Chapter 8 - DOMINIC SAID CLARA WAS ROMAN’S NEW WEAKNESS
Dominic’s trial was ugly.
Not because of violence.
Because of language.
He called everything family protection.
Medical sabotage became emergency contingency planning.
Fraud became asset preservation.
Bribery became relationship management.
Witness intimidation became misunderstanding.
Dominic had spent his entire life renaming bad choices until they sounded responsible.
The prosecution called Vivian.
She testified.
Cried.
Admitted taking the inhaler.
Admitted watching the clock.
Admitted believing Roman would survive.
Dominic’s attorney asked:
“Did my client ever tell you he wanted Roman dead?”
“No.”
“Did he repeatedly say Roman would recover?”
“Yes.”
“Then you understood this was not murder.”
The prosecutor later asked:
“Did Dominic have medical training?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then whose life did you gamble on that belief?”
Vivian looked toward Roman.
“His.”
Good.
Alessio testified.
Dr. Hart.
Luca.
Roman.
Me.
Yes.
I had to.
Chain of custody for the medical form.
Finding it.
Vivian asking for missing paper.
Mrs. Russo reading.
No speculation.
Facts.
Dominic’s lawyer tried to make me look ambitious.
“You continued receiving salary from Mr. Valente after leaving employment.”
“Yes.”
“Six months?”
“Yes.”
“He funded your nursing education?”
“No.”
The attorney paused.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“My tuition assistance came through a state workforce program and student loans.”
Roman had offered once.
I said no.
Good decision.
“You remain personally friendly with Mr. Valente.”
I stiffened.
“Friendly?”
“Do you speak?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Has he visited your home?”
“No.”
“Has he given gifts to your daughter?”
I looked toward Roman.
“No.”
That had been another boundary.
Roman never bought Amara things without asking.
The attorney smiled.
“Do you feel gratitude toward him?”
“For continuing my salary?”
“Yes.”
“For protecting you?”
“I’m grateful he cooperated with police after his family endangered us.”
“Would you like to see Dominic convicted?”
The trap.
I thought.
“I would like the evidence to be taken seriously.”
“Not my question.”
“Yes.”
I looked directly at him.
“If he committed the crimes charged, I want consequences.”
Good.
No pretending neutrality.
The defense then introduced messages.
Dominic to Roman months before.
You’re killing what your father built.
Roman:
Good.
Another:
You want a family full of cowards.
Roman:
I want a family full of people not going to prison.
Jurors heard.
This was not a loving uncle with sudden concern.
It was ideological war.
Then Dominic testified.
His attorney did something risky.
Let him speak.
Dominic admitted planning temporary incapacity.
He insisted Dr. Breen guaranteed safety.
He admitted terminal transaction.
Claimed it was financially strategic.
Denied intending witness harm.
Then he looked at Roman.
“My nephew became ashamed of us.”
Roman did not move.
Dominic continued.
“He wants approval from people who will never see him as anything except mafia.”
That probably hurt because some truth lived inside it.
“He thinks closing our old businesses makes him legitimate.”
Silence.
“But the world still knows his name.”
Then Dominic said:
“And now he hides behind a maid and her child because they make him look human.”
My entire body froze.
Roman’s face changed.
The judge warned Dominic.
His attorney tried redirecting.
Too late.
Dominic continued:
“Clara Bell is his new weakness.”
Roman stood.
Not aggressively.
Just stood.
His lawyer touched his arm.
The judge ordered him seated.
Roman obeyed.
That mattered.
Years earlier maybe not.
Dominic smiled.
He wanted reaction.
He wanted proof.
Roman gave him none.
Later, outside court, I found Roman alone in a private conference room.
I had been directed there while reporters cleared.
He stood at the window.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re doing the face.”
He turned.
“What face?”
I smiled.
“Amara says everyone has one.”
Roman almost laughed.
Then:
“I wanted to hit him.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to remind him why people used to fear me.”
“I know.”
“And?”
I waited.
He looked at his hands.
“I sat down.”
“Yes.”
“Very inspiring.”
I laughed.
Then serious.
“Dominic called me your weakness.”
Roman looked toward me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“He put you into our story again.”
“I was already in it.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then:
“Are you?”
“What?”
“My weakness.”
I stared.
That question was too honest.
“No.”
His expression changed.
I continued:
“People are not weaknesses.”
He looked away.
“Easy to say.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Your lungs were a vulnerability.”
“Yes.”
“Trusting Dominic was a vulnerability.”
“Yes.”
“Caring about Amara isn’t.”
He looked at me.
“Caring about you?”
My heart stopped.
There it was.
No room to pretend.
I breathed.
“That depends on what you do with it.”
Roman went completely still.
I continued because apparently terror had destroyed my filter.
“If caring about me means deciding where I live, who protects me, what I can handle, then yes.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“If it means listening when I say no?”
“No.”
Silence.
Roman’s voice lowered.
“I care about you.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
I opened them.
“I’m not ready.”
“I know.”
“You cannot know.”
“I suspected.”
“Do not be clever.”
He almost smiled.
“I’m trying not to.”
I stepped back.
“My life is finally becoming mine again.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want it absorbed into yours.”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
His expression changed.
“No.”
Good.
“Then don’t.”
He nodded.
“I won’t.”
That mattered.
Two weeks later, Dominic was convicted on multiple conspiracy, medical-tampering, financial-fraud, and related counts.
Not every count.
Real trial.
Mixed specifics.
Enough.
Dr. Breen entered a plea before his own trial.
Matteo convicted separately on witness-related offenses.
Alessio received reduced sentencing for cooperation.
Vivian served a shorter term under her negotiated resolution and substantial probation afterward.
No one vanished.
No bodies.
No family cemetery scene.
Law.
Slow.
Imperfect.
Dominic received a long sentence.
At sentencing, he looked at Roman and said:
“You killed the family anyway.”
Roman answered only when the judge allowed victim statement.
“No.”
He looked at Dominic.
“I stopped letting you define what family had to be.”
That sentence made the papers.
I cut it out.
Then hated myself.
Amara found it.
“Why’d you keep this?”
“History.”
“You like him.”
May you like
“Go do homework.”
She laughed.
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