Chapter 5 - WHAT MY FATHER KNEW
My father had been dead two years.
Angelo Romano.
Founder.
Patriarch.
The man who taught me that loyalty came before comfort.
I had spent my adult life believing he built the family business through intelligence, intimidation and an almost pathological hatred of debt.
Now my sister was telling me he had followed a dispatcher who later died.
“Explain.”
Lucia cried.
“Not on the phone.”
She flew to Chicago under police protection.
When she entered my library, she looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
“You knew.”
I could barely say it.
“I knew something.”
“For three years?”
“Yes.”
“Dad died two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“You had a year.”
She flinched.
Good.
Pain did not excuse silence.
Then she handed over the drive.
Sealed in a bank envelope.
Michael’s backup.
It contained the same shipment records.
Plus audio.
My father's voice.
Recorded without his knowledge in an office.
We don't touch medicine meant for children.
Carlo answered:
Nobody is touching medicine. We're redirecting excess.
My father:
Don't lie to me.
Then Victor.
Younger voice.
Alessio doesn't know anything.
My father:
And he stays out of it until I understand how deep this goes.
I stopped the recording.
My father knew.
But perhaps not as accomplice.
Lucia continued.
“Dad found out six months before Michael died.”
“What did he do?”
“Tried to investigate privately.”
Of course.
Romano family disease.
Nobody trusts systems.
Everyone investigates alone.
“He used Michael?”
“Michael came to him.”
My father told Michael to keep documenting.
Carlo discovered it.
Then Michael died.
“What did Dad do?”
Lucia looked ashamed.
“Nothing public.”
My anger rose.
“He let Sienna believe it was an accident.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said if he moved before identifying everyone involved, Carlo would destroy the records.”
“He promised he would fix it.”
I laughed bitterly.
Powerful men love promises made on behalf of other people’s pain.
“Did he?”
“No.”
My father suffered a stroke eight months later.
Never fully recovered.
Died the following year.
The truth stayed with Lucia.
“Why you?”
“Dad didn't trust anyone inside the company.”
“Not me?”
Her eyes filled.
“He said you would kill Carlo.”
Silence.
Would I have?
Three years ago?
Probably.
That answer disgusted me.
Lucia continued.
“He said if you started a family war, Michael’s evidence would disappear and more people would die.”
“So he chose silence.”
“Yes.”
“And you copied him.”
She cried.
“Yes.”
I walked away.
Not because I hated her.
Because I understood too much.
Everyone around me had shaped their morality around what they believed I would do.
That was not entirely their fault.
It was not entirely separate from me either.
Sienna had listened from the doorway with her attorney.
She asked Lucia:
“Did Angelo know who caused Michael’s crash?”
Lucia shook her head.
“No.”
“But he suspected Carlo.”
“Yes.”
“Did he help my husband?”
“Not enough.”
Good answer.
Sienna looked at me.
“Your family keeps almost doing the right thing.”
That sentence stayed.
Lucia’s drive gave investigators more.
Carlo had been stealing high-value medications and equipment from charitable shipments.
Replacing them with cheaper inventory or falsified shortages.
Then selling the originals through overseas intermediaries.
Millions over years.
Victor handled security.
Owen processed routes.
Owen eventually realized what was happening and tried to pull away.
Michael documented it.
My father discovered it.
Then Michael died.
But the current assassination plot was newer.
Why kill me now?
Because the Romano Foundation had commissioned an external audit after a hospital charity complained about missing supplies.
I had approved it without understanding what it threatened.
Audit results were due the week after the gala.
Carlo had run out of time.
Kill me.
Inherit control.
Terminate audit.
Blame accident.
Elegant.
Again.
Then police found Carlo.
Not hiding in another state.
Inside Chicago.
In a private recovery suite at a hospital owned partly by one of our investment groups.
He had checked in under another name after suffering what appeared to be a minor heart problem.
Almost funny.
He expected nobody to look for a fugitive in a luxury cardiac ward.
He was arrested without incident.
When I visited him later through legal channels, he smiled.
“You look tired.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“Allegedly.”
“My dog has puncture wounds.”
“That wasn't my idea.”
“Michael Brooks.”
His smile faded.
“I never touched him.”
“Did Victor?”
Silence.
Enough.
“You're going to prison.”
He leaned back.
“You think that fixes the family?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Your father was worse than me.”
I stared.
“He knew what we did.”
“He tried to stop you.”
“Eventually.”
Carlo laughed.
“Angelo built the routes we used.”
There.
Another layer.
My father had created the no-scan freight corridors years earlier for contraband unrelated to medicine.
Carlo repurposed them.
The infrastructure was ours.
My father did not steal the medical supplies.
But he built a system designed to avoid scrutiny.
Someone else eventually used it for worse.
That mattered.
I returned home angry.
Not at Carlo alone.
At inheritance.
At men who build dangerous systems and assume good intentions will control whoever uses them later.
Nero met me near the stairs.
Still limping slightly.
Elsie sat beside him drawing.
“What is that?”
I asked.
She held up the paper.
Black dog.
Red coat.
Large stick figure.
Me.
I looked terrible.
“Is that my hair?”
“Yes.”
Sienna laughed for the first time in days.
Then Elsie pointed to another figure.
Small.
Beside me.
“Who is that?”
She looked confused by the question.
“Me.”
My chest tightened.
I did not know what to do with that.
So I sat on the floor.
Nero immediately placed his head on my leg.
Elsie leaned against his shoulder.
For ten minutes, nobody discussed murder.
Then Elsie looked at me.
“Mister Alessio?”
“Yes?”
“Nero doesn’t like needles.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“He likes cookies.”
“Apparently.”
She handed him half of hers.
Sienna stopped her.
“No human cookies for Nero.”
Elsie looked offended.
Normal problem.
Good.
Then Damian entered.
His face serious.
“We found one more thing in Carlo's files.”
“What?”
“A contingency plan.”
“If the car failed?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Second target?”
Damian looked toward Sienna.
Then Elsie.
“Witness removal.”
May you like
Sienna went white.
Carlo had planned for the maid and her daughter to die too.
