Chapter 18 - WHEN ROMAN STOPPED BEING FEARED
Roman Moretti’s reputation faded slowly.
Younger New Yorkers recognized the company logos.
Not necessarily the man.
Some newspapers still called him former organized-crime figure.
Others called him redevelopment executive.
Accessibility philanthropist.
Shipping investor.
Roman hated philanthropist.
“It makes me sound like I attend brunch.”
“You attend brunch.”
“Under protest.”
Olivia loved finding old photographs online.
One evening she showed him a picture from age thirty.
Black suit.
Three bodyguards.
Cold expression.
“Dad, you look evil.”
Roman stared.
Harper almost fell off the couch.
“I was at a funeral.”
“You always looked like that.”
Roman glared at Harper.
Olivia laughed.
“Were you really a mafia boss?”
Silence.
Harper and Roman had agreed not to lie.
Roman sat beside his daughter.
“My family was involved in illegal things.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Olivia became serious.
“Did you hurt people?”
Roman did not answer quickly.
“Yes.”
Harper watched.
He did not sanitize himself.
Did not dramatize.
“Why?”
“Sometimes because I believed it was necessary.”
“Was it?”
Roman looked at Harper.
Then back.
“Sometimes there were better choices I did not know how to make.”
Olivia considered.
“Did Grandma know?”
“She knew some.”
“Was she mad?”
“Often.”
Olivia smiled faintly.
“She was always mad at you.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“What changed you?”
Roman looked toward Harper.
She shook her head.
Do not make me the answer.
He smiled.
“A lot of things.”
Then he signed:
I learned to listen.
Olivia nodded as though that made perfect sense.
Maybe it did.
Children sometimes understand truths adults complicate.
Roman had spent youth believing power meant making people respond.
His adulthood taught him power could mean controlling himself.
Eventually rooms stopped going silent when he entered.
At first he noticed.
Then one day realized he had not noticed in years.
May you like
That was freedom too.
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