Chapter 6 - THE MAN WHO LOST HIS EMPIRE ON PURPOSE
Roman’s world shrank dramatically after the divorce.
Some of it by choice.
Some not.
Domenic’s case exposed illegal gambling networks linked to Vascari associates.
Roman’s lawyers negotiated cooperation.
He admitted financial violations connected to several private clubs and unlicensed betting operations.
No murder charges.
No fantasy confession to crimes he did not commit.
Financial crime.
Illegal gaming.
Tax violations.
He paid.
Millions.
Surrendered interests.
Accepted three years of supervised probation and home restrictions instead of prison under the final agreement, partly due cooperation and lack of prior conviction.
The newspapers called him:
THE MAFIA BOSS WHO WENT CORPORATE.
Roman hated it.
I found it funny.
His legal companies survived.
Construction.
Logistics.
Commercial real estate.
But he installed outside compliance leadership.
Independent audits.
No cash sidebooks.
No “family exceptions.”
Paul became director of corporate security under rules I would have thought impossible years earlier.
One rule:
No surveillance of spouses or adult relatives without written consent except immediate life-threatening emergencies.
Paul sent me a copy.
Not Roman.
Good.
The old men despised everything.
Several left.
Roman let them.
That mattered.
Nobody disappeared.
Nobody had a mysterious accident.
They simply stopped working for him.
Boring endings were healthier.
Meanwhile, Amelia grew.
First smile.
First laugh.
First tooth.
Roman attended what he was invited to.
Missed some things because visitation was visitation.
He never demanded extras through security.
If he wanted a schedule change, he texted:
Would you be open to switching Saturday for Sunday? No problem if not.
The first time I received it, I almost cried over the phrase No problem if not.
How low had our standards once been?
At six months post-divorce, Roman asked me to dinner again.
Exactly six months.
Of course he remembered.
I said yes.
Public restaurant.
No private dining room.
No security table.
Paul was somewhere outside.
I chose not to ask where.
Roman looked nervous.
Good.
“You’ve been dating?”
I asked.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a requirement.”
“I know.”
“Celeste?”
“No contact beyond legal matters.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“Are you dating?”
“No.”
He tried not to look pleased.
Failed.
“Don’t.”
“Sorry.”
We ordered.
Then sat through the most awkward twenty minutes of our lives.
We had been married nearly eight years.
Had a child.
Had slept beside each other thousands of nights.
Now we did not know whether holding hands was allowed.
Healthy boundaries were sometimes ridiculous.
Finally Roman said:
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“Why does everyone say good when I’m suffering?”
“Character building.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“What do you need from me?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
He blinked.
“That’s hard for you.”
“It is.”
“I don’t need money.”
“Protection.”
“A home.”
“A solution.”
“I agreed to dinner because I wanted dinner.”
Roman leaned back.
The statement visibly affected him.
Maybe because our entire relationship had begun with him providing things.
A driver.
A safer apartment after a threat.
A ring.
A fortress.
A life.
What happened when I wanted him without needing anything he controlled?
We talked.
Really talked.
About Amelia.
My library project.
His probation.
Therapy.
His father.
Celeste.
That part hurt.
I asked questions I had avoided.
“Did you think about me when you were with her?”
“Yes.”
“Did that stop you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Roman stared at the table.
“Because the first time I crossed the line, I told myself the marriage was already damaged.”
“The next time was easier because I had already become someone who did it.”
No excuse.
Good.
“What did Celeste give you?”
He thought.
“A version of myself that wasn’t responsible for everyone.”
Painful.
“With you, I was husband.”
“Father.”
“Head of the family.”
“Protector.”
“With her, I could be selfish.”
I swallowed.
“And you chose selfishness.”
“Yes.”
Honest.
“Why didn’t you tell me you felt trapped?”
“Because the life trapping me was the one I spent years insisting you should be grateful for.”
That hurt in a different place.
We finished dinner.
Outside, Roman asked:
“Can I kiss you?”
Every nerve in my body remembered him.
Christmas.
Hospital.
Our wedding.
Everything.
“No.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Okay.”
I stepped closer.
“Kiss my cheek.”
He did.
Gently.
Then left.
I went home thinking about him.
Not because I had forgotten.
Because I remembered everything and still wanted to see what came next.
May you like
That was more frightening.
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