Chapter 2 - THE LETTER SHE NEVER MEANT HIM TO READ
Roman found the box because Sabrina wanted Elena’s things moved.
That was the part he would remember later.
Not the rain.
Not the silence.
Not even the empty side of the bed.
Sabrina walked into the bedroom shortly after ten that morning wearing one of Elena’s silk robes, the pale champagne-colored one Roman had bought in Florence years earlier.
“There are maternity clothes everywhere,” she said. “If Elena isn’t coming back, Marco should clear the closet.”
Roman looked at her.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his gaze dropped to the robe.
“Take that off.”
Sabrina blinked.
“What?”
“That belongs to Elena.”
A flash of irritation crossed her face.
“She left it.”
“She didn’t give it to you.”
“Roman.”
“Take it off.”
She stared at him, then turned and walked into the bathroom.
The door shut harder than necessary.
Roman looked around the bedroom.
Three days earlier, Elena had been there.
Now the room felt preserved rather than abandoned.
Her book was still facedown on the chair.
A half-used bottle of lotion stood beside the bed.
One of her hair ties remained around the lamp base.
Small things.
Ordinary things.
Evidence of a life that had disappeared faster than he understood.
Roman opened the top drawer of Elena’s nightstand.
He didn’t know what he was looking for.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe proof that she had intended to come back.
Instead, he found a white box tied with yellow ribbon.
His chest tightened.
The box was small enough to fit in one hand.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Inside were baby shoes.
White leather.
Tiny.
So small they looked almost unreal.
Roman touched one with his thumb.
Something underneath them crackled.
An envelope.
His name was written on the front.
Roman.
Elena’s handwriting.
He stared at it.
Then opened it.
The first sentence made him sit completely still.
If you are reading this before our baby is born, then something has gone wrong.
Roman’s throat tightened.
He kept reading.
For eighteen months, someone inside your organization has been feeding information to Luca Bellandi. I am almost certain Sabrina Cross is involved.
Roman stopped.
Read it again.
Then again.
His first instinct was disbelief.
His second was anger.
At Elena.
At himself.
At the fact that even after she left, she had found a way to accuse Sabrina.
Then he kept reading.
I found copies of internal shipping schedules hidden inside expense folders from the Marino Family Foundation. Sabrina asked me to approve those accounts because she thought I never checked operational attachments. She was wrong.
Roman looked toward the bathroom.
The door remained closed.
His pulse slowed.
I did not tell you because I did not know who else was involved. I contacted Daniel Mercer through my mother’s old law firm. He helped me trace the transfers. There are four accounts. Two connect to Bellandi-controlled companies. One is offshore. One is linked to Sabrina.
Roman’s hand tightened around the letter.
Luca Bellandi.
Sixty years old.
Former ally.
Current rival.
A man Roman had spent seven years keeping away from Marino freight routes, casinos, political relationships, and legitimate construction contracts.
Bellandi had never stopped wanting what Roman controlled.
Roman read faster.
Sabrina is not sleeping with you because she loves you.
He closed his eyes.
The sentence hurt for reasons he did not want to examine.
She has been inside your organization for years. She knows your routines. Your habits. Your resentment. She learned exactly which version of herself you would trust because she rarely tells you no.
Roman looked toward the bathroom again.
Silence.
He continued.
Two weeks ago Daniel confirmed something worse. Someone intends to kill you before Bellandi moves openly against the businesses. I believe the attempt will come from inside the estate or from someone on your security detail.
Roman stood.
His eyes went immediately to the windows.
The bedroom door.
The hallway.
For the first time in years, his own home felt unfamiliar.
I changed the guard rotations twice without telling you. Marco helped me. I removed a tracking chip from your black sedan last Tuesday. I told you the car was in maintenance because I did not want Sabrina to know I found it.
Roman remembered.
He had been furious that morning.
He accused Marco of incompetence.
Elena stood beside the kitchen island and said quietly, “Take the Range Rover. It isn’t worth an argument.”
He had kissed Sabrina that night.
The letter shook in his hand.
I know about you and her.
Roman stopped breathing.
There were no accusations after that sentence.
That made it worse.
I have known for six months. I stayed because I needed access to the estate accounts and because if Sabrina knew I suspected her, you might be dead before I could prove anything.
