Chapter 9 - I CHOSE THEM IN FRONT OF EVERYONE
The Romano council met on the first Monday of every month.
Old men.
Young men trying to become old men.
Lawyers.
Business owners.
Union figures.
People who had spent decades pretending organized crime was simply “family business.”
Carlo’s chair remained empty.
Nobody moved it.
Symbolism mattered to men who denied having feelings.
I stood at the head of the table.
Vincent on my right.
Thirty-two faces looked back.
Everyone knew about Carlo’s arrest.
Rumors about Bellini.
Rourke.
Federal subpoenas.
The room smelled like cigars and fear.
I began simply.
“Carlo betrayed us.”
No one reacted.
“He sold routes to Bellini.”
Murmurs.
“He helped corrupt police investigations.”
Louder.
“He ordered Sofia’s death.”
Silence.
Nobody knew she was pregnant.
I did not tell them.
That belonged to me.
“And he arranged the death of Mateo Morales after Mateo discovered the laundering network.”
One man frowned.
“The housekeeper’s husband?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
His tone had bothered me.
He realized.
“Sorry.”
Good.
I continued.
“Federal investigators have evidence.”
A lawyer shifted.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Another man asked, “What are we doing about Bellini?”
Old question.
Meaning who dies.
“Nothing.”
The room changed.
“What?”
“He’s under federal investigation.”
Someone laughed.
“Since when do we let prosecutors clean our house?”
“Since cleaning it ourselves created Carlo.”
Silence.
I placed several folders on the table.
“These businesses close.”
Names.
Sports betting operations.
Unlicensed lending.
Cash clubs used for laundering.
Protection collections disguised as consulting.
Shock.
Anger.
One man stood.
“You can’t.”
I looked at him.
“Sit down.”
Old Adrian.
He sat.
I continued.
“Anything that cannot survive an audit gets sold, closed, or separated.”
My father’s oldest friend stared.
“Your father would turn in his grave.”
“My father is dead.”
Gasps.
Blasphemy.
I did not care.
“I am not.”
Another man said, “You’re doing this because of a woman.”
There it was.
I smiled.
“Partly.”
They looked stunned.
I did not deny it.
“Elena matters to me.”
Murmurs.
“Lily matters to me.”
More.
“And so does the fact that my wife died because men at this table believed family meant controlling what I was allowed to become.”
I looked at every face.
“If loyalty requires murder, secrecy, and children becoming targets, I don’t want it.”
Someone said, “You’ll make us weak.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“I’ll make us legal enough that our sons don’t inherit federal indictments as family heirlooms.”
Vincent almost smiled.
The old men did not.
The meeting lasted four hours.
Threats.
Arguments.
Resignations.
One man walked out.
Two demanded buyouts.
Three surprised me by agreeing immediately.
Change did not split cleanly by age.
Some old men were tired.
Some young men loved the violence they had not suffered enough yet.
At the end, the Romano organization did not disappear.
That would have been fantasy.
But it began becoming something else.
Shipping.
Construction.
Property.
Restaurants.
Security firms.
Legitimate finance.
Audited.
Licensed.
Painfully taxable.
I could hear my grandfather screaming from the grave.
Good.
When I returned to Bianca’s house, Elena was packing.
My stomach dropped.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up.
“Leaving.”
The word hit harder than expected.
“Why?”
“The immediate threat is smaller.”
“That is not why.”
“No.”
I waited.
Lily colored in the living room.
Elena lowered her voice.
“You changed your entire organization.”
“Yes.”
“For us?”
“For me.”
She studied me.
“Good answer.”
“Then why leave?”
“Because I need to know I can.”
That silenced me.
She continued.
“I went from Mateo protecting me without telling me anything to you surrounding me with guards.”
“I gave you choices.”
“You tried.”
True.
“Adrian, I care about you.”
My chest tightened.
“But I need an apartment with my name on the lease.”
“Fine.”
“A job that doesn’t depend on whether we’re sleeping together.”
“We’re not sleeping together.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I need Lily to know we’re with you because I choose it.”
