Chapter 6 - The Night My Father Died“Look at me.”
Roman didn’t.
Leo was asleep upstairs again.
Marcus had taken the anonymous photograph to his forensic team.
Elena had disappeared into the chapel at the eastern end of the house.
Roman stood alone in his study, staring at a fire that had almost burned itself out.
“Roman.”
“I heard you.”
“Then look at me.”
He turned.
There was guilt in his face.
Not surprise.
Guilt.
My stomach tightened.
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
The word landed harder than I expected.
“What did your father do the night mine died?”
Roman walked toward the desk.
For several seconds he didn’t speak.
Then he opened a locked drawer and removed an envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
My father’s name was written across it.
MICHAEL BLAKE.
“You had that the entire time?”
“No.”
“Where did it come from?”
“My father’s attorney delivered a sealed archive to me after Vittorio died. I was twenty-seven. The letter was inside.”
“You never opened it?”
“I did.”
“And?”
He handed it to me.
Inside were two handwritten pages.
Vittorio Moretti’s handwriting.
I didn’t recognize it, but Roman did.
The letter was dated the morning after my father’s death.
Roman,
If you ever discover what happened, understand that Michael Blake came to me because he believed I could protect him.
I failed.
My chest tightened.
I kept reading.
The night before his death, Michael called Vittorio.
He had discovered the identity of the person controlling the shell companies.
Victor.
Roman’s uncle.
Vittorio told Michael to bring the evidence to his house.
Michael refused.
He was afraid.
For me.
For my mother.
So Vittorio drove to our neighborhood.
He met Dad in a parking lot three blocks from our house.
Dad gave him copies.
Vittorio promised to go to the authorities the next morning.
Dad died before sunrise.
I looked up.
“You knew this.”
Roman’s face was tight.
“I knew my father met him.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn’t know you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I was twenty-seven. My father had just died too. The company was collapsing. Victor told me Vittorio had become paranoid before his accident.”
“And you believed him.”
Roman flinched.
“Yes.”
I turned away.
Anger rose so quickly I felt dizzy.
“You had a letter saying my father feared Victor.”
“A letter with no proof.”
“You had my name.”
“I tried to find you.”
I faced him.
“What?”
“After I found the letter.”
“You knew exactly where I was.”
“No. You had moved from the house listed in Michael’s records. Your mother had died. Your grandmother’s surname was different.”
“You run an international corporation.”
“I was twenty-seven and trying to keep six thousand employees from losing their jobs.”
“That makes me difficult to find?”
“No.”
He accepted the blow without defending himself.
“That makes it an excuse.”
I hated that answer because it was the correct one.
He continued.
“I searched for several months. Then I stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to believe Victor.”
The honesty hurt more than a lie.
Roman looked exhausted.
“He raised me after my father died. He taught me the company. Sat beside me through board fights. Helped me raise Leo after Sofia died.”
His voice roughened.
“I needed him to be innocent.”
I understood.
I didn’t want to.
But I did.
“So you buried the letter.”
“Yes.”
“And now my father might have been murdered.”
“Yes.”
I handed it back.
“Get out.”
Roman stared at me.
“This is my study.”
“Then I’ll get out.”
I walked toward the door.
He caught my wrist gently.
I looked down.
He released me immediately.
“Nora.”
“I need to be somewhere you aren’t.”
His face tightened.
“That’s fair.”
I left.
By noon, I packed my bag.
Elena found me.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I almost laughed.
“Does everyone in this family think that word is decorative?”
“You cannot go home.”
“I don’t have one anymore.”
Her expression softened.
“I know.”
That made me angrier.
“I can stay at a hotel.”
“Under whose name?”
“Mine.”
“The same name someone used to find your employer, apartment, phone number, and father’s watch?”
I hated practical people.
“I’ll figure it out.”
Elena sat on the bed.
“Roman made a terrible decision.”
“He made sixteen years of them.”
“No. He made one when he was twenty-seven. Then life kept moving.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“It’s supposed to keep you from confusing cowardice with cruelty.”
I stopped packing.
“Victor may have murdered Roman’s father too.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Did Roman?”
“Not then.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“Vittorio was my brother. He called me two days before his accident. He said he had discovered something inside the company that would destroy our family.”
“Why didn’t you tell Roman?”
“Because after Vittorio died, Victor showed me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“Roman leaving bars. Roman fighting. Roman with men who later went to prison.”
She shook her head.
“Victor convinced me my brother had been investigating Roman.”
My stomach turned.
“He manipulated all of you.”
“For years.”
Her voice became bitter.
“That is what men like Victor do. They don’t merely lie. They build a world where every truth seems impossible.”
I sat beside her.
“Why attack me now?”
“Because your father’s evidence could destroy him.”
“But he didn’t know what was in the watch.”
“No.”
A thought surfaced.
“Maybe he still doesn’t.”
Elena looked at me.
“What?”
I stood.
“Everyone assumes Victor knows we found the chip.”
“He sent the message.”
“He said I should have left the past buried. He knew we were investigating.”
“That’s close enough.”
“No. There’s a difference.”
I grabbed my phone.
“Where’s Marcus?”
Thirty minutes later, the study was filled with security specialists.
Roman entered last.
He stopped when he saw me.
“I thought you were leaving.”
“I changed my mind.”
Relief flashed across his face before he hid it.
“Why?”
“Because being furious at you doesn’t make Victor less dangerous.”
“Fair.”
“I’m still furious.”
“Also fair.”
Marcus cleared his throat.
“What’s the theory?”
