Chapter 1
Roman shut down the gala before anyone finished asking what had happened.
The charity club’s ballroom was cleared.
Guests were escorted out.
The vault corridor was sealed.
Nothing inside the room was touched again until Roman’s attorney arrived.
Then Roman stopped being a Mafia boss for long enough to be a father.
Nora and Sophie were taken into a private office away from Helena and Marco.
Food arrived first.
A doctor second.
Sophie ate almost an entire sandwich before the doctor gently slowed her down.
Nora barely touched hers.
Roman stood several feet away, still trying to understand how a little girl with his eyes had spent three years believing he was buried somewhere.
Sophie kept staring at him.
Finally she asked:
“Are you really Daddy?”
Roman crouched.
“Yes.”
“Not ghost?”
Despite everything, Nora covered her mouth.
Roman almost laughed.
“No. Not a ghost.”
Sophie touched his cheek.
Then his beard.
Apparently satisfied, she whispered:
“Mommy has your picture.”
Roman looked at Nora.
Her eyes filled.
“I never told her you didn’t exist.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you died before she could remember you.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“Because my mother told you.”
“Yes.”
Lauren Pierce, Roman’s attorney, entered before the conversation could become an interrogation.
She had represented the legitimate D’Angelo companies for thirteen years and had long ago stopped reacting to damaged furniture or family drama.
Tonight even she looked disturbed.
“I need both of you to stop.”
Roman turned.
“My daughter thought I was dead.”
“I heard.”
“There are three years of my money in that vault.”
“I saw.”
“Then—”
“Then we preserve it.”
Roman stopped.
Lauren looked toward Nora.
“And we do not make her tell this story six times tonight.”
Nora nodded gratefully.
Roman forced himself to sit.
Lauren asked only what was necessary.
Roman had been sending support for Sophie every month.
Thirty thousand dollars.
Cash packets prepared through the family office because Nora had refused a bank account connected directly to the D’Angelo name when Sophie was born.
Marco handled accounting.
Helena handled the secure family courier.
For three years Roman received monthly delivery confirmations.
Some marked accepted.
Later ones marked refused but left available for collection.
Roman had been told Nora wanted no direct contact.
He had also received a formal letter supposedly signed by Nora instructing him not to look for her or Sophie.
Nora stared at him.
“I never wrote that.”
Roman looked at her.
“What were you told?”
Nora swallowed.
“That you died.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
“Your mother said there had been an attack outside Chicago.”
Roman’s expression became unreadable.
“She showed me a memorial card. Told me there couldn’t be a funeral because it wasn’t safe. Told me if I cared about Sophie, I would leave.”
Roman looked toward the vault.
Lauren said quietly:
“This is already bigger than missing money.”
Nora nodded.
“There’s something else.”
Roman turned.
“You said I told you to stop sending money,” he said. “What money?”
Nora rubbed her hands together.
“When Sophie was born, you opened that little college account for her.”
Roman remembered.
Nora had insisted on contributing despite earning far less than he did.
Two hundred dollars whenever she could manage it.
“I kept mailing money orders to the estate office.”
“For Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“After my mother told you I died?”
“I sent one more.”
“Why?”
Nora’s voice broke.
“Because it was the only thing I still knew how to do for something you started.”
Helena returned it.
With a note saying Roman’s accounts had been closed.
Lauren looked at Roman.
Two streams had been intercepted.
His money going toward Nora.
Nora’s money going toward Sophie.
Neither parent knew the other was still trying.
Roman stood.
He went back to the vault.
This time Lauren followed.
The packets were arranged by month.
Every one bore Marco’s accounting initials.
And every box beside them carried dates beginning exactly three years earlier.
May you like
The date Marco had stared at.
The week Nora had been told Roman D’Angelo was dead.
