Chapter 5 - The Man Roman Called FamilyRoman did not leave immediately.
That frightened Jo more than if he had.
Angry men made mistakes.
Roman became calmer.
He showered.
Changed the dressing on his ribs.
Put on a charcoal suit stored in an upstairs closet.
By eight in the morning, he looked less like a wounded fugitive and more like the man everyone else feared.
Jo hated how impressive the transformation was.
“Where are you going?”
“To speak with Carlo.”
“Speak?”
“Yes.”
“You’re carrying two guns.”
“I’m Italian-American. We gesture aggressively.”
Jo stared at him.
Roman’s mouth twitched.
“You made a joke.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“Try staying alive.”
His expression sobered.
“Sylvia stays here.”
“So do you.”
“No.”
Jo folded her arms.
Roman approached.
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“I hate when you start sentences like that.”
“If Carlo is responsible, he cannot know Sylvia is alive.”
“He already knows.”
“He knows she escaped. He doesn’t know where she is.”
“And you?”
“He wants me alive temporarily.”
“Why?”
Roman looked toward the window.
“Because he needs my signature.”
Jo frowned.
“On what?”
“My father left controlling interests in legitimate companies under my name. Shipping. Construction. Commercial property. Carlo runs the criminal side, but legally he cannot move several major assets without me.”
“So this is about money?”
“It always becomes about money eventually.”
“How much?”
Roman hesitated.
“Approximately four hundred million.”
Jo stared.
“You have four hundred million dollars?”
“No.”
“Roman.”
“The companies do.”
“That distinction is offensive to people who compare grocery prices.”
Despite everything, he laughed.
A genuine laugh.
It lasted perhaps two seconds.
Jo realized she had never heard it before.
Then it disappeared.
“I’ll be back before dark.”
“No.”
“Josephine.”
“I’m coming.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I’ll follow you.”
“You don’t know where I’m going.”
“I’ll hide in your trunk.”
Roman stared.
Jo raised an eyebrow.
He sighed.
“You are the most exhausting woman I have ever met.”
“And yet somehow you keep finding me.”
Twenty minutes later, Jo sat beside him in a black sedan driven by a man named Mateo.
She disliked Mateo immediately because he looked entirely too comfortable carrying three weapons.
Roman trusted him.
That was enough.
Carlo Costa lived in a mansion overlooking the Hudson.
Old money architecture.
New money security.
Roman instructed Jo to remain in the car.
She lasted six minutes.
Then a gunshot echoed from inside.
Jo opened the door.
Mateo grabbed her arm.
“Ms. Mercer.”
“Let go.”
“Boss said—”
“Boss is bleeding.”
“How do you know?”
“Because apparently that is his favorite hobby.”
She ran.
Inside, the mansion was chaos.
Two men lay unconscious near the foyer.
Another groaned beside a shattered table.
Jo followed shouting into the library.
Roman stood near the fireplace.
His gun was aimed at an older man sitting calmly in a leather chair.
Carlo.
He looked perhaps sixty-five.
Silver hair.
Beautiful suit.
No fear.
“Roman,” Jo said.
His eyes flicked toward her.
That tiny distraction almost killed him.
Carlo moved.
A pistol appeared from beneath a newspaper.
Jo screamed.
Roman fired first.
The bullet struck Carlo’s hand.
The pistol dropped.
Mateo rushed in behind Jo.
Within seconds Carlo was restrained.
Roman stared at his uncle.
“Why Sylvia?”
Carlo smiled.
“Because you had become weak.”
Roman struck him.
Once.
Hard.
Jo flinched.
Carlo spat blood onto an antique rug.
“There he is,” he murmured.
Roman grabbed his collar.
“You murdered Daniel.”
“He was irrelevant.”
“He was twenty-three.”
“He compromised the family.”
“He loved Sylvia.”
“Exactly.”
Carlo smiled again.
“Love makes men stupid.”
His eyes moved toward Jo.
“And apparently women too.”
Roman’s hand tightened.
“Do not look at her.”
Carlo laughed.
Jo understood immediately.
This was not merely betrayal.
This was ideology.
Carlo believed attachment was weakness.
Roman’s sister.
Roman’s friends.
Roman’s growing connection to Jo.
Every human relationship was something Carlo could weaponize.
“You arranged the shooting that brought Roman to my apartment,” Jo said.
Carlo looked interested.
“Yes.”
Roman turned.
“What?”
Carlo chuckled.
“Did you honestly think the bullet missing your lung was luck?”
Roman stared.
“You wanted me alive.”
“I needed you frightened.”
“Why?”
“To remind you that the city was becoming unstable. I expected you to consolidate power.”
Carlo leaned back.
“Instead you found a midwife.”
Jo almost laughed at the absurdity.
Carlo continued.
“Then Sylvia became inconvenient.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Jo had seen rage before.
This was colder.
More dangerous.
He raised the gun.
Jo stepped between them.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Josephine.”
“No.”
“He murdered Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“He nearly murdered Sylvia.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Then move.”
Jo stared directly into his eyes.
“If you kill him right now, you prove everything he believes about you.”
Roman’s breathing changed.
Carlo smiled behind her.
“Listen to your nurse, Roman.”
“She’s a midwife,” Roman snapped automatically.
Jo almost turned around in disbelief.
“Really?”
“Sorry.”
The sheer ridiculousness broke something in the room.
Just enough.
Roman lowered the gun.
Carlo stopped smiling.
That was when Jo knew she had won.
Not against Roman.
Against Carlo.
Because Roman choosing not to kill him was the one outcome Carlo had never imagined.
They turned Carlo over to federal authorities three hours later.
Roman had evidence.
Financial records.
Recorded conversations.
Names.
Routes.
Bribes.
Carlo had kept copies because arrogant men often documented their crimes more carefully than cautious ones.
By evening, the Costa organization was collapsing.
Jo stood beside Roman outside the federal building.
“You just dismantled half your own empire.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
Roman looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Sylvia asked when it stops.”
He looked toward the city.
“I decided the answer could be today.”
Jo reached for his hand.
Roman looked down at their joined fingers.
Something vulnerable crossed his face.
“I don’t know what happens now,” he admitted.
Jo squeezed gently.
“Neither do I.”
He looked at her.
“That usually terrifies me.”
“And now?”
Roman stepped closer.
“Now I’m beginning to think it might be the first good thing that’s happened to me.”
He kissed her forehead.
Not her mouth.
Not passionately.
Just gently.
The tenderness frightened Jo more than anything else had.
Because violence was temporary.
May you like
Tenderness could become permanent.
And permanent things were the things you could lose.
Related Stories
