Chapter 8 - ROMAN CHOSE FAMILY OVER FEAR
Roman did not take Elena and Sofia to his penthouse.
That surprised everyone.
Instead, he moved them temporarily into Gemma’s building.
Two floors above her.
“Why here?” Dominic asked.
Roman looked toward Sofia carrying a grocery bag into the elevator.
“Because she deserves a home, not a fortress.”
Dominic studied him.
“You have changed.”
“No.”
Gemma walked past them.
“Yes, you have.”
Roman frowned.
Neither woman cared.
The auction was forty-eight hours away.
Adrian helped Gemma authenticate the recovered film.
Dominic traced Vittorio’s financial movements.
Elena agreed to testify publicly about the forgery network, but Roman refused to pressure her regarding Matteo’s death.
“That part belongs to her,” he said.
Gemma noticed that too.
Ten years earlier, Roman would have demanded everything.
Now he was learning that protection without choice was another form of control.
The most important discovery came from the painting itself.
Gemma studied high-resolution auction photographs for hours.
Near midnight, she called Roman.
“Come here.”
He entered the restoration room.
“You’ve been staring at that screen since dinner.”
“You’ve been staring at me since dinner.”
“I brought food.”
“You brought enough food for six construction workers.”
“I don’t know how normal people eat.”
“That may be the most believable thing you’ve ever said.”
She zoomed in on the painting.
“Look at the lower corner.”
Roman leaned closer.
The Bellini had supposedly been painted in 1911.
“What am I looking for?”
“A repair.”
“So?”
“According to the catalog, the painting hasn’t been restored since 1986.”
Roman waited.
Gemma pointed.
“That repair uses a synthetic resin introduced much later.”
“So the catalog is false.”
“More than false.”
She opened an old photograph recovered from Daniel’s records.
“The painting Vittorio is selling isn’t the original.”
Roman’s brow furrowed.
“You said Daniel discovered the forgery.”
“Yes, but we assumed the original was stolen and the forgery stayed with us.”
She placed both images side by side.
“It was the opposite.”
Roman understood.
“Vittorio sold the forgery into the Costa collection.”
“And kept the original.”
“For ten years?”
“Maybe longer.”
Roman looked toward the auction catalog.
“Then what’s being sold now?”
Gemma smiled faintly.
“The original.”
They had him.
Not through violence.
Not through fear.
Through provenance.
Shipping records.
Photographic film.
Pigment analysis.
And testimony.
Roman spent the next day doing something he despised.
Waiting.
They coordinated with federal art-crime investigators through a retired prosecutor Roman trusted enough not to threaten.
No magical lawyer arrived carrying salvation.
No single document solved everything.
They built the case piece by piece.
Vittorio, meanwhile, requested a private meeting.
Roman accepted.
Against everyone’s advice.
But he chose the location.
The gallery.
Public cameras.
No weapons in the room.
Vittorio arrived at six.
Seventy-three years old.
Silver hair.
Immaculate navy suit.
The man who had taught Roman how to knot a tie and how to identify fear in another man’s eyes.
Gemma watched from the mezzanine.
Dominic remained near the entrance.
Roman stood alone beside Woman at the Blue Window, temporarily brought in for pre-auction inspection.
Vittorio smiled.
“My boy.”
Roman’s face stayed still.
“You stopped earning that name ten years ago.”
Vittorio sighed.
“So dramatic. Your mother always encouraged that in you.”
Roman’s hand tightened.
“Don’t.”
Vittorio’s smile disappeared.
“You found the film.”
“Yes.”
“And Elena.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Vittorio looked uncertain.
Roman noticed.
“You’re afraid.”
“I’m disappointed.”
“That’s what frightened old men call it.”
Vittorio looked up toward Gemma.
“And all this because of a woman in a cheap dress.”
Roman followed his gaze.
“No.”
Vittorio raised an eyebrow.
“Then what?”
“Because Matteo deserved the truth.”
Vittorio scoffed.
“Matteo was weak.”
Roman’s restraint nearly broke.
Gemma saw it.
Then Roman looked at her.
Something passed between them.
He stayed where he was.
Vittorio noticed.
“You used to be easier to control.”
Roman smiled without warmth.
“That must be difficult for you.”
Vittorio moved closer.
“You think the government will protect these people? Daniel thought truth made him safe.”
Gemma’s breath caught.
Roman’s voice dropped.
“What did you do to Daniel?”
Vittorio paused.
Too long.
“He had a bad heart.”
Gemma came down the stairs.
Roman looked at her.
She kept walking.
“My father did have a bad heart.”
Vittorio watched her.
Gemma stopped several feet away.
“He also stopped taking his heart medication for three days before he died because somebody switched the bottle in his bathroom cabinet.”
Roman turned sharply.
Gemma’s voice shook but held.
“I never understood why he had two prescription bottles with different pills. I assumed he’d made a mistake.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Gemma continued.
“I checked his old photographs this morning. One bottle was visible on his nightstand.”
Roman understood.
“You think Vittorio tampered with his medication.”
“I think Dad realized someone had entered the apartment. That’s why he hid the film in the dress before he died.”
Vittorio’s expression finally changed.
Not confession.
Recognition.
Gemma saw it.
“So you did go there.”
Vittorio looked toward the exit.
Dominic stepped in front of it.
Vittorio laughed.
“You intend to hold me prisoner?”
“No,” Roman said.
“Then move him.”
Roman looked at Dominic.
Dominic stepped aside.
Vittorio smiled.
Then Roman said, “You’re free to leave.”
Vittorio walked toward the doors.
They opened.
Two federal investigators waited outside.
Behind them stood Adrian.
And Elena.
Vittorio stopped.
Elena looked at him without fear.
For the first time in ten years.
“You told me no one would ever believe us,” she said.
Vittorio stared.
Elena’s hand trembled.
But she did not lower it.
In her palm lay Matteo’s wooden rosary.
“Matteo believed someone would.”
Vittorio was escorted away.
Not in handcuffs yet.
There were procedures.
Interviews.
Evidence.
Law.
Roman watched until the elevator doors closed.
Gemma approached.
“Is it over?”
Roman looked at the painting.
“No.”
She frowned.
Roman pointed at the frame.
“Vittorio said something when he arrived.”
“What?”
“He called your dress cheap.”
“So?”
“I never told him what you were wearing the night it tore.”
Gemma went cold.
Roman’s eyes lifted toward Adrian.
Adrian understood too.
Only gallery staff had seen Gemma that night.
Roman said quietly, “Vittorio had someone here.”
Dominic locked the doors.
Gemma looked around the gallery.
Cameras.
Staff rooms.
Restoration tables.
Then she remembered Adrian’s first reaction when she tried to return Roman’s coat.
Too nervous.
Too interested.
“You said men like Roman don’t lend coats.”
Adrian stared at her.
“Yes.”
“How did you know he lent it to me?”
Adrian’s face drained.
Roman turned.
Adrian whispered, “Gemma…”
She stepped back.
“You left before Roman arrived that morning.”
Silence.
Then Adrian reached into his pocket.
Dominic moved instantly.
Adrian froze.
“Easy.”
He slowly pulled out not a weapon—
but a small silver bracelet.
The same bracelet from the photograph.
Maria Costa’s bracelet.
Roman stared.
May you like
Adrian said, “Your mother gave this to me the night Matteo died.”
And Roman realized one final secret had been sitting beside him for ten years.
