Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF PROTECTION
After Lucia’s museum incident, every wealthy person around Elena offered advice.
Move.
Hire more guards.
Homeschool.
Change names.
Leave New York.
Buy a compound.
Roman said none of those things.
That was how Elena knew he was frightened.
Old Roman would have had a relocation plan before police finished paperwork.
Instead he asked:
“What does the threat assessment recommend?”
Professional team concluded:
Diana’s network had been disrupted.
Vincent remained incarcerated.
Marco under supervision.
Known Bellini entities dissolved or monitored.
Risk remained elevated because of notoriety, but there was no intelligence supporting immediate organized threat.
Recommendation:
Strengthen digital privacy.
Limit real-time social posting.
Maintain controlled pickup systems.
Use trained security for major public events.
Do not dramatically alter Lucia’s routine unless evidence changes.
Elena agreed.
Roman agreed.
Vivian complained.
“You’re both becoming reasonable.”
Elena laughed.
Roman did not.
Then protection became financial.
Roman’s remaining lawful companies still owned a nightclub group and two warehouses with historical ties to men under investigation.
The businesses were legal now.
Audited.
Profitable.
But relationships around them remained contaminated.
Roman’s advisers said selling would cost tens of millions.
He sold anyway.
Not fire sale.
Independent process.
Buyers screened.
Proceeds taxed and separated.
Why?
Because one warehouse employed Anthony Morello’s nephew.
One club leased security services from a company once controlled by Carbone.
Roman no longer wanted Lucia’s future dependent on deciding which old friendships were safe this year.
His attorney asked:
“You realize what you’re giving up?”
“Yes.”
“Those assets could fund her trust.”
“She has enough.”
That sentence stunned everyone.
Enough.
The old empire never recognized enough.
More property.
More influence.
More leverage.
More safety.
Roman had begun measuring differently.
He retained legitimate construction, commercial real estate, and logistics interests under independent executives.
Marino Civic Development remained primarily Elena’s domain.
She had transformed it.
Affordable housing projects.
Community health centers.
Municipal partnerships.
No cash envelopes.
No men whose titles were unofficial.
One afternoon, Roman attended a board presentation because Lucia’s trust held a minority stake.
Elena was speaking.
He sat in back.
No interruption.
She was better at it than him.
That once would have bothered Roman.
Now he felt something unfamiliar.
Pride without ownership.
After meeting, Elena approached.
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t asked.”
She almost smiled.
“Who are you?”
“Still unpleasant.”
“That helps.”
Their co-parenting became easier.
Not easy.
Roman remained Roman.
He wanted immediate answers.
Elena sometimes withheld decisions too long because she feared giving him influence.
They fought about Lucia’s school.
Roman favored a small private academy with heavy security.
Elena preferred a progressive school closer to her home.
He argued.
She argued.
Then they caught themselves.
Lucia was six.
They brought her to both.
She chose the progressive school because it had chickens.
Roman stared at coop.
“All this discussion.”
Elena laughed.
“Chicken governance.”
They enrolled her.
Then Roman faced another test.
One of his former men, Salvatore Neri, resurfaced and asked for help paying legal fees.
Roman refused.
Salvatore threatened to tell investigators about an old cash arrangement.
Roman’s attorney said exposure was limited and probably covered by previous disclosures.
Roman could have paid fifty thousand and ended it.
He did not.
Salvatore sent information.
Investigators reviewed.
Roman had already disclosed most.
One minor tax issue remained.
Roman paid additional penalty.
Done.
Elena heard.
“You could have avoided it?”
“With money.”
“And didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Roman looked at her.
“Because I’m trying to build a life where blackmail is a bad investment.”
Good.
Then Elena realized she had built her own kind of fortress.
Not guards.
Emotional walls.
Roman had changed enough to earn unsupervised time with Lucia.
But Elena still scheduled every handoff through assistants.
Never entered his house.
Never allowed him inside hers beyond foyer.
Never shared dinner.
Safety?
Partly.
Punishment?
Maybe.
Dr. Camille Warren, the family therapist overseeing Lucia’s adjustment, asked Elena:
“What would happen if Roman came inside for dinner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you fear violence?”
“No.”
“Manipulation?”
“Less.”
“Do you fear wanting him there?”
Elena stared.
That was the question.
She missed him.
Not the old marriage.
Not power.
Roman.
The man who remembered how she took tea.
Who knew why thunderstorms made her quiet.
Who had sat beside her during two miscarriages and cried when he thought she slept.
Who later betrayed her.
Both.
Dr. Warren said:
“Missing someone is information.”
“Not instruction.”
Good.
Elena could miss without returning.
Weeks later, Lucia asked:
“Can Daddy eat pasta here?”
Elena almost said:
“No.”
Then:
“Why?”
“Because he always cuts garlic too big.”
That was true.
Roman had once cooked.
Badly.
Before staff.
Before empire swallowed ordinary life.
Elena said yes.
One dinner.
Roman arrived carrying no flowers.
Good.
No jewelry.
No grand gesture.
He brought bread.
Lucia made him wash hands because school taught germs.
He obeyed.
They ate.
Conversation stayed mostly about chickens and a classmate named Ruby who apparently cheated at tag.
After Lucia slept, Roman stood at kitchen doorway.
“Thank you.”
Elena nodded.
“You don’t need to make this mean something.”
“I know.”
He put coat on.
Then she said:
“Roman.”
He turned.
“You still cut garlic too big.”
A slow smile.
“I can learn.”
Elena’s heart moved.
Dangerous.
Not because Roman would hurt her.
Because hope had returned.
May you like
She hated hope.
It asks more than anger.
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