Chapter 9 - The Price of Becoming CleanThree months later, I was a waitress again.
Sort of.
The Beaumont Grand offered me my old position back after the shooting.
I declined.
Then Roman bought the Beaumont.
So technically declining became complicated.
“I didn’t buy it because of you,” he claimed.
“Of course not.”
“It was undervalued.”
“Convenient.”
“It was.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard.”
Instead, I returned to nursing school.
I had dropped out four years earlier when my mother became sick.
There hadn’t been enough money for tuition, rent, medication, and groceries.
Something always had to go.
My education had been the easiest thing to sacrifice because dreams didn’t send overdue notices.
Roman offered to pay.
I refused.
He argued.
I refused louder.
Finally, Elena solved it.
She created a scholarship fund for adults returning to medical education.
Then informed me that I would be insulting hundreds of future students if I refused to become the first recipient.
Manipulation apparently ran in the DeLuca family.
I accepted.
Dad’s case moved slowly.
The evidence showed he had concealed crimes, used false identities, and participated in illegal surveillance.
It also showed he had spent nearly two decades gathering evidence against Salvatore.
Prosecutors offered cooperation.
He accepted.
Salvatore was indicted on enough charges to ensure that even if his illness didn’t kill him, prison probably would be the last home he knew.
Vincent testified.
Elena testified.
Roman testified.
That was the most shocking part.
For six days, Roman DeLuca sat inside a federal courthouse and answered questions about his companies.
He admitted to bribery committed in his twenties.
Illegal payments.
Tax violations.
Deals made under threats he claimed had never crossed into physical violence.
Some charges were too old to prosecute.
Others weren’t.
He paid fines large enough to make financial newspapers hyperventilate.
Several companies were placed under outside monitoring.
Two executives went to prison.
Roman avoided incarceration under a sweeping cooperation agreement that required him to dismantle the remaining illegal operations.
People said he had become weak.
Roman didn’t care.
One evening I asked him why.
We were sitting on the floor of Leo’s room assembling a model solar system.
Or attempting to.
Roman had somehow built Saturn upside down.
“For him,” he said.
Leo was asleep nearby.
“That’s it?”
Roman attached a plastic moon.
“When he grows up, I don’t want him wondering which parts of his life were paid for by someone else’s fear.”
I looked at him.
“You’re becoming annoyingly decent.”
“Don’t spread that around.”
Our relationship was slower.
Much slower than every gossip site wanted.
The photographs began after someone caught Roman dropping me at nursing school.
MYSTERY WOMAN TAMING CHICAGO’S DARK KING.
I hated that headline.
“Taming?” I said.
Roman looked amused.
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I’m not training a difficult horse.”
“A disappointing clarification.”
Another publication called me:
THE WAITRESS WHO STOLE THE MOBSTER’S HEART.
That one made Elena laugh so hard she spilled tea.
“You didn’t steal it,” she told me.
“No?”
“No. The idiot left it lying around.”
Roman walked into the room.
“I can hear you.”
“That was the point,” Elena said.
Leo adored having his grandmother nearby.
Elena bought him ridiculous toys.
Roman complained.
Then bought larger ones.
I remained the only adult willing to say no to both of them.
But normal happiness felt unfamiliar.
I kept waiting for another attack.
Another secret.
Another dead relative to appear.
Sometimes I woke at three in the morning certain someone was outside my apartment.
I still kept the apartment.
Roman hated that.
“It has two locks,” I told him.
“It has one functional lock and another lock that appears decorative.”
“It has character.”
“It has mold.”
“That’s character.”
Eventually he stopped arguing.
Mostly.
Six months after the attack, Dad was sentenced.
Eighteen months.
Not nothing.
Not forever.
The judge credited his cooperation and acknowledged that much of what he’d done had been motivated by threats against his family.
I visited every week.
At first our conversations were awkward.
Then angry.
Then easier.
He told me stories about Mom.
Real ones.
Not the edited childhood version.
She snored.
She cheated at cards.
She once keyed Dad’s car during an argument and denied it for twelve years.
