Chapter 15 - THE EMPIRE ROMAN DID NOT WANT
Z
Vittorio Rossi’s arrest broke the family in half.
Three captains disappeared overnight.
Two called Roman before sunrise.
One swore loyalty.
Another demanded Vittorio be freed.
Roman hung up on all of them.
By noon, news vans waited outside Rossi businesses.
Federal agents froze accounts connected to twenty years of shell companies.
The name Rossi appeared across television screens.
Sadi stood in the penthouse kitchen eating cereal while commentators debated whether Chicago was witnessing the collapse of one of its oldest criminal organizations.
Roman entered wearing sweatpants.
She looked toward the television.
“You’re famous.”
“I hate television.”
“They called you the reluctant heir.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“They also used a photograph from our wedding.”
Roman stopped.
“What?”
Sadi pointed.
A smiling photograph of them filled the screen.
Roman grabbed the remote.
“Absolutely not.”
He turned it off.
Sadi laughed.
“This is where you draw the line?”
“Yes.”
“Not racketeering allegations?”
“Those are less personal.”
Roman poured coffee.
Black.
Pinch of salt.
Sadi watched.
“You have a meeting today.”
“With everyone.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
The surviving Rossi leadership would gather at the estate.
Every senior man.
Every business head.
Every cousin who believed blood entitled him to an opinion.
They expected Roman to stabilize the organization.
Take control.
Punish Vittorio’s supporters.
Rebuild.
Become exactly what his father raised him to become.
Sadi approached.
“What are you going to do?”
Roman stared into his coffee.
“I don’t know.”
That answer frightened her more than certainty.
“You usually know.”
“Yes.”
“Want advice?”
“No.”
Sadi smiled.
“Excellent. I’ll give it anyway.”
Roman sighed.
She leaned against the counter.
“Don’t make the decision based on what your father would do.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Or Vittorio.”
“I know.”
“Or your mother.”
Roman looked at her.
“Or me.”
That surprised him.
Sadi continued.
“If you leave everything because you think it’s what I want, you’ll resent me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You absolutely would.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“And if you stay because leaving feels like weakness, you’ll become a prisoner.”
He watched her.
“So what do I do?”
Sadi shrugged.
“Figure out what Roman Rossi wants when nobody else gets a vote.”
The meeting began at six.
Sadi did not attend.
That surprised everyone.
Especially Roman.
“You’re not coming?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this is yours.”
“You’ve been involved in everything else.”
“Because people kept shooting at my workplace.”
Roman almost smiled.
Sadi touched his tie.
He was wearing one.
That alone meant the meeting was serious.
“You don’t need me sitting beside you to make the right choice.”
He looked at her.
“What if I make the wrong one?”
“Then we deal with it.”
Roman kissed her forehead.
“You make marriage sound deeply unromantic.”
“Wait until we discuss taxes.”
The men arrived.
Black cars lined the estate driveway.
Marco remained inside the meeting.
Sadi went upstairs.
She tried reading.
Failed.
Tried television.
Failed.
Eventually she sat beside the bedroom window and watched snow begin falling over Chicago.
Three hours passed.
Then four.
At 10:27, the bedroom door opened.
Roman entered.
He removed his tie.
Sadi waited.
“Well?”
“It’s over.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What is?”
“The organization.”
She stared.
Roman sat opposite her.
“I’m dissolving everything illegal.”
Sadi said nothing.
He continued.
“Gambling operations shut down tonight.”
“Roman…”
“Protection money ends immediately.”
“Okay.”
“Anything connected to narcotics was never mine, but anyone operating under our protection loses it.”
Sadi watched him carefully.
“What about the legitimate businesses?”
“Rossi Logistics stays.”
“That’s enormous.”
“Yes.”
“Construction?”
“Legal divisions stay.”
“Restaurants?”
“Stay.”
“Security?”
“Reorganized.”
Sadi slowly smiled.
“You’re becoming boring.”
Roman looked offended.
