Bell?”
Roman called.
No response.
They found Anthony Bell in the kitchen.
Alive.
Barely.
He sat on the floor against a cabinet.
Blood soaked through the shoulder of his shirt.
Hayes moved first.
“Clear.”
Roman knelt.
“Anthony.”
The older man opened his eyes.
Recognition appeared.
“Salvatore?”
Roman froze.
“No.”
Bell blinked.
“Roman.”
His voice was weak.
“Jesus. You look like him.”
“Who did this?”
Bell began coughing.
Morgana found towels.
She pressed one against the wound.
Bell looked at her.
“Who?”
“Morgana.”
Roman answered.
Bell studied her for a strange moment.
Then smiled weakly.
“Good.”
Roman frowned.
“What?”
“You finally brought someone.”
Roman’s expression became dangerous.
“This isn’t the time.”
Bell almost laughed.
“You always hated people.”
“I still do.”
Roman pressed harder against the wound.
“Who shot you?”
Bell’s smile disappeared.
“Men came last night.”
“What men?”
“Didn’t know them.”
Bell swallowed.
“They wanted the Mercer files.”
Roman looked at Hayes.
“Daniel?”
Bell nodded.
“You found him.”
“We found his body.”
Bell closed his eyes.
“Then we’re late.”
“Late for what?”
Bell looked at Roman.
“Your father’s last lie.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Explain.”
Bell looked toward Morgana.
Then Hayes.
“Private.”
“They stay.”
Roman’s answer was absolute.
Bell studied him.
Something like approval entered his exhausted face.
“All right.”
He breathed carefully.
“Your father didn’t build the Costa organization alone.”
Roman waited.
“There were three.”
Bell lifted trembling fingers.
“Salvatore.”
“Daniel Mercer.”
“And?”
Bell looked directly at him.
“Your mother.”
Roman stopped moving.
“Don’t.”
Bell continued.
“Elena Costa handled the money before Daniel.”
“My mother was a schoolteacher.”
“That’s what Salvatore told you.”
Roman stood abruptly.
Bell winced when the pressure changed.
Morgana took over.
“Roman.”
He walked several steps away.
His hands closed into fists.
Bell spoke from the floor.
“Elena was better with numbers than any of us. She created the shipping structures. The holding companies. Half the legal architecture your father used.”
Roman turned.
“No.”
“She wanted out.”
Bell continued.
“After you were born.”
Roman stared.
“She wanted Salvatore legitimate.”
Bell coughed.
“She spent seventeen years trying.”
“What happened the night she died?”
Bell’s face changed.
Fear.
Even after all these years.
“She found out Salvatore had opened accounts in your name.”
Roman became still.
“What accounts?”
“Emergency funds. Bribe reserves. Political money.”
Bell swallowed.
“Enough evidence to put all of us away.”
Morgana looked at Roman.
His face had emptied.
“Elena took copies.”
Bell whispered.
“She planned to go to federal prosecutors.”
Hayes muttered something under his breath.
Roman moved closer.
“My father killed her.”
Bell did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Roman stepped backward.
“No.”
Bell closed his eyes.
“I never proved it.”
“You just said—”
“I said she planned to leave.”
Bell forced himself to remain conscious.
“Salvatore followed her that night. Daniel followed Salvatore.”
Roman looked toward the old man.
“Daniel saw the crash?”
“He saw something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Bell shook his head.
“Daniel disappeared three days later.”
Roman’s breathing changed.
Morgana recognized the signs.
The anger was becoming too large.
She stood.
“Roman.”
He did not respond.
She moved between him and Bell.
“Look at me.”
His eyes found hers.
“Not him.”
Morgana spoke quietly.
“Me.”
Roman’s hands were shaking.
She had never seen that before.
“Breathe.”
His jaw clenched.
“Morgana.”
“Breathe.”
He did.
Once.
Again.
The rage did not disappear.
But it stopped controlling the room.
Hayes watched silently.
Bell looked almost fascinated.
Morgana turned back.
“Where are the copies Elena took?”
Bell stared.
“No one knows.”
“Someone does,” she said.
Roman understood.
“Daniel.”
Bell nodded.
“If he stayed alive eleven years after everyone believed he was dead, he stayed alive for a reason.”
A siren approached outside.
Hayes had called a private medical team.
Bell reached for Roman’s wrist.
“There’s something else.”
Roman looked down.
“Your mother left you a message.”
Roman froze.
“What?”
“I never had it.”
Bell’s breathing became weaker.
“Daniel did.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know.”
Bell’s grip tightened.
“But Salvatore spent the rest of his life looking for it.”
The medical team entered minutes later.
Bell was taken away.
Roman stood in the driveway while rain began falling through the maple trees.
Morgana joined him.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally Roman said, “Everything I know about my family might be a lie.”
“Not everything.”
He looked at her.
“You know your mother tried to protect you.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She discovered accounts in your name and tried to expose them.”
Morgana stepped closer.
“That sounds like protection to me.”
Roman looked away.
“My father told me she was weak.”
Morgana understood that sentence more than he realized.
Jason had spent years telling her who she was.
Weak.
Useless.
Dependent.
Roman had spent his life beneath another version of the same weapon.
A parent defining a child until the definition became a prison.
“Maybe he needed you to believe that.”
Roman looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if you knew she was brave, you might have asked what she was brave enough to fight.”
Roman became silent.
Hayes approached.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found something in Bell’s study.”
He handed Roman a photograph.
Daniel Mercer stood beside Elena Costa.
The photograph was dated three weeks before her death.
On the back, handwritten in blue ink, were four words.
If anything happens, Brooklyn.
Roman read them twice.
Morgana looked over his shoulder.
“Brooklyn?”
Hayes nodded.
“There’s an address underneath.”
Roman turned toward the SUV.
The grief disappeared behind purpose.
“Then we’re going to Brooklyn.”
May you like
Morgana followed.
This time Roman did not tell her to stay behind.