I looked toward the living room.
Lily was giving Buttons a crayon.
“Not because we have nowhere else.”
“Yes.”
Every instinct told me to solve it.
Buy apartment.
Give money.
Hire her somewhere.
Control through generosity.
Exactly the trap.
So I did something harder.
“What do you need from me?”
Elena looked surprised.
“Nothing.”
That hurt.
I accepted it.
“Okay.”
She stared.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“I hate it.”
She almost smiled.
“I want you to stay.”
Her eyes filled.
“I want Lily here.”
I looked around Bianca’s little house.
“I want noise.”
My voice broke slightly.
“I want crayons under furniture.”
Elena started crying.
“But you said you need to leave.”
“Yes.”
“So leave.”
Tears rolled down her face.
I hated every second.
Still opened the door.
Two days later, Elena rented an apartment in Evanston.
Not far.
Not under my ownership.
She resigned as my housekeeper.
I accepted.
Then immediately discovered the mansion could apparently become dirty.
Shocking.
Lily visited.
Often.
Elena too.
But differently.
Dinner.
Coffee.
Walks.
No uniform.
No employee boundary.
I learned how to ask her out like a normal man.
Badly.
“Dinner.”
She looked at me.
“That was an order.”
“Would you like dinner?”
“With?”
“Me.”
“Where?”
“I own a restaurant.”
“No.”
I sighed.
“You’re difficult.”
“Try again.”
Eventually we ate at a small Mexican restaurant she liked.
No private room.
No security inside.
Vincent sat in a parked car two blocks away and complained by text.
Lily came too because babysitter plans changed.
Our first official date included spilled rice, a tantrum about green salsa, and Buttons falling under the table.
Best date of my life.
Then Carlo’s lawyers leaked a story.
ROMANO BOSS DISMANTLES FAMILY OPERATIONS FOR HOUSEKEEPER MISTRESS.
Elena was furious.
Not because of mistress.
Because they published Lily’s preschool area.
Within hours, we changed her routine.
The press gathered outside Elena’s apartment.
I offered the mansion.
She refused.
Then a reporter shouted something at her while Lily stood beside her.
“Did you seduce Romano for money?”
I saw the video later.
Elena stopped.
Turned.
Looked directly into the camera.
“No.”
Simple.
Then:
“I cleaned his house. My daughter painted his face. Apparently that was enough.”
The clip exploded online.
I laughed for ten minutes.
Then the serious question came.
A reporter asked whether I was changing criminal operations because of her.
Elena answered:
“If a grown man needs a woman to tell him not to commit crimes, he has larger problems.”
I loved her.
Completely.
No question.
I told her that evening.
Not planned.
She was washing Lily’s cup in her apartment.
I stood behind her.
“I love you.”
She stopped.
Water running.
Then turned.
“You picked dishwashing?”
“I am not good at timing.”
“No.”
She shut off the faucet.
“You mean it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You told me certainty about people is impossible.”
“I said trust.”
“Same neighborhood.”
I stepped closer.
“I love you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I love you too.”
The words nearly destroyed me.
Then she pointed a wet finger at my chest.
“But that does not mean I’m moving back tomorrow.”
I laughed.
“I know.”
“And I’m not quitting my new job.”
She had started working as office manager for a pediatric nonprofit.
“I know.”
“And Lily’s last name stays Morales.”
“I know.”
She stared.
“You’re getting irritatingly reasonable.”
“I’m suffering.”
She kissed me.
Then her phone rang.
Rachel Kim.
Elena answered.
Her face changed.
“What?”
I knew before she looked at me.
Bellini had disappeared from federal supervision.
Not officially escaped.
He had never been detained.
He had been negotiating through counsel.
Then he vanished before surrender.
His attorney claimed ignorance.
His safe house was empty.
And one message remained on the table.
ROMANO TOOK MY FAMILY. I’LL TAKE HIS.
Elena looked toward Lily’s bedroom.
Everything we had rebuilt suddenly felt fragile again.
Bellini had one move left.
May you like
And this time he was not coming for evidence.
He was coming for us.
