Chapter 4 - THE BROKEN BROTHER
Dawn broke in pale gray ribbons over Lake Michigan. Mara refused to sleep, and Roman hadn't even loosened his collar. Cal stood watch at the gate while Mara brewed strong coffee, setting a mug in front of Roman alongside a plate of toasted sourdough.
“You need fuel,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You look like a thunderstorm waiting to hit a power line.”
Roman looked at the coffee, then up at her. The harshness in his eyes softened just a fraction. “You shouldn't be here, Mara. Silvio is ruthless. If he realizes what you uncovered, you won't be safe.”
“I have two older brothers who played semi-pro football and an aunt who runs bingo night in South Boston,” Mara replied, pulling her oversized cardigan tighter around her curves. “I know bullies. Silvio isn't dangerous because he's strong. He's dangerous because he's panicked. What’s in Wisconsin?”
Before Roman could answer, heavy footsteps pounded on the back veranda. The kitchen door flew open, and a younger man stumbled in.
He looked like a bruised, reckless version of Roman. His dark hair was disheveled, his designer shirt wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion and bourbon. In his hand, he carried a crumpled receipt.
“Leo,” Roman said, standing slowly.
“Uncle Silvio called me at dawn,” Leo said, his voice raw, shaking with fury. “He said you came home in the middle of the night, tore down Grandfather’s painting, and brought some woman in to dig through the family graves. What the hell are you doing, Roman? Isn't it enough that Mom left us? Do you have to drag her ghost through the mud again?”
Mara stepped back toward the counter, watching the raw agony between the two brothers. Leo wasn't an angry drunk; he was an abandoned boy trapped in a thirty-year-old body.
Roman walked over, took his brother by the shoulder, and pulled him toward the kitchen island. “Sit down, Leo.”
“Don't touch me! Silvio said—”
“Silvio lied to you. Just like Grandfather lied to both of us.” Roman reached into his pocket and placed the red knit mitten on the marble counter.
Leo stopped. His breath hitched. He stared at the faded red yarn, his hand trembling as he reached out. His fingers hovered over it without touching. “This… this was mine. I lost it the winter she disappeared. She spent three days knitting me a match, but she never finished it.”
“She didn't lose it, Leo,” Roman said quietly. “Grandfather kept it in the wall behind his portrait. Along with this.”
Roman slid the journal across the stone. Leo opened it with shaking hands, reading his mother’s frantic, elegant script. Tears spilled over his lashes, cutting clean tracks down his flushed cheeks.
“She didn't leave us,” Leo choked out, his voice cracking into a sob. “She was trying to take us. She was trying to save me.”
“Grandfather had the local judges in his pocket,” Roman said, his voice thick with repressed grief. “He threatened to frame her for corporate theft if she took a step off this land. And Silvio helped him enforce it.”
Leo wiped his face angrily, his grief turning to fire. “Then where is she, Roman? If she didn't die in Miami, where has she been for twenty-eight years?”
Roman picked up the tarnished silver key. “She was placed under an assumed name at St. Jude’s Haven in Kenosha. Silvio has been paying the bill from a hidden freight account every quarter.”
“We’re going right now,” Leo said, surging to his feet.
“No,” Mara interrupted firmly, stepping into their path with her arms crossed.
Both brothers stared at her in shock.
“Look at you,” Mara said to Leo, her tone brisk but completely devoid of cruelty. “You smell like a distillery, your hands are shaking, and your eyes are bloodshot. If you walk into a quiet medical facility looking like that, you will frighten an elderly, traumatized woman half to death. You are going to take a cold shower, drink two glasses of water, eat the toast I made, and let Roman get his head straight. Cal, show him to the guest suite.”
Leo opened his mouth to snap at her, but when his eyes met Mara’s steady, warm, utterly fearless expression, his shoulders slumped. He looked down at the red mitten, picked it up gently, and closed his fist around it.
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“Who is she?” Leo whispered to Roman.
“She’s the house-sitter,” Roman said, his gaze fixed entirely on Mara, something fierce and profoundly protective burning in his chest. “And she’s coming with us.”
