Chapter 7 - THE NAME SHE REFUSED TO INHERIT
The newspapers discovered everything eventually.
Not all details.
Enough.
COSTA FAMILY ELDER ARRESTED IN DECADES-OLD ORGANIZED CRIME PROBE
OLD HOMICIDES REOPENED
PENSION FRAUD INVESTIGATION EXPANDS
Roman’s name appeared everywhere.
Morgana’s did too until Grace intervened where legally possible.
She hated reporters outside the diner.
“What did your father know?”
“Are you Gabriel Costa’s daughter?”
“Did Roman Costa purchase you to settle a gambling debt?”
That last headline nearly made her vomit.
Roman offered security.
She accepted one person outside the diner.
Only one.
“That's growth,” he said.
“Don't enjoy it.”
“I’m not.”
She kept working.
At first because she needed money.
Then because normalcy mattered.
Pour coffee.
Write orders.
Argue with cooks.
No ledgers.
No dead parents.
No mafia inheritance.
One afternoon, Roman came in.
Customers stared.
He sat at the counter.
Morgana approached.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Three dollars.”
He placed five down.
She returned two.
He smiled.
“Consistent.”
“Important.”
Roman had begun restructuring his businesses.
Some were legitimate already.
Restaurants.
Trucking.
Warehouses.
Others were not.
The illegal lending operation that trapped Jason was closed.
Roman refunded certain predatory interest collections where records allowed.
Not from guilt theatrics.
Because he no longer wanted to maintain the machinery Enzo had shaped.
“You'll lose money,” Morgana said.
“Yes.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Deeply.”
She laughed.
Good.
Jason entered a plea agreement in exchange for testimony about Enzo’s network and Elena’s death.
He also faced charges related to other financial crimes.
Morgana did not attend.
Grace did.
Roman asked once:
“Do you want to see him?”
“No.”
That was all.
No speech about forgiveness.
No pressure.
The birth certificate was authenticated.
Gabriel Costa was Morgana’s biological father.
Roman asked:
“What do you want done with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“My name is Morgana Blake.”
She hated that Jason's surname was hers.
But it was also the name on her school records.
Paychecks.
Diner apron.
The person she had built herself into.
Roman offered no opinion.
A week later, Morgana changed her mind.
Not to Costa.
She petitioned to use her mother’s surname.
Morgana Elena Vale.
Elena's maiden name.
When Roman heard, he smiled.
“That suits you.”
“Don't become sentimental.”
“Too late.”
Their relationship shifted.
Dangerously.
Roman visited the diner.
Morgana visited Teresa.
They argued about movies.
Food.
Roman’s tendency to have three phones.
Her tendency to refuse coats in freezing weather.
But he never touched her without permission.
Never used the debt.
Never said:
After everything I did.
That mattered.
Three months after Enzo’s arrest, Morgana moved into her own apartment.
Roman was offended by the building.
“The locks are terrible.”
“They're normal.”
“They’re terrible.”
“You don't live here.”
“I’m aware.”
“You're making the face.”
“What face?”
“Mafia renovation face.”
“I don't have one.”
“You absolutely do.”
He offered to upgrade security.
She said no.
Two weeks later, someone broke into a ground-floor unit.
Morgana called him.
“Say nothing.”
Roman answered:
“I've said nothing.”
“I would like the locksmith.”
He paused.
“Which one?”
“The irritatingly expensive one.”
“I know several.”
“Of course.”
She smiled.
Help requested.
Not imposed.
They were learning.
One evening, Roman walked her home after dinner.
At the entrance, he stopped.
“Morgana.”
“What?”
“Can I take you to dinner Saturday?”
She stared.
“We just had dinner.”
“Not like that.”
Silence.
He looked uncomfortable.
Roman Costa.
Terrified of a waitress’s answer.
Morgana almost enjoyed it.
“You’re asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He frowned.
“That is cruel.”
“Answer.”
“Because I think about you when you aren't around.”
Her heart tightened.
“Because you insult my coffee choices.”
“Important.”
“Because you see what I am and what I’m trying not to remain.”
He paused.
“And because for the first time in years, I want someone near me who is free to leave.”
That was the answer.
Morgana said:
“Yes.”
Roman exhaled.
“But.”
He froze.
“No bodyguards at the next table.”
“Across the street?”
“Roman.”
“Fine.”
She smiled.
“And I pay my half.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then no date.”
He stared.
“Half.”
“Good.”
He muttered something in Italian.
She kissed his cheek.
Then went upstairs.
May you like
Roman stood on the sidewalk for almost a full minute.
Teresa later claimed his driver had never seen him look so confused.