“I will never be boring.”
“You’ll pay taxes.”
His expression darkened.
“Don’t push me.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“What did they say?”
“Some left.”
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
“And the others?”
“Stayed.”
“Why?”
Roman looked toward the snow outside.
“Maybe they’re tired.”
That made sense.
Violence was romantic only to people who watched it from far away.
Men with children eventually wanted to get home.
Men who had been shot eventually became interested in retirement.
Sadi sat beside Roman.
“What about the money?”
“Anything proven connected to Vittorio goes to federal seizure.”
He looked at her.
“I’m creating a compensation fund.”
“For who?”
“Families.”
Sadi understood.
People hurt by Rossi operations.
Employees.
Victims.
Men who disappeared.
Businesses threatened.
“That could cost you hundreds of millions.”
“Yes.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“No.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good answer.”
Roman rested his elbows on his knees.
“My father built the empire.”
“Part of it.”
“Vittorio expanded it.”
“Yes.”
“And I spent half my life maintaining it because I thought survival was the same thing as responsibility.”
Sadi touched his shoulder.
“What changed?”
Roman looked at her.
“I found out the story keeping me inside it was a lie.”
The following month, Roman testified privately before a federal grand jury.
Not about everything.
He had lawyers for a reason.
But enough.
Vittorio was charged with conspiracy, racketeering, arson, kidnapping, murder-for-hire, obstruction, and enough financial crimes to occupy several prosecutors for years.
Elena came to Chicago.
She did not move into the estate.
Roman was not ready.
Instead, she rented a small apartment overlooking the lake.
They had coffee once a week.
Sometimes for ten minutes.
Sometimes two hours.
Healing, Sadi discovered, looked unimpressive from the outside.
No grand speeches.
No dramatic embraces.
Mostly two people sitting across a table trying not to punish each other for years they could not recover.
Three months later, Sadi opened the door to her new restoration studio.
ROSSI-MILLER CONSERVATION FELLOWSHIP.
Roman hated the name.
“You put Rossi first.”
“It sounds better.”
“Miller-Rossi.”
“Sounds like a law firm.”
“Rossi-Miller sounds like pasta.”
Sadi laughed.
The fellowship funded students who could not afford unpaid museum internships.
Roman had donated the building.
Sadi made him pay market rent to the nonprofit.
He complained for forty minutes.
Then doubled the endowment.
On opening night, Elena stood beside the restored monastery painting.
She touched the frame gently.
“I hated that painting.”
Sadi smiled.
“Why?”
“Antonio bought it after we had our first serious argument.”
“What was the argument?”
Elena looked toward Roman.
“He wanted three children.”
Sadi blinked.
“And you?”
“One.”
Roman approached.
“That feels like information I didn’t need.”
Elena smiled.
For the first time, Roman smiled back without pain immediately following it.
Then Marco entered the gallery.
He looked unusually serious.
Roman noticed.
“What?”
Marco glanced toward Sadi.
Then Roman.
“A package arrived.”
Roman’s entire posture changed.
Sadi groaned.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“No mysterious packages.”
Marco almost smiled.
“This one isn’t threatening.”
“How do you know?”
“It came from a hospital.”
Sadi froze.
Roman frowned.
“What hospital?”
Marco handed her the envelope.
Sadi stared at the logo.
Her doctor.
Roman looked at her.
“Sadi?”
She had forgotten.
In all the chaos, she had completely forgotten the blood test from two days earlier.
Her hands began trembling.
“What is it?” Roman asked.
Sadi opened the envelope.
Read the first line.
Then read it again.
Roman stepped closer.
“You’re scaring me.”
She looked up.
For perhaps the first time in their relationship, Sadi had absolutely no idea what to say.
So she handed him the page.
Roman read.
His face emptied.
Then his eyes moved toward her stomach.
Then back to the page.
Then back to her.
“Sadi.”
She began crying.
A terrified laugh escaped with it.
May you like
Roman whispered:
“You’re pregnant.”
