Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT I TOLD ELENA EVERYTHING
Carlo went into federal custody from the hospital.
Bellini disappeared.
Rourke remained missing.
Three problems became two.
Then one of the federal searches found something inside Carlo’s house that made me sit down.
Sofia’s necklace.
A thin gold chain with a small emerald pendant.
I had given it to her on our second anniversary.
Police told me nothing personal had been recovered from the explosion.
Apparently someone lied.
Carlo had kept it.
Why?
Trophy?
Guilt?
Memory?
I never learned.
Maybe I did not want to.
Nora Bennett delivered it in an evidence bag.
I stared for almost a minute.
Then Elena sat beside me.
We were back at Bianca’s house.
Lily slept upstairs.
The criminal case had forced us into security nobody enjoyed.
Federal marshals monitored the street.
Vincent had moved into the guest room.
He complained the mattress was designed for children.
It had actually been Bianca’s.
I told him suffering built character.
Elena looked at the necklace.
“Do you want to be alone?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
So did the certainty.
She stayed.
I opened the evidence bag.
The chain was blackened.
The emerald cracked.
Still Sofia’s.
“I bought this in Florence.”
Elena listened.
“She hated expensive jewelry.”
“Then why?”
“I was twenty-eight and stupid.”
“You’re still stupid.”
I almost smiled.
“True.”
“She wore it?”
“Every day.”
My throat tightened.
“She said if she had to marry a criminal, she intended to at least get jewelry.”
Elena laughed softly.
I could hear Sofia saying it.
That hurt.
But differently now.
Less like being stabbed.
More like touching scar tissue.
“I never told anyone what happened before she died.”
Elena waited.
“She was pregnant.”
Her face changed.
“Oh.”
“Eight weeks.”
I stared at the necklace.
“Nobody knew except us.”
“Carlo?”
“I don’t know.”
Sofia had wanted to wait until twelve weeks.
I wanted to tell the entire city.
She told me I was impossible.
Then she died before either of us could.
“I lost both.”
Elena took my hand.
This time I did not freeze.
“I’m sorry.”
“I became worse afterward.”
She said nothing.
“I stopped negotiating before violence.”
Still nothing.
“I hurt people because anger made silence easier.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“I told myself fear protected me.”
“You said that before.”
“It also made me alone.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to say it gently.”
“I wasn’t.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
There.
It happened.
No dramatic collapse.
No shouting.
Just tears I had apparently stored for five years.
Elena moved closer.
I covered my face.
Embarrassing.
She pulled my hands down.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t hide.”
“I don’t do this.”
“Clearly.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Too confident.
I kissed her.
She smiled against my mouth.
Then pulled back.
“Lily is upstairs.”
“I know.”
“Vincent is in the guest room.”
“I know.”
“This house has terrible walls.”
That actually made me laugh.
We stayed on the sofa.
Nothing more.
That mattered.
Desire did not have to become possession.
I was learning.
Later, Elena told me about Mateo.
Not the heroic version.
The real one.
“He forgot everything.”
“What?”
“Appointments. Groceries. His keys.”
She smiled.
“He once locked himself out while holding Lily.”
“How?”
“The keys were inside. Lily was outside.”
“Impressive.”
“He tried to fix the bathroom sink and flooded the apartment below us.”
I laughed.
“He snored.”
“Unforgivable.”
“He was jealous.”
That surprised me.
“Of?”
“Anyone.”
Elena rolled her eyes.
“He thought every man at my work liked me.”
“They probably did.”
She looked at me.
“Do not become him.”
“Noted.”
“He apologized badly.”
“How?”
“He bought grocery-store flowers after arguments.”
“Cheap?”
“Always.”
“Smart man.”
She smiled sadly.
“He was scared near the end. I thought it was money.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought he had gambling debt or something.”
“You couldn’t know.”
“I should have asked.”
“Would he have told you?”
She thought.
“No.”
“Then guilt is arrogant.”
She stared.
“What?”
“It assumes we could have controlled an outcome we were never allowed to understand.”
Elena went quiet.
“Did someone tell you that?”
“No.”
“Then you occasionally say smart things.”
“Rarely.”
We sat in silence.
Two widowed people.
Two dead spouses.
One sleeping child upstairs.
No replacement.
That mattered.
I did not want Elena because Sofia was gone.
Elena did not need me because Mateo was dead.
We were not filling empty chairs.
We were choosing new ones.
At 2:13 a.m., Nora called.
Bellini had surfaced.
Not captured.
Negotiating.
Through attorneys.
He offered information against Carlo and Rourke in exchange for reduced charges.
I laughed.
“Everyone becomes ethical when indictment approaches.”
Nora did not laugh.
“He claims he did not order Sofia’s bombing.”
I went still.
“What?”
“He says Carlo did.”
“Proof?”
“Recorded call.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Send it.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
“Adrian.”
“Now.”
Twenty minutes later, secure audio arrived.
Carlo’s voice.
Five years earlier.
“You know the route.”
Bellini replied, “You said scare her.”
Carlo:
“I changed my mind.”
Then:
“Make sure Adrian blames you.”
Bellini swore.
“You’re insane.”
Carlo:
“No. I’m protecting the family.”
I nearly threw the phone.
Protecting.
Always that word.
Bellini apparently refused to arrange the bombing himself.
But a subcontractor connected to one of his crews did it after Carlo paid through another intermediary.
Bellini knew afterward.
Covered it.
Used my hatred to his advantage.
Not innocent.
But Carlo had ordered Sofia dead.
My uncle killed my wife and unborn child because he believed she would make me leave the life he wanted me to inherit.
Elena held me while I listened a second time.
Then stopped me before the third.
“No.”
“I need—”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You heard it.”
“Yes.”
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop making yourself bleed to prove it happened.”
I stared.
Then put down the phone.
She was right.
Evidence was for court now.
Not self-torture.
The next morning, Lily climbed into my bed at six seventeen.
No permission.
No warning.
She carried Buttons.
I opened one eye.
“What are you doing?”
“Mama is sleeping.”
“So?”
“I’m awake.”
Apparently that explained trespassing.
She crawled under the blanket.
Buttons landed on my chest.
“You sad?”
Children.
Terrifying.
“Why?”
“You make sad face.”
“I’m fine.”
She stared.
I sighed.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then placed Buttons beside my head.
“He helps.”
“I know.”
We lay there.
A feared Chicago crime boss.
A three-year-old child.
A rabbit that had hidden evidence capable of dismantling half a criminal network.
Life had become absurd.
Lily touched my cheek.
“No heart.”
“Not today.”
She thought.
“Later.”
Maybe.
At breakfast, Nora called again.
Rourke had been arrested in Wisconsin trying to cross toward Minnesota under a false name.
He carried $180,000 cash.
Three passports.
And one of Mateo’s original police reports.
The case was closing.
Not finished.
But closing.
Carlo’s empire inside mine was exposed.
Bellini was bargaining.
Rourke was caught.
And for the first time, I faced a question I had avoided.
What happened to my empire after the truth came out?
If I wanted a future with Elena and Lily, I could not simply remove the traitors and continue everything else.
That would make Carlo right.
Sofia had wanted me out.
Mateo had trusted I could be better than the men around me.
Lily had painted a heart on my face because I looked lonely.
Three dead or innocent people had somehow reached the same conclusion.
May you like
Adrian Romano needed to change.
The question was whether I had the courage to lose power voluntarily.