Slowly, my parents became human beings instead of saints and ghosts.
That helped.
One rainy November evening, Roman picked me up after visiting Dad.
Leo was asleep in the back seat.
I stared out the window.
“What happens when Dad gets out?”
“Whatever he wants.”
“What if he wants to disappear again?”
“Then I’ll break both his legs.”
I turned.
Roman remained perfectly serious.
“Roman.”
“Metaphorically.”
“Was that metaphorical?”
“Mostly.”
I laughed.
Then became quiet.
“My whole life changed because of one night.”
Roman nodded.
“If that glass hadn’t broken…”
“You would still be working at the Beaumont.”
“I’d probably be arguing with Mark about overtime.”
“I fired Mark.”
“What?”
“He stole employee tips.”
I stared.
“You investigated my old manager?”
“I investigated the hotel before purchasing it.”
“Right.”
“That is normal due diligence.”
“You enjoyed firing him.”
“Deeply.”
I shook my head.
Then looked back at Leo.
“If I hadn’t jumped…”
Roman’s expression changed.
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
I understood.
There were universes Roman refused to imagine.
Universes without Leo.
So I didn’t finish.
Instead I asked, “Why didn’t you ever kiss me?”
Roman nearly drove through a red light.
He recovered quickly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”
“This seems like an unusual transition.”
“I’ve been wondering.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“You had been attacked. Your father returned from the dead. My son was kidnapped twice. My mother returned from the dead. Your father was shot.”
“When you list it like that, we sound exhausting.”
“We are.”
“You almost kissed me by the pond.”
“I remember.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
The light turned red.
Roman stopped.
He looked at me.
“Because everyone in your life was taking choices away from you.”
My teasing disappeared.
“I wasn’t going to become another man who decided what you wanted.”
My heart hurt.
Not badly.
In the inconvenient way.
“What if I decide now?”
Roman’s eyes stayed on mine.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“What you decided.”
I leaned across the console.
Kissed him.
For two seconds, Roman didn’t move.
Then one hand gently touched my face.
He kissed me back.
No fireworks.
No dramatic music.
Just warmth.
Relief.
Something that had taken months rather than minutes.
From the back seat came a disgusted voice.
“Ew.”
We jumped apart.
Leo was awake.
Roman looked into the mirror.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“You kissed Claire.”
I covered my face.
Roman stared straight ahead.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean she lives with us?”
“No,” I answered.
Roman answered simultaneously.
“Eventually.”
I stared at him.
He coughed.
Leo laughed.
The light turned green.
Roman drove.
I smiled all the way home.
For the first time, the future didn’t feel like something approaching with a weapon.
It felt open.
But one unfinished thing remained.
A year after the Beaumont attack, Dad was released four months early.
I waited outside the correctional facility.
Roman stood beside me.
Leo held a handmade sign:
WELCOME HOME GRANDPA DANIEL
When Dad walked through the gate, he stopped.
His eyes filled.
He hugged me first.
Then Leo.
Then he faced Roman.
The two men looked at each other for several seconds.
Dad extended his hand.
“You kept her safe.”
Roman shook it.
“She kept us safe.”
Dad smiled.
“That sounds more accurate.”
We drove home together.
Not to Roman’s estate.
Not to my apartment.
To the old Oak Park house.
Roman had repaired it.
Dad stopped on the sidewalk.
“What is this?”
I handed him the key.
“Home.”
His hands trembled.
“I can’t accept—”
“It’s mine,” I said.
Technically Roman had transferred it to me months earlier.
“I’m letting you live there.”
Dad looked at Roman.
Roman raised both hands.
“Apparently she enjoys controlling real estate now.”
Dad laughed.
I opened the front door.
The house smelled like fresh paint.
We walked upstairs.
Inside my childhood bedroom, the glow-in-the-dark stars had been restored.
Dad looked up.
His face crumpled.
“You remembered.”
“I always look up when I’m afraid.”
He hugged me.
This time, there were no secrets between us.
May you like
At least none that mattered.
And for the first time since I was ten years old, my father came home.
