Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO HELPED MY WIFE VANISH
I stared at Carlo.
My oldest lieutenant.
The man who had stood beside me when my father died.
The man who knew every safe house, every accountant, every security protocol.
The man I had ordered to find Norah.
Carlo stopped in the doorway.
He looked at Norah.
Then me.
No confusion.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
“You.”
My voice came out almost too quietly.
Norah stood immediately.
“Roman.”
“You helped her.”
Carlo closed the door.
“Yes.”
The answer hit harder than denial.
“You spent eleven months telling me there was no trail.”
“There wasn't.”
“Because you erased it.”
“Yes.”
My hands tightened.
Old instinct.
Betrayal.
Punishment.
Carlo saw it.
He did not move.
Norah stepped between us.
“Don't.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Norah.”
“If you touch him, you prove exactly why I left.”
That stopped me.
Carlo looked exhausted.
“Let her speak.”
I laughed without humor.
“You don't get to tell me what to do.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“But she does.”
I stared at him.
Then at my sleeping children.
I sat.
It was the hardest physical movement I had made in years.
Norah remained standing.
Carlo took the chair farthest away.
Then he told me.
The night Norah left, she called Carlo.
Not because they were close.
Because he had once driven her home from a hospital charity event and told her:
“If you ever need to leave Roman fast, call me before you call anyone else.”
At the time she thought it was a joke.
It wasn't.
“Why would you say that to my wife?”
Carlo looked at me.
“Because I watched your mother try to leave your father.”
My chest tightened.
“Don't.”
“You were fourteen.”
“I remember.”
“No, Roman. You remember what your father told you.”
My father said my mother was unstable.
Ungrateful.
Weak.
That she disappeared because she could not handle the family.
Carlo’s father had worked for mine.
He knew more.
“Your mother tried to take you and your sister away.”
I stopped breathing.
“She had tickets.”
“No.”
“She had money hidden.”
“No.”
“She asked my father for help.”
“Stop.”
Carlo continued anyway.
“Your father found out.”
I stood.
“Enough.”
Norah looked at me.
“You need to hear this.”
I hated her for saying it.
Because she was right.
Carlo’s voice softened.
“Your mother didn’t leave you.”
My hands began to shake.
“She was sent away.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Where?”
“A psychiatric facility in Connecticut for six months.”
I stared.
“She came back.”
“Yes.”
My memories returned in broken pieces.
My mother disappearing when I was fourteen.
My father saying she needed “rest.”
Her returning quieter.
Much quieter.
Then dying in a car accident three years later.
Carlo continued.
“Your father used doctors, lawyers, and money to make her look incapable.”
I sank back into the chair.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you became him.”
The words cut clean.
Norah closed her eyes.
Carlo did not look away.
“You never hit Norah.”
“No.”
“You never locked her up.”
“No.”
“But you built a life where she knew leaving openly meant your men would follow, your lawyers would challenge, your money would close doors.”
“I would never take her children.”
“Wouldn't you?”
I looked toward the twins.
A year ago, if Norah had stood before me pregnant and said she was leaving because my life was dangerous—
Would I have let her go?
The answer came too slowly.
Carlo saw it.
“That’s why I helped.”
I wanted to hate him.
Instead, for the first time, I understood what betrayal looked like from the other side.
“Where did you take her?”
“Wisconsin first.”
Norah continued.
“Then Minnesota.”
“Why move?”
“Your investigators got close twice.”
I looked at Carlo.
“You fed me false leads.”
“Yes.”
“Canada?”
“Yes.”
“Miami?”
“Yes.”
“You made me chase ghosts.”
“I kept you away from a pregnant woman who was terrified of you.”
Every sentence sounded unbearable because every sentence was defensible.
I looked at Norah.
“Why didn't you tell me about the babies after they were born?”
Her eyes filled.
“Noah was sick.”
“I could have helped.”
“With money.”
“Yes.”
“I had money.”
“Enough?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She looked toward Carlo.
He gave her a warning glance.
Too late.
“What?”
Norah hesitated.
Then:
“Your sister.”
My heart stopped.
“My sister is dead.”
“No.”
Carlo said it quietly.
I turned.
“What did you say?”
My younger sister, Sofia, had supposedly died of an overdose at twenty-six.
I saw a body.
Closed coffin.
My father handled everything.
No.
I stood.
“Do not play games with me.”
Carlo's voice remained steady.
“Sofia is alive.”
The room became silent.
Norah whispered:
“She lives in Colorado.”
Denver.
Of course.
“Why?”
Carlo continued.
“She left your father’s world seven years before you took control.”
“She died.”
“Your father staged it.”
I stared at him.
“He knew she would talk.”
“About what?”
“Your mother.”
My knees almost gave out.
Everything I believed about my family had begun collapsing inside a pediatric hospital room while my son slept under a yellow blanket.
“Sofia helped me?”
Norah nodded.
“She gave me money. Documents. A place to stay.”
“Why didn't she contact me?”
Norah looked sad.
“She thinks you're still your father’s son.”
That hurt because, again, I had no defense.
Noah made a small sound.
All three of us turned.
The monitor remained steady.
Norah adjusted the blanket.
I watched her.
Then asked:
“The guardianship folder.”
She stiffened.
“What is it?”
Norah sat.
“If Noah's surgery goes badly tomorrow—”
“Don't.”
“Roman.”
“Don't say that.”
“We have to.”
No.
I could order men into danger.
Decide whether millions moved overnight.
Look at bodies.
But I could not listen to my wife discuss my infant son dying.
She continued anyway.
“If something happens to me during his care, or if you find us and try to take custody—”
“I would never—”
“Roman.”
I stopped.
“The documents give temporary guardianship to Sofia.”
I laughed once.
Broken.
“So my dead sister is guardian to children I didn't know existed.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know I'm here?”
“No.”
I looked at Carlo.
“Call her.”
Norah stood.
“No.”
“Call her.”
“She won't come.”
“She will.”
“You don't know her anymore.”
That was true.
I looked at Norah.
“Then ask.”
She stared at me for a long time.
Finally, she made the call.
Sofia answered after four rings.
Norah put it on speaker.
“Hey.”
Her voice.
Older.
But unmistakable.
My sister.
My dead sister.
Norah said:
“Sofia, something happened.”
“What?”
“Roman found us.”
Silence.
Then:
“Is he there?”
I could not speak.
Norah looked at me.
I forced out:
“Hello, Sofia.”
The line went completely silent.
Then my sister whispered:
“You sound like him.”
My father.
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
She inhaled sharply.
“No. You don't.”
“Then tell me.”
Another long silence.
Finally:
“If Noah is stable enough to travel, get to Denver.”
“I was already going.”
“For what?”
Norah looked at me.
I answered honestly.
“Something I’m not doing anymore.”
Sofia heard something in that.
“Good.”
“Will you meet me?”
“I don't know.”
“Sofia.”
“You buried me, Roman.”
The words hit.
“I thought you were dead.”
“You didn't question anything.”
“I was twenty-nine.”
“You were already becoming him.”
I had no answer.
Then Sofia said:
“If you want to see me, arrive as Norah’s husband and those babies’ father.”
I waited.
“Not as Roman Romano.”
Then she hung up.
May you like
For the first time in my adult life, my name felt like something heavy I could remove.
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