Chapter 5 - THE RED X
Enzo Moretti denied everything.
Of course he did.
He said anyone could imitate handwriting.
Said Lorenzo’s holding companies were managed by accountants.
Said Daniel Cross had been unstable.
Then he made the mistake of saying Beatrice misunderstood financial matters.
Roman nearly threw him out of the townhouse personally.
Nearly.
But stopped.
Harper noticed.
That mattered.
For most of Roman’s adult life, anger had apparently become an action verb.
Now he was beginning to understand anger could simply exist.
Two days later, Harper temporarily moved into a private guest apartment owned by Beatrice.
Not Roman.
Harper was very specific.
Roman disliked the distinction.
Beatrice overruled him.
Harper continued working at Murphy’s Diner.
She needed the money.
More importantly, she refused to become financially dependent on Roman.
“You’re under security protection,” Roman told her.
“I can be protected and employed simultaneously.”
“You work until midnight.”
“I’ve survived customers who send eggs back because they’re too circular.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“It should be.”
At night, Harper helped Beatrice organize records.
Roman joined them.
Initially for the investigation.
Then every evening he began spending thirty minutes learning ASL.
Roman approached language like a hostile acquisition.
Memorize.
Repeat.
Master.
Harper hated it.
“Stop translating English.”
“I speak English.”
“Your mother signs ASL.”
“I understand that.”
“No, you keep forcing English grammar into it.”
“I’m learning.”
“You’re bullying the language.”
Roman stared.
Beatrice laughed silently.
Roman pointed toward her.
“She’s enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Harper translated.
“Your hands have the emotional range of a tax audit.”
Beatrice nodded enthusiastically.
Roman sighed.
Over the next several nights, something strange happened.
Harper began seeing Roman outside the reputation.
He loved terrible old detective movies.
Hated mushrooms.
Drank espresso after midnight.
Called Beatrice every morning even before he could communicate properly with her.
He knew the birthdays of employees’ children.
He also controlled men Harper knew had done violent things.
Both realities existed.
She hated complexity.
Especially when Roman looked at her as though she were becoming important.
One night Harper asked:
“Why didn’t you walk away after your father died?”
Roman looked toward her.
“From everything?”
“Yes.”
“You think this organization disappears if I resign?”
“No.”
“Someone takes over.”
“Probably.”
“Eight years ago three groups wanted control.”
Harper stayed quiet.
“My father built a system where disagreements ended in violence.”
“So?”
“I stopped the war.”
“How?”
Roman’s face closed.
She did not ask.
He continued.
“Then I began moving everything I could toward legitimate businesses.”
“Why slowly?”
“Because closing one illegal operation overnight sends fifty men to work for someone worse.”
Harper understood the logic.
That did not make every choice right.
It made them complicated.
“And Enzo helped?”
Roman laughed bitterly.
“He advised every transition.”
“While apparently stealing through them.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice knocked against the table.
Then signed.
Tell her why you stayed.
“Mom.”
Harper waited.
Beatrice insisted.
Roman stared toward the dark window.
“My father died at twenty-seven.”
“You were twenty-seven.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“I inherited men who saw grief as weakness.”
Harper listened.
“If I walked away, I thought everyone my father had kept under one structure would start killing each other.”
“So you became him?”
Roman looked sharply at her.
Harper didn’t retreat.
“I’m asking.”
His expression softened slightly.
“For a while, maybe.”
Then:
“I’m trying not to remain him.”
That answer disturbed Harper more than denial might have.
Because she believed it.
Beatrice suddenly pointed at an old ledger.
One account number appeared repeatedly.
Foundation money entered.
Then transferred into a Moretti shipping subsidiary.
Roman frowned.
“That company closed after Dad died.”
Beatrice pointed at dates.
One transfer four days after Salvatore’s assassination.
Another six days later.
Another twelve.
Roman became still.
“Enzo had temporary control of financial operations then.”
Harper looked at him.
The stolen foundation money had continued immediately after Salvatore’s death.
Possibly funding whoever consolidated Enzo’s influence afterward.
Then Harper noticed another name.
GRANT WILKES.
She stared.
“The waiter.”
Roman came closer.
Twelve thousand dollars transferred from a Lorenzo-linked consulting company.
Two days before the Bellamy House dinner.
Harper’s stomach tightened.
“Grant humiliating your mother was planned.”
Roman’s expression changed.
“If I had attacked him…”
“In Bellamy House.”
“Cameras everywhere.”
“Phones.”
“Witnesses.”
Harper nodded.
“Someone wanted footage of Roman Moretti assaulting a waiter.”
Beatrice’s face hardened.
Roman sat.
The plan became visible.
Provoke him.
Create public violence.
Show Roman as unstable.
Challenge his trust authority.
Isolate Beatrice.
Push foundation property transfers.
Destroy evidence.
Then possibly replace Roman.
Harper whispered:
“I stopped you.”
Roman looked at her.
“At Bellamy.”
“You protected my mother.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“You protected me.”
“I prevented expensive litigation.”
“Harper.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Their eyes held.
Too long.
Roman stepped closer.
Harper’s heartbeat changed.
Then Beatrice clapped once.
Both jumped.
She signed:
If you two keep staring like idiots, I’m going to bed.
Harper turned bright red.
Roman sighed.
“I understood enough.”
Beatrice smiled.
That night, Harper woke to flashing fire alarms.
Smoke rolled down the hallway.
She ran toward the archive room.
“Beatrice!”
Security appeared.
Then Roman.
The archive door was burning.
Beatrice’s bedroom was empty.
Her bed untouched.
Roman found a tablet on the floor.
A video played.
Enzo Moretti appeared.
Beatrice sat beside him.
Alive.
Furious.
Her hands tied.
Enzo smiled.
“Roman.”
Roman became perfectly still.
“Your mother and I have a disagreement.”
Harper felt sick.
“You have until noon tomorrow to sign controlling authority over the Moretti Family Trust to Lorenzo.”
Roman stared.
“If not…”
Enzo leaned toward the camera.
“Your mother may finally learn that family loyalty has limits.”
The video ended.
Roman’s face became murderous.
Harper grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then what?”
“Play it again.”
Roman stared.
“Why?”
“Because your mother was signing.”
“She was tied.”
“One hand was partially visible.”
They replayed the footage.
Beatrice’s fingers moved beside her leg.
Small.
Deliberate.
Blue.
Again.
Blue.
Then another sign.
Moon.
Harper whispered:
“Blue Moon.”
Roman’s entire face changed.
May you like
“I know where she is.”
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