Roman sat again.
Something inside him collapsed slowly.
Elena had known.
Every dinner.
Every late night.
Every business trip where Sabrina somehow ended up in the same hotel.
Every lie.
And she stayed.
Not because she was weak.
Not because she had nowhere to go.
Because she thought leaving would expose him.
The next paragraph almost finished him.
The baby is a boy.
Roman stared.
They had agreed not to find out.
At least, he thought they had.
I found out at the last ultrasound. I wanted to surprise you. The shoes were going to be on your desk the morning I told you. I imagined you pretending not to cry.
Roman looked at the tiny shoes.
His vision blurred.
He wiped his face angrily.
Then kept reading.
If I am wrong about Sabrina, I will apologize to you for the rest of my life. If I am right, please do not make the mistake of thinking this letter means I still belong to you. I protected you because I loved you. Those are not the same thing.
Roman’s chest tightened painfully.
And if you ever wonder whether I loved you enough, remember this: I stayed quiet while you broke my heart because keeping you alive mattered more to me than making you feel guilty.
The letter ended there.
No goodbye.
No signature.
Just Elena.
Roman sat in the bedroom for a long time.
Then the bathroom door opened.
Sabrina stepped out wearing a black dress.
Her eyes went to the box.
Then the letter.
She stopped.
“What did you find?”
Roman looked at her.
For the first time since he met Sabrina Cross, he did not see the woman who made him feel admired.
He saw someone evaluating distance.
Door.
Window.
Phone.
His hands.
“What is it?” she asked again.
Roman folded the letter carefully.
“Baby shoes.”
Her expression changed.
Barely.
But he saw it.
Recognition.
Fear.
Calculation.
Then it was gone.
“Oh.”
Roman placed the letter inside his jacket.
Sabrina stepped closer.
“Was there something else?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Roman.”
He smiled back.
It cost him everything.
“No.”
He left the bedroom.
Walked into the hall.
Closed the door.
Then called Marco.
“Where is Elena?”
Silence.
“Roman.”
“Where is she?”
“She told me not to tell you.”
“Someone may be trying to kill her.”
That changed everything.
Marco gave him the address.
A four-story apartment building in White Plains.
Roman drove himself.
He ignored three calls from Sabrina.
Two from his attorney.
One from Vivien.
The rain had started again when he reached Elena’s street.
Police cars blocked the intersection.
A fire engine sat near the curb.
Smoke drifted from a broken third-floor window.
Roman stopped the car in the middle of traffic.
No.
He ran.
“Sir!”
A police officer grabbed his arm.
“My wife is inside.”
“Building’s evacuated.”
“Apartment 4C.”
The officer’s expression changed.
Roman’s heart stopped.
“What?”
“Explosion in 4C.”
The world disappeared.
Roman shoved forward.
Two officers restrained him.
“ELENA!”
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He almost ignored it.
Something made him answer.
“Roman.”
Elena.
He stopped fighting.
“Elena.”
His voice broke.
“Where are you?”
“Not there.”
He closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
“I left twenty minutes before it happened.”
“Why?”
“I saw someone watching the building.”
Roman turned slowly.
Across the street, beneath a black umbrella, stood a man near a parked sedan.
Elena continued.
“Roman, listen to me.”
He recognized the man.
Anthony Rizzo.
One of his security captains.
A man who had worked for Roman for eight years.
“Don’t go home,” Elena said.
Anthony looked across the street.
Their eyes met.
Then Anthony reached inside his coat.
Roman moved.
The first gunshot shattered the windshield behind him.
The second hit the brick wall near his shoulder.
People screamed.
Police reached for weapons.
Roman dropped behind a parked car.
Anthony ran.
Roman gripped the phone.
“Elena.”
“I heard it.”
Her voice was shaking.
“Roman, Sabrina knows.”
“How?”
“Because if Anthony is moving openly, she knows you found the letter.”
Roman looked toward the smoke rising from Elena’s apartment.
The letter inside his jacket suddenly felt heavier than any gun he had ever carried.
May you like
His wife had spent months protecting him from an enemy inside his own house.
And he had rewarded her by giving that enemy Elena’s bedroom.
