Chapter 3 - ROMAN’S RULES
Morgana stayed at the Costa house for nine days.
On the tenth, she packed.
Roman found her in the foyer.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere else.”
He looked at the duffel.
“Do you have somewhere?”
“Maybe.”
“Morgana.”
“No.”
He stopped.
Interesting.
A man accustomed to command had learned that one syllable.
Slowly.
She continued.
“I am not becoming the woman who escaped her father by moving into another powerful man’s house.”
Roman looked almost offended.
Then thoughtful.
“Fair.”
“I need work.”
“You have work.”
“Where?”
“Costa Logistics.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you own it.”
“You need money.”
“I also need to be able to tell my employer he’s an idiot without worrying I’ll wake up in the harbor.”
Roman almost smiled.
“I don't put employees in harbors.”
“That specific sentence is not helping.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Morgana stared.
It transformed him.
Not softer exactly.
Less carved from stone.
Then he became serious.
“What do you want?”
“An apartment.”
“I can—”
“I will pay.”
“Fine.”
“A job not connected to you.”
“Fine.”
“Help me recover whatever money from Mom still exists.”
“Yes.”
“Through lawyers.”
“Yes.”
“And I want the full file on my mother.”
Roman nodded.
“It’s yours.”
She hesitated.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Jason’s forty-thousand-dollar debt.”
“Gone.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“Why did you really burn it?”
Roman looked at her.
“Because a debt attached to a human being is not a debt I am willing to collect.”
“That sounds noble.”
“It isn't.”
“What is it?”
“A line.”
She waited.
“My father did not have many.”
Morgana understood.
“You’re scared of becoming him.”
Roman looked away.
“Yes.”
That honesty stayed with her.
Morgana found a small apartment in Dorchester.
Third floor.
Radiator clanged.
Kitchen tiny.
But the lease was hers.
She found work as an assistant manager at a diner owned by an older couple who knew nothing about Roman Costa.
Perfect.
Roman did not visit uninvited.
Never sent groceries.
Never paid rent.
Never called after ten.
The first time she asked him for help was three weeks later.
Her mother’s estate lawyer discovered another account.
$27,000 remained in an old certificate her father had never found.
Morgana needed help understanding the legal process.
She called Roman.
He answered:
“Yes?”
No greeting.
“Do you always answer like someone died?”
“Usually someone wants something.”
“I need something.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“Not money.”
“I assumed.”
“Do you know an estate lawyer who does not work for you?”
Roman paused.
“Yes.”
“Give me the number.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Morgana.”
“Yes?”
“How is the apartment?”
She smiled despite herself.
“None of your business.”
“Good night.”
He hung up.
That was the strangest beginning of trust she had ever experienced.
He asked.
She refused.
May you like
He survived.
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