Chapter 9 - ROMAN LOST EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE ONE THING HE NEVER ASKED ME TO GIVE BACK
Twenty-two months changed Roman Vale.
Not in the way newspapers expected.
He did not emerge soft.
Roman would probably never become soft.
He emerged quieter.
The Vale mansion was sold.
Several warehouses forfeited.
Cash holdings seized.
Illegal businesses gone.
Legitimate restaurants and logistics properties remained under independently managed corporations.
Roman retained enough money to live extremely well.
Not empire money.
Still more than Claire would ever need.
Thomas joked that Roman had been reduced to “merely rich.”
Roman did not laugh.
Claire learned these things mostly through Thomas.
She never visited prison.
Not once.
Roman never asked.
Maddie wrote regularly.
Sometimes Roman answered.
His letters were short.
Age-appropriate.
No manipulation.
He drew badly.
One letter included a picture of what he claimed was a horse.
Maddie announced it looked like “a potato with legs.”
Claire agreed.
Groundwork grew.
Claire opened a second location in Evanston.
Then regretted it for six months because managing two cafés apparently involved ninety percent plumbing.
Maddie started kindergarten.
Then first grade.
She still asked about Daniel.
Claire told stories.
Daniel burning toast.
Daniel singing terribly.
Daniel teaching her to ride a tricycle.
Roman never replaced those stories.
That mattered.
Then Roman’s release date arrived.
Thomas called Claire one week before.
“He’ll be out Friday.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Okay.”
“He isn’t coming to Groundwork.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“He told me to make sure you knew.”
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t spend Friday expecting a black car.”
Claire looked out the café window.
That was thoughtful.
She hated that.
“Where will he live?”
“Apartment downtown.”
“Whose?”
“His.”
“Security?”
“One man.”
“Only one?”
Thomas laughed.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m not.”
Roman returned to Chicago quietly.
No press conference.
No Vale men outside restaurants.
No dramatic entrance.
For three weeks, Claire did not see him.
Maddie did.
Once.
Thomas arranged it with Claire’s permission.
Public park.
Claire stayed nearby.
Roman sat on a bench when Maddie ran toward him.
He stood.
Then froze.
She was six now.
Longer hair.
Missing front tooth.
She hit him around the waist.
Roman’s eyes closed.
Claire watched from fifty yards away.
He did not look for her.
That mattered.
Maddie talked for forty-five straight minutes.
School.
Her teacher.
A boy named Carter who ate paste.
The new Groundwork.
Roman listened.
When the visit ended, Maddie handed him gummy bears.
Of course.
Roman gave her nothing.
No gift.
Claire noticed.
He understood.
Then Maddie pointed toward Claire.
Roman finally looked.
Their eyes met.
He nodded.
One time.
Claire nodded back.
That was all.
A month later, Roman entered Groundwork.
Tuesday morning.
7:30.
Claire stared.
Same hour as his first visit years earlier.
He wore a dark coat.
No suit.
He stopped inside the door.
Every memory returned.
Table seven.
Sightlines.
Black coffee.
A man searching for a dead husband’s secret.
Claire approached.
“We have eleven other tables.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Tiny.
“You remember.”
“Unfortunately.”
He looked toward table seven.
“May I?”
Claire thought.
Then nodded.
Roman sat.
Claire brought black coffee.
No cream.
No sugar.
He placed four dollars on the table.
Exactly.
“No thirty-dollar tip?”
“I’m trying to reduce suspicious behavior.”
Claire almost smiled.
She sat opposite.
For several seconds, silence.
Then Roman said—
“I’m sorry.”
Claire exhaled.
“We’ve done this part.”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to do it forever?”
“Probably.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“I have time.”
She looked at him.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Roman.”
“I mean it.”
He looked around Groundwork.
“I wanted coffee.”
“At my café.”
“Yes.”
“On a Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
“At your old table.”
He almost smiled.
“Maybe not nothing.”
Claire waited.
“I wanted to see whether being here felt like stealing something.”
Her chest tightened.
“And?”
“It does.”
Honest.
Roman looked toward Daniel’s crooked shelf.
“You never fixed that.”
“No.”
“He built it?”
“Yes.”
“I know now.”
Claire stared.
Roman continued—
“Thomas told me.”
“Daniel was terrible at shelves.”
“I gathered.”
Silence.
Roman wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.
No wedding ring.
Claire noticed.
Hated noticing.
“I am not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I’m not asking to remarry you.”
“Very good.”
“I’m not asking you to trust me.”
“Excellent conversation.”
A faint smile.
Then—
“I want permission to continue seeing Maddie if she wants to see me.”
Claire studied him.
“Why?”
Roman’s expression hardened slightly.
Not angry.
Emotional.
“Because I love her.”
There.
No qualifications.
No responsibility language.
Love.
“She isn’t Daniel.”
“I know.”
“She isn’t your redemption.”
“I know.”
“She is not proof you changed.”
“I know.”
Claire pointed.
“That one is allowed.”
Roman almost laughed.
“She may stop wanting to see you.”
“Yes.”
“You accept that.”
“Yes.”
“She may call you Roman forever.”
“Yes.”
“She may someday call someone else Dad.”
Pain moved through his face.
Then—
“Yes.”
Claire believed him.
“Okay.”
Roman’s breath changed.
“That’s all?”
“No.”
She leaned forward.
“If you ever use her to get closer to me, you are done.”
“I won’t.”
“If you ask her questions about my dating life—”
Roman’s jaw tightened involuntarily.
Claire saw.
Good.
“—done.”
“Yes.”
“You follow her pace.”
“Yes.”
Claire stood.
Roman looked up.
“What about you?”
She froze.
“I said I wouldn’t ask through Maddie.”
“That is not what I mean.”
Roman’s face became careful.
“Is there any possibility…”
He stopped.
Claire waited.
“…that someday you and I talk about something other than what I destroyed?”
Her chest tightened.
She could have said no.
Maybe should have.
Instead—
“Not today.”
Roman looked down.
Then nodded.
“Not today.”
He finished his coffee.
Left four dollars.
No more.
When he reached the door, Claire called—
“Roman.”
He turned.
She hated herself.
“Daniel left another video.”
Roman went still.
“For me?”
“For me.”
His face softened.
“Then it’s yours.”
“He talked about you.”
Roman said nothing.
“He said you weren’t your father.”
Roman’s eyes lowered.
“He was wrong sometimes.”
Claire continued—
“He also said you were standing inside a burning house pretending you were clean because you didn’t light the match.”
Roman looked at her.
“That sounds like him.”
“You knew him better than you admitted.”
“Yes.”
Claire swallowed.
“He told me to love again.”
Roman stopped breathing.
She immediately regretted saying it.
Not because it was false.
Because of what he might hear.
Roman simply nodded.
“I hope you do.”
Then he left.
No claim.
No hopeful smile.
Nothing.
Claire stood behind the counter.
For the first time, she understood what Roman had lost in prison.
Not money.
Not power.
Entitlement.
The assumption that wanting something meant he had the right to move toward it.
What remained was harder.
Choice.
Hers.
Maddie’s.
Even his.
May you like
And strangely—
that was the first version of Roman Vale Claire thought she might someday trust.
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