I pointed to the anonymous messages.
“Victor thought I had the watch’s evidence before the gala.”
“Yes.”
“He tries to kill me.”
“Yes.”
“I survive. Then he breaks into the house for Vittorio’s journals.”
Marcus nodded.
“So?”
“So Victor is searching.”
Roman understood first.
“He doesn’t know what evidence exists.”
“Exactly.”
Marcus leaned back.
“He’s reacting.”
“So we make him react again,” I said.
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“With what?”
I looked at my father’s watch.
“We tell him Dad hid more than a storage chip.”
Marcus smiled slowly.
Roman did not.
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“You don’t even know the plan.”
“You’re going to use yourself as bait.”
“Technically the watch.”
“Attached to you?”
“Probably.”
“No.”
Marcus raised a hand.
“It could work.”
Roman glared at him.
“You’re fired.”
“You say that twice a month.”
“One day I’ll mean it.”
I leaned toward Roman.
“We leak that Dad recorded a confession.”
“He didn’t.”
“Victor doesn’t know that.”
“And when he comes for it?”
“Police are waiting.”
Roman stared at me.
“He already tried to kill you.”
“He failed.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His answer came too quickly.
“Because I can’t lose you.”
Silence.
Marcus suddenly became extremely interested in his laptop.
Elena smiled very slightly.
I stared at Roman.
He looked as though he wanted the floor to open beneath him.
“What did you say?”
His jaw tightened.
“You heard me.”
I had.
Unfortunately.
We had known each other less than a week.
Less than a week of blood, threats, old secrets and midnight conversations.
But some people spent years discussing weather and never truly met.
Roman and I had met under broken glass.
Every conversation afterward had simply removed another layer.
I lowered my voice.
“You barely know me.”
“I know you ran toward my son when everyone else ran away.”
“That doesn’t tell you everything.”
“I know you drink coffee with too much sugar.”
“That is classified.”
“I know you pretend pain doesn’t hurt when you’re scared.”
I stopped smiling.
“I know you touch your father’s watch whenever someone mentions family.”
His voice softened.
“I know Leo slept through the night for the first time in months because you were down the hall.”
Roman looked directly into my eyes.
“And I know that when I thought you were leaving this house, it felt much worse than it should have.”
My chest tightened.
I didn’t have a clever answer.
So Marcus supplied one.
“I’m going to pretend I’m not here.”
Roman glared at him.
“Please do.”
I looked away, suddenly warm.
“This still doesn’t mean I’m not bait.”
“It absolutely means that.”
“No. It means you have feelings and terrible timing.”
Elena laughed aloud.
Roman looked offended.
Marcus coughed to hide a smile.
Eventually, Roman agreed to a modified plan.
I wouldn’t be alone.
I wouldn’t leave the estate.
The fake evidence would be announced through a reporter Marcus trusted.
The story went live at 4:15 p.m.
NEW EVIDENCE MAY LINK DECADES-OLD MORETTI SAFETY SCANDAL TO EXECUTIVE FRAUD
The article claimed an unnamed witness possessed a recording made by Michael Blake hours before his death.
At 5:02, Victor Moretti called Roman.
Roman put him on speaker.
“Nephew.”
“Uncle.”
“I saw the article.”
“So did half Chicago.”
“Is it true?”
Roman looked at me.
“Yes.”
A long pause.
“Michael recorded something?”
Roman answered carefully.
“Apparently.”
“Where?”
“We’re still verifying it.”
Victor’s voice tightened.
“You should be careful.”
“With what?”
“Dead men tell stories poorly.”
My skin prickled.
Roman replied, “Maybe this one tells his clearly.”
Victor hung up.
Marcus tracked another call leaving Victor’s phone thirty seconds later.
To Cynthia Hale.
Finally.
She was alive.
Her phone pinged near an industrial storage complex on the south side.
Police moved.
We waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then Marcus’s phone rang.
His expression darkened.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then looked at Roman.
“The unit was empty.”
“Cynthia?”
“Gone.”
“Victor warned her?”
“Looks like it.”
The plan had failed.
Or so we thought.
At 7:40 that evening, a package arrived at the estate.
No return address.
Inside was a flash drive.
One file.
Video.
Cynthia Hale appeared onscreen.
Her face was bruised.
She looked terrified.
“If you’re watching this, Victor knows I helped him.”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t know he would kill Michael Blake.”
My heart stopped.
Roman grabbed my hand.
Cynthia continued.
“I falsified the Bellamy access records. I moved money. I helped destroy security footage at the gala.”
Her voice broke.
“But Victor ordered Michael’s death.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“He paid Dr. Lang to change the autopsy.”
Cynthia looked over her shoulder.
Then back at the camera.
“And Roman…”
Her expression became desperate.
“Your father’s brakes didn’t fail.”
Roman froze.
“Victor had them cut.”
Silence.
Then Cynthia said one final thing.
“He keeps everything.”
“What?” I whispered.
“Every payment. Every recording. Every person he owns.”
She gave an address.
A storage facility outside the city.
“Unit 317.”
The video ended.
Marcus was already moving.
Roman stopped him.
“It’s a trap.”
“Probably.”
I wiped my tears.
“It’s also proof.”
Roman looked at me.
“No heroics.”
I held up both hands.
“Agreed.”
We had no idea that Victor had anticipated every move.
Because when police opened Unit 317 forty-five minutes later, they didn’t find ledgers.
They found Cynthia.
Alive.
May you like
Bound to a chair.
And taped beneath that chair was an explosive device counting down from sixty seconds.
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