Chapter 8 - ELSIE’S QUESTION
We did not tell Elsie immediately.
Not because we were hiding.
Because a four-year-old does not need to participate in adult relationship uncertainty.
Six months passed before Sienna said:
“I think she knows.”
“How?”
“She asked why Mister Alessio wears the nice shirts when Mommy comes over.”
I looked down at my shirt.
“Children are dangerous.”
“Yes.”
We told her simply.
Mommy and Alessio liked spending time together.
Sometimes as dates.
Elsie considered.
“Is Nero dating me?”
“No.”
She looked disappointed.
“Why?”
“Different relationship.”
She thought.
Then:
“Can he sleep over?”
“Nero lives here.”
“Oh.”
Conversation complete.
No instant “Daddy.”
No replacement.
Michael’s photograph remained in Sienna’s apartment.
Elsie knew her father through pictures and stories.
I never asked her to call me anything except Alessio.
Sometimes:
Mister Alessio.
Sometimes:
Less flattering things when she was angry.
Life moved.
Carlo and Victor were convicted through plea agreements and trial outcomes on multiple charges involving fraud, conspiracy and Michael's death.
Neither received movie-villain endings.
No warehouse executions.
Prison.
Restitution.
Records.
Consequences.
Owen’s sentence was shorter because of cooperation.
Sienna struggled with that.
“He helped expose them.”
“Yes.”
“He also hurt Nero.”
“Yes.”
“He also stayed quiet about Michael.”
“Yes.”
“I hate that more than one thing can be true.”
“So do I.”
She eventually wrote Owen a letter.
Not forgiveness.
Not anger.
Just:
I believe you were afraid. I also believe my family paid for your fear. Both are true.
She never asked for a response.
Romano Holdings changed.
Not overnight.
My criminal operations?
Some closed.
Some sold.
Some became legitimate.
Some investigations made the choice for me.
I stopped pretending that legality and morality were identical, but I also stopped pretending fear was a sustainable management system.
Romano Freight received independent oversight.
Medical charity logistics were separated into a nonprofit-controlled structure.
We reimbursed what could be traced.
The numbers hurt.
Good.
They should.
One afternoon, Damian brought me a folder.
“Security staffing.”
I opened it.
Fewer men.
Different structure.
Independent internal review.
“No single chief has full system control.”
I smiled.
“You learned.”
“I enjoy remaining employed.”
Damian had not been involved in the plot.
Still, trust changed.
Not disappeared.
Changed.
Trust with verification felt less romantic.
Much safer.
Then Nero got sick.
Not poisoning.
Not conspiracy.
Age.
Eleven years old now.
Large dogs do not receive infinite time because we need them.
Dr. Levin found a heart condition.
Manageable initially.
Not curable.
Elsie was five.
Sienna wanted to protect her from the details.
Then stopped.
“We should tell her.”
“Yes.”
We sat with Elsie in the courtyard.
Nero beside her.
Sienna explained.
“Nero is old.”
“I know.”
“His heart isn't working as well.”
Elsie frowned.
“Doctor fix?”
“He can help.”
“But he can't make Nero young.”
Silence.
Then the question:
“Is Nero going to die?”
Sienna’s face broke.
I answered because she couldn't.
“One day.”
Elsie cried.
Immediate.
Huge.
She wrapped herself around his neck.
Nero endured it patiently.
Then she looked at me.
“Don't let him.”
There are requests money cannot obey.
“I wish I could.”
“You're the boss.”
My throat closed.
“Not of that.”
She cried harder.
I sat in the snowless courtyard where years earlier she had first approached him.
“No one gets to boss that part.”
She looked furious.
Good.
Children are allowed to be furious at death.
We did not tell her Nero would be okay.
We told her he was okay today.
May you like
Today was enough.
For another fourteen months.
