Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER WHO WANTED THE THRONE
Anthony Romano was thirty-one and everything Victor was not.
Victor entered rooms quietly and somehow made them smaller.
Anthony entered loudly and made sure everyone knew he had arrived.
He wore brighter suits.
Drove louder cars.
Smiled more.
People liked him.
That had always made Victor suspicious.
Anthony arrived at the hospital that evening carrying flowers and outrage.
“I heard she woke up.”
Victor stood in the hallway.
I could hear them through the half-open door.
“You reassigned Dominic Russo.”
Anthony paused.
“So?”
“He was one of the shooters.”
Silence.
Then Anthony laughed.
“You think I sent men after Leo?”
“I asked a question.”
“No.”
“You haven’t answered.”
Anthony’s voice dropped.
“I moved Russo because he was stealing.”
“Why wasn’t he punished?”
“He paid it back.”
Victor said nothing.
Anthony continued:
“You always tell me to solve small problems without dragging you into them.”
True enough to sound convincing.
Then:
“And now you think I’d murder my nephew?”
Victor’s voice was cold.
“I think anyone who wants my chair would understand Leo stands between them and it.”
That silence lasted too long.
Anthony finally said:
“You’re sick.”
“Maybe.”
Then:
“Give me your phone.”
Anthony laughed.
“Absolutely not.”
Wrong answer.
Victor’s men searched it anyway.
Nothing obvious.
Then Gabriel found an encrypted messaging application.
Anthony claimed it was for gambling.
Maybe.
Victor did not act.
Not yet.
He understood something I was only beginning to understand.
In his world, accusing family without proof could start a war.
Three days later, I was released from intensive care.
Not home.
Victor moved me to a private rehabilitation floor.
I objected.
He ignored me.
My brother, Noah, visited.
He was twenty-five, thin from years of kidney disease, and furious.
“You paid the hospital?”
“No.”
“Somebody did.”
I glanced toward the door.
Noah followed my eyes.
“You’re joking.”
“Victor.”
“The mafia guy?”
“Quiet.”
Noah stared at me.
“The mafia guy whose kid you got shot for?”
“Yes.”
“He paid my entire surgical balance.”
“I told him not to.”
Noah looked at the ceiling.
“Rich people are exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
Then Noah smiled.
“I like him.”
“You have met him once.”
“He looked terrified when the nurse moved your IV.”
I stared.
“He did?”
“Yes.”
That bothered me.
Because I was starting to see pieces of Victor that did not fit the monster everyone described.
Then Noah asked:
“Are you marrying him?”
I nearly choked.
“Why does everyone know?”
“Leo told me.”
Of course.
“I am not marrying Victor Romano.”
“Okay.”
Noah waited.
“What?”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
I threw a pillow at him.
It missed because my shoulder barely worked.
He laughed.
For the first time since the shooting, I felt normal.
Then the door opened.
Victor entered.
Noah looked between us.
“Speak of Satan.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
Noah smiled.
“You paid my debt.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Anna saved my son.”
Noah looked at me.
Then Victor.
“Don’t make her feel owned because you’re grateful.”
The room went still.
My brother had a death wish.
Victor surprised both of us.
“I know.”
That answer mattered.
Later, after Noah left, Victor sat beside me.
“You told him?”
“He guessed.”
“About marriage?”
“Leo told him.”
Victor almost smiled.
Then he became serious.
“Anna.”
“What?”
“I withdrew the statement.”
I stared.
“The what?”
“You don’t have to marry me.”
“Congratulations on discovering consent.”
His mouth actually curved.
Then:
“But I still want you protected.”
“Reasonable.”
“And I still want you at the estate.”
“Less reasonable.”
“Leo asks for you every night.”
That hurt.
Victor knew it.
Manipulative bastard.
I sighed.
“Temporary.”
“Yes.”
“Until I can live alone again.”
“Yes.”
“No armed guards in my bedroom.”
He looked offended.
“I have standards.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
That was almost a joke.
Then his phone rang.
Gabriel.
Victor listened.
His face hardened.
“What?”
He stood.
“When?”
Silence.
Then:
“Lock the estate down.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
Victor looked at me.
“Anthony disappeared.”
“Why?”
“He emptied one of our cash accounts.”
“How much?”
“Four million.”
My stomach dropped.
Then Victor added:
“And he took Leo’s nanny.”
The woman who knew Leo’s routines.
Schedules.
Medications.
Security habits.
Anthony had stopped looking merely suspicious.
He was running.
And someone running with four million dollars was either guilty—
May you like
or afraid of someone worse.
---
