Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN ROMAN HAD SPENT TEN YEARS DEFENDING
Roman’s mother had been dead for six years.
Gemma knew that much from newspapers.
Maria Costa had been photographed at charity dinners, church benefits, and funerals wearing pearls and the same restrained expression Roman wore when cameras were near.
Roman stared at the silver bracelet in the photograph.
“My father gave her that.”
Dominic spoke carefully.
“It could be someone else.”
Roman looked at him.
“You’ve known me thirty years. Don’t insult me now.”
Gemma enlarged the image digitally.
The bracelet had a small oval charm.
An engraved M.
No mistake.
Adrian leaned back against the wall.
“I never saw this film.”
Roman turned on him.
“But Daniel did.”
“Yes.”
“And he still suspected you?”
“He suspected everybody.”
“Smart man.”
Gemma looked at Roman.
The comment sounded like praise.
It hurt anyway.
“My father lived scared for years because your family buried this.”
Roman’s gaze moved to her.
“You think I knew?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“That makes two of us.”
For the first time, Roman sounded tired rather than dangerous.
They drove to the old Costa family house in Queens that afternoon.
Roman had not entered it since his mother’s funeral.
Dust covers hid furniture.
A crucifix still hung above the hallway doorway.
Family photographs remained exactly where Maria had placed them.
Matteo at eight with missing front teeth.
Roman at fifteen pretending not to smile.
Their father beside a Cadillac.
Gemma stood near the staircase.
“You looked happy.”
Roman followed her gaze.
“I was fifteen.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“I know.”
He crossed to a small walnut desk.
“My mother kept personal records.”
“Records of crime?”
“My mother kept receipts for birthday candles.”
Gemma almost smiled.
Roman opened drawers.
Inside were church bulletins, stationery, condolence cards, utility bills.
Then Gemma noticed a pale rectangle on the shelf.
An area protected from dust.
“Something was removed.”
Roman studied it.
“A box.”
“Recently?”
“After she died, maybe.”
Dominic had stayed behind to question gallery staff.
Only Roman and Gemma were in the house.
Gemma examined a framed family photograph.
Maria stood between her sons.
On her wrist was the bracelet.
Gemma spoke softly.
“Did she love Matteo?”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you’re asking the wrong question.”
Roman turned.
“If she was there that night, it doesn’t automatically mean she helped kill him.”
“You’re defending her.”
“I’m restoring context.”
He stared.
Gemma held his gaze.
“That’s what I do.”
Roman looked again at the photograph.
“What context makes sense?”
“A mother discovers one son is walking into danger.”
Roman said nothing.
“She goes to stop him.”
“Or betrays him.”
“Both are possible.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“You always this stubborn?”
“My father said it was my least profitable skill.”
Roman’s mouth shifted.
Then his eyes moved toward a small ceramic bowl near the photograph.
Inside lay several loose keys and a silver charm.
Gemma picked it up.
A tiny train.
Roman recognized it.
“My mother hated flying.”
“So?”
“She took the train to Florida every winter.”
Gemma turned the charm over.
Engraved on the back were numbers.
42-18.
“Locker number?”
Roman stared.
“Grand Central used to have private baggage storage through a service downstairs.”
They went back to Manhattan.
The storage company was long gone, but Roman’s name opened doors that had been closed to ordinary people for years.
Records had been archived by the building operator.
Locker 42-18 had belonged to Maria Costa.
Its final contents had been transferred after her death to a secure-property room.
Roman expected paperwork.
Instead, the attendant brought out a narrow wooden box.
Roman signed for it.
Inside sat one object.
A woman’s red leather wallet.
Maria’s.
Roman opened it.
Old photographs.
A grocery loyalty card.
Saint Christopher prayer card.
And a folded handwritten note.
Roman recognized his mother’s writing instantly.
He read silently.
Then his hand tightened.
Gemma waited.
Finally Roman passed it to her.
My Roman,
If this reaches you, then I failed to find the courage while I was alive.
Matteo believed Vittorio was stealing from the family. He was right, but money was only part of it.
Your uncle had spent years selling access to our shipping routes and using the art business to repay men he owed.
Matteo wanted to expose him.
I begged him to stop.
The night he died, I followed Vittorio because I believed I could prevent bloodshed.
I was too late.
Gemma looked up.
Roman’s face had gone pale.
She continued.
I saw Matteo alive inside the warehouse.
I saw Vittorio strike him.
But Vittorio was not the man who killed your brother.
Roman took the letter back.
He read the final lines himself.
I protected the person who did.
Not because they deserved protection.
Because Sofia did.
Roman whispered, “Sofia.”
Gemma felt cold.
Maria had known about the child.
The letter continued.
There is one person who can tell you the rest.
Elena.
I helped Dominic move her.
Dominic knows where the trail began, though I made him promise never to follow it unless Vittorio came back.
Forgive him before you judge him.
He kept a promise to your mother.
Roman folded the paper.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then he called Dominic.
“Come to Grand Central.”
Dominic arrived thirty minutes later.
Roman handed him the note.
Dominic read it.
His shoulders sank.
“You knew my mother protected Matteo’s killer.”
“No.”
“You knew Elena was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I haven’t spoken to her in ten years.”
Roman stepped closer.
“Where did you send her?”
Dominic hesitated.
Gemma saw fear on his face.
Not fear of Roman.
Fear for someone else.
“Providence first. Then Vermont.”
Roman waited.
Dominic finally reached into his wallet.
He removed an old photograph.
Elena sat on a park bench.
A little girl, perhaps four, rested against her.
Dominic turned it over.
An address.
Burlington.
Roman looked at him.
“You carried this for ten years.”
“I promised your mother.”
Roman’s voice broke slightly.
“And never thought I deserved to know I had a niece?”
“I thought she deserved to grow up.”
Roman looked ready to answer.
Then Gemma noticed something written beneath the address in newer ink.
A date.
Six weeks earlier.
Gemma looked at Dominic.
“You said you haven’t contacted her in ten years.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“I didn’t.”
“Then what’s this date?”
Dominic looked at Roman.
“Three months ago, Vittorio came back to New York.”
Roman went still.
Dominic continued.
“I sent someone to check on Elena.”
“And?”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“The house was empty.”
Roman stared at him.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Dominic said the part he had clearly been dreading.
“But two weeks later, Sofia enrolled in a school under a different last name.”
“Where?”
May you like
Dominic looked at Gemma.
“Brooklyn.”
