Chapter 7 - WHAT ELENA KNEW
Roman stared at his mother.
Norah spoke first.
“Who?”
Elena looked at her.
“I’ll tell you.”
“Now.”
“Yes.”
But Roman stepped between them.
“No more careful versions.”
Elena flinched.
“For twelve months, everyone in this family has decided what Norah should know, what I should know, where she should live, where my children should sleep.”
His voice remained low.
“That ends tonight.”
Elena nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
Roman almost laughed.
“That may be the first time you’ve said that to me since I was fifteen.”
“This is not the moment.”
“This is exactly the moment.”
Rose began crying.
The sound cut through the room.
Norah lifted her immediately.
Roman watched his mother stare at her granddaughter.
Elena’s composure broke.
“May I?”
Norah hesitated.
“No.”
Elena closed her eyes.
She accepted it.
That, more than an apology, affected Roman.
Elena had never accepted being denied anything by family.
Norah said, “Tell us.”
Elena looked at Matteo.
“You gave me the photograph.”
Matteo nodded.
“Yes.”
Roman’s attention sharpened.
Elena continued.
“Matteo showed me the security image after I told him about the pregnancy. He said the business was already talking about succession.”
“I said whispers had begun,” Matteo corrected. “Not that anyone knew Norah was pregnant.”
Roman turned.
That mattered.
“Then the photograph wasn’t proof somebody knew.”
“No,” Matteo said.
“It proved our surveillance team knew she went to a hospital.”
“Yes.”
Norah stared at him.
“You made it sound like someone had discovered the twins.”
“I believed discovery was inevitable.”
“You believed.”
Matteo lowered his head.
“Yes.”
Roman looked at Elena.
“What did you believe?”
“That my son would put guards around his pregnant wife and call it love.”
Roman felt the sentence like a blade.
Elena’s eyes stayed on him.
“I believed the guards would attract enemies. I believed you would refuse to step away from power. I believed Norah would spend nine months behind armored glass.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“No.”
“You didn’t give me the chance.”
“No.”
Elena’s voice softened.
“Because I was afraid you’d answer exactly as your father would have.”
Roman’s face changed.
That was the oldest wound in the room.
Giuseppe Moretti had loved his family.
Everyone knew that.
He had also sacrificed birthdays, marriages, friendships and blood for the organization.
He had called every sacrifice necessary.
Roman had spent his adult life insisting he was different.
Norah’s disappearance suggested otherwise.
Elena sat down.
“After Norah left, I thought it would be for weeks.”
Norah’s eyes widened.
“Weeks?”
“I believed Roman would calm down. Matteo believed the internal attention would fade.”
Matteo looked away.
“But Roman searched harder,” Elena continued. “Men were beaten. Houses were watched. Every rumor became an investigation.”
Roman did not deny it.
“And every week convinced me I had made the right decision.”
Norah said, “So you kept lying.”
“Yes.”
“For a year.”
“Yes.”
“While I had two babies alone.”
Elena swallowed.
“Yes.”
Norah turned away.
Luca began crying now too.
Roman lifted him before anyone asked.
His son settled against his chest.
Elena watched.
A tear ran silently down her cheek.
Roman did not comfort her.
Not yet.
“Why bring Norah to Denver?”
Elena wiped her face.
“Because three weeks ago Matteo told me Keane was willing to end the territory war.”
Roman looked at his uncle.
“And you thought my wife was bargaining material?”
“No,” Elena said sharply. “I thought she was the only person who could make you see what continuing the war would cost.”
Norah stared at her.
“You brought me here to change him.”
“I brought you here because you told me in your last letter that you were tired of running.”
Norah’s face softened slightly.
Elena continued.
“You wrote that Rose had begun turning toward the door whenever a man’s voice passed in the hallway. You wrote that Luca smiled at strangers with dark hair.”
Roman looked down at his son.
Norah’s eyes filled.
“I wrote that because I missed him.”
“I know.”
“You used it.”
Elena whispered, “Yes.”
That word seemed to cost her.
Roman asked, “Did Matteo arrange the shooting?”
“No,” Elena said.
Matteo answered simultaneously.
“No.”
Roman looked between them.
“Did Keane?”
Matteo hesitated.
“I don’t think so.”
“That answer is becoming tiresome.”
“I have a meeting with Patrick Keane at one-thirty.”
Norah stared at him.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“St. Agnes.”
Roman’s eyes turned cold.
“You were going to bring my wife and children to a meeting with Patrick Keane?”
“No.”
“They were supposed to be upstairs in the residential wing.”
“That is thirty yards from the chapel.”
“Roman—”
Roman took one step toward him.
Norah said his name.
He stopped.
Matteo looked ashamed.
“I believed Patrick would keep his word.”
“Your son died because somebody believed men like us kept their word.”
The sentence silenced him.
Elena looked toward Roman’s phone.
“Can Carlo stop the crews?”
Roman checked.
Messages had arrived.
Carlo had intercepted two teams.
The third was unaccounted for.
Then another update appeared.
The missing team had not been Moretti men at all.
The vehicle had been registered to a shell company connected to Keane.
Roman showed Matteo.
Matteo’s face tightened.
“So somebody sent Keane men using your authorization codes.”
Anthony muttered, “Trying to make each side think the other broke the deal.”
Roman nodded.
A war built from impersonation.
One bullet.
One stolen medal.
One forged code.
Enough sparks placed near enough gasoline.
Norah said, “Then don’t go to the meeting.”
Matteo shook his head.
“If nobody goes, Keane assumes Roman rejected the truce.”
Roman answered.
“I’ll go.”
Norah’s face hardened.
“No.”
“I’m not sending anyone else.”
“Roman—”
He stepped closer.
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because I’m not going there to punish anybody.”
Norah searched his face.
“What are you going to do?”
Roman looked at his children.
“End it.”
Elena whispered, “Roman.”
He ignored her.
“I’ll surrender the Denver routes.”
Matteo stared.
“You said twenty million was too much.”
“It was.”
“What changed?”
Roman looked down at Luca.
“This weighs seven pounds.”
For the first time, Matteo smiled sadly.
Then his expression vanished.
Headlights swept across the hospital windows below.
Not one vehicle.
Four.
Matteo walked to the glass.
His face changed.
Roman joined him.
Black SUVs were turning beneath the emergency entrance canopy.
Matteo checked his watch.
“Twelve forty-eight.”
“The meeting’s at one-thirty.”
“Yes.”
Roman looked down.
Men were stepping from the vehicles.
Patrick Keane was among them.
Gray hair.
Camel coat.
No hurry.
No attempt to hide.
Matteo whispered, “He isn’t supposed to know we’re here.”
Roman’s hand tightened around Luca.
Then Patrick Keane looked up.
Directly toward the hospital window.
And lifted his hand.
May you like
Not with a weapon.
With Matteo’s missing silver rosary wrapped around his fingers.
