Chapter 3
Roman laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because apparently every dead father in a Mafia family left extra relatives behind.
“Names.”
“Salvatore.”
“And?”
“Lucian.”
Roman stared.
He knew Salvatore.
His uncle died when Roman was a child.
Funeral.
Open coffin.
Real.
Lucian was new.
“Who was Lucian?”
“Your father’s older half-brother.”
“Why erased?”
“Because he was supposed to inherit.”
There it was.
Succession.
Always.
Roman sat.
“From Grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Then Father?”
“Was the second son.”
“More ruthless.”
“More useful.”
Helena looked toward Sophie.
“Your grandfather changed his mind.”
“Lucian objected.”
“Then?”
“War.”
Roman had heard stories about the old D’Angelo consolidation.
Never called civil war.
Never told as brothers fighting.
Vittorio supposedly crushed an external rival.
Maybe the rival had been blood.
Helena continued:
“Lucian disappeared.”
“Body?”
“No.”
Of course.
“Circle?”
“He created it.”
Roman stared.
“Ash Circle was his.”
“Yes.”
“Then Father used it?”
“At first.”
Helena explained.
Lucian gathered men who believed Vittorio had stolen the family.
Vittorio offered several of them money, territory, status.
The Circle fractured.
Brother against brother.
Eventually Lucian vanished.
Everyone believed Vittorio killed him.
Helena did too.
Until fourteen years ago.
“What happened?”
“A black envelope appeared on my bed.”
“What inside?”
“A photograph.”
She reached into her purse.
Old photo.
Lucian.
Older.
Alive.
Standing beside a little boy.
Roman stared.
“Who’s the child?”
“I don’t know.”
“Date?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
Lucian would be in his seventies now if alive.
“What message?”
Helena turned the photograph.
YOU KEPT HIS SON. I’LL TAKE HIS GRANDCHILD.
Roman’s breathing changed.
“My grandchild?”
“At the time you had no children.”
“Dominic?”
Roman’s eldest son had died ten years earlier at sixteen from illness.
No.
Not relevant.
Helena continued:
“I thought it meant future blood.”
“Then Nora became pregnant.”
Roman looked toward her.
Nora stared.
“You knew?”
Helena nodded.
“Before Roman.”
Nora’s face hardened.
“How?”
“Someone watching you told me.”
Roman stood.
“Someone watching her?”
“Because of you.”
“You had surveillance?”
“Yes.”
His anger rose.
Then he stopped.
Old Roman would explode.
Current Roman wanted sequence.
“What happened when Sophie was born?”
Helena’s expression darkened.
“Another message.”
“What?”
“A small burned doll.”
Nora covered her mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Helena looked at her.
“Because you were twenty-two.”
“Terrified.”
“And still willing to fight the whole city for Roman.”
Nora said nothing.
Accurate.
Helena continued:
“I told you Roman’s enemies would use the child.”
“True.”
“I told you he agreed you should leave.”
Nora looked at Roman.
He stared at Helena.
“That was a lie.”
“Yes.”
Roman remembered.
Nora disappeared with no warning.
He believed she chose freedom.
She believed he had ordered separation.
Helena cut both sides.
Three years.
“You stole my daughter.”
“No.”
Helena’s voice sharpened.
“I kept her alive.”
Roman almost struck the table.
Then Sophie’s voice came from behind the door.
“Daddy?”
He stopped.
Immediately.
Opened it.
Sophie stood with one bodyguard.
She had refused to stay with strangers.
Roman crouched.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded.
Then saw Helena.
Her face changed.
She hid behind Roman.
That hurt Helena.
Good.
Consequences.
Sophie whispered:
“Grandma says bad men hear bells.”
Roman looked down.
“What bells?”
Helena froze.
Sophie pointed at her grandmother’s pearl purse.
“In there.”
Roman stood.
“Open it.”
Helena did not move.
“Mother.”
Slowly, she opened the purse.
Inside lay a small brass bell tied with black thread.
Roman picked it up.
A D’Angelo wolf had been etched into one side.
Across its throat—
a single line of ash-black enamel.
Helena whispered:
“It arrived yesterday.”
Roman looked at her.
“What does it mean?”
“They know.”
“Know what?”
May you like
Her eyes moved toward Sophie.
“That she came here.”
