Chapter 10
The winter estate was covered in snow.
Old stone walls.
Dead fountain.
No lights except the chapel wing.
Roman entered with Nora, Celeste, Nico, and six bodyguards who stayed back.
No army.
No war.
Lucian wanted an audience.
Roman would give him less.
Michael sat at a long table.
Hands tied.
Bruised.
Alive.
Lucian sat opposite.
Small under a heavy coat.
Old age had reduced the body.
Not the eyes.
Roman entered.
Lucian smiled.
“Vittorio’s boy.”
Roman stopped.
“Helena’s.”
The correction mattered.
Lucian’s smile faded slightly.
Nora stood beside him.
Celeste entered last.
Lucian stared.
“Traitor.”
Celeste answered:
“Family tradition.”
Michael almost laughed through split lips.
Lucian looked toward Roman.
“Where is Sophie?”
“Home.”
His expression darkened.
“You were told—”
“No.”
Simple.
Lucian leaned back.
“You think you are different.”
“No.”
Roman surprised him.
“I think I’m trying not to be predictable.”
Lucian looked toward Nora.
“Your father killed Marcus Cole.”
“Yes.”
“Your uncle carried it out.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother lied to your child.”
“Yes.”
“Your father stole my family.”
“Maybe.”
Lucian’s eyes flashed.
“Maybe?”
Roman stepped closer.
“Grandfather chose Vittorio.”
“You hated it.”
“You fought.”
“You lost.”
“Everything after that is people deciding descendants owe debts they didn’t create.”
Lucian stared.
“You inherited the house.”
“Yes.”
“The power.”
“Yes.”
“The blood money.”
“Yes.”
“Then you inherit the debt.”
Roman nodded.
“Some.”
Lucian frowned.
Roman continued:
“I inherit responsibility for what I continue.”
“Not every dead man’s grievance.”
Lucian laughed.
“Convenient.”
“No.”
“Difficult.”
Roman looked around the room.
“I can dismantle what still harms people.”
“I cannot resurrect Marcus.”
“Daniel.”
“Gabriel.”
“Vittorio.”
“Evelyn.”
“Anyone.”
Lucian’s hand trembled.
“You sound weak.”
Roman almost smiled.
“I’ve heard.”
Lucian gestured toward Michael.
“Ask your brother what strength did for him.”
Michael looked at Roman.
“It killed my son.”
Lucian’s face hardened.
Michael continued:
“You taught me fear.”
“Vittorio taught Roman.”
“Helena taught secrecy.”
“Celeste taught Isabella revenge.”
“Everyone here thinks they invented survival.”
He laughed bitterly.
“We just inherited damage.”
Lucian stood with effort.
“Enough.”
He pointed toward Roman.
“Kill Helena.”
“No.”
“Then you refuse justice.”
“Yes.”
Lucian froze.
Roman continued:
“If your definition of justice requires my mother’s body, I refuse it.”
“You defend her after what she did?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“She answers to Sophie.”
“To Nora.”
“To me.”
“Not you.”
Lucian’s face twisted.
“You think forgiveness—”
“I didn’t say forgiveness.”
Roman’s voice darkened.
“She may spend the rest of her life outside my home.”
“She may never be trusted again.”
“But I will not kill my mother because an old man built his identity around watching D’Angelos destroy each other.”
Lucian’s face collapsed.
There.
The refusal attacked the purpose.
Celeste stepped forward.
“It’s over.”
Lucian turned.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“You betrayed your mother.”
“No.”
“I outlived her revenge.”
Lucian’s breathing became rough.
Then one of his men moved.
Gun.
Nico raised his.
Roman shouted:
“Stop!”
Too late.
Shot.
Michael fell sideways.
Nora screamed.
Roman caught him.
Blood at his shoulder.
Not chest.
Alive.
Lucian stared at his own man.
“What did you do?”
The gunman looked confused.
“I thought—”
“You thought.”
Roman almost laughed.
One impulsive man nearly restarted the war.
May you like
He looked at Lucian.
“This is your legacy.”
