Chapter 7 - The Language of Home
Nobody moved.
Rain hammered against the warehouse roof.
Roman stood twenty feet away, his coat open, his hands visible.
Harper had never seen him look more dangerous.
Or more afraid.
Vittorio tightened his grip.
“You came quickly.”
Roman’s eyes never left Harper.
“You wanted me here.”
“I wanted the laptop.”
“You have it.”
“And the girl.”
Roman’s jaw flexed.
“Let her go.”
Vittorio laughed.
“You know what your father would have done?”
Roman said nothing.
“He would have sacrificed her.”
Harper saw Roman’s expression change.
Vittorio continued.
“Salvatore understood power. People become weaknesses.”
Roman looked at Harper.
Then he slowly removed the weapon from beneath his jacket.
His men reacted.
“Boss.”
Roman placed it on the concrete floor.
Harper’s heart stopped.
“Roman, no.”
Vittorio smiled.
“There he is. The boy his father always worried about.”
Roman kicked the weapon away.
“You want me. Take me.”
“Roman!”
“Harper.”
His voice was calm.
“Look at me.”
She did.
His hands moved subtly.
ASL.
Trust me.
Harper stopped struggling.
Vittorio did not notice.
Roman continued speaking aloud.
“My father is dead.”
“He understood you.”
“No. He understood fear.”
Roman took another step.
“I spent half my life thinking that was the same thing as respect.”
Vittorio sneered.
“And now?”
Roman looked at Harper.
“Now I know better.”
Harper’s eyes filled.
Behind Vittorio, a side door moved slightly.
Nico.
Roman was buying time.
Harper understood.
Vittorio did not.
“You became weak,” Vittorio said.
Roman smiled without humor.
“No.”
His hands moved again.
Down.
Harper dropped.
A deafening crash erupted behind her.
Nico tackled Vittorio’s armed guard.
Roman lunged.
Vittorio lost his grip.
Harper crawled away.
Roman struck Vittorio once.
Hard.
Then again.
Vittorio fell.
Roman stood over him.
Years of betrayal lived in that moment.
Leo.
Carlo.
Beatrice.
Harper.
Roman could have ended him.
Everyone knew it.
Vittorio knew it too.
“Do it,” Vittorio spat.
Roman’s fists clenched.
Harper rose.
“Roman.”
He looked at her.
She shook her head.
“Don’t become what he expects.”
Roman breathed heavily.
Then he stepped backward.
“Nico.”
“Boss?”
“Call the police.”
Vittorio laughed bitterly.
“The police?”
Roman looked down at him.
“You confessed on camera.”
Vittorio’s smile disappeared.
Harper looked toward Leo’s laptop.
The webcam light was still on.
Roman’s team had recorded everything.
Including Vittorio admitting Carlo arranged Leo’s death.
For the first time in seven years, Harper had proof.
Not revenge.
Proof.
The investigation that followed dismantled more than Vittorio’s operation.
Financial records uncovered corruption, cargo theft, bribery and conspiracy stretching back decades.
Martin Keller was arrested two days later trying to cross into Canada.
Vittorio DeLuca was charged in connection with Leo’s death and multiple other crimes.
Roman cooperated.
That decision shocked nearly everyone around him.
“You’re giving prosecutors records?” Nico asked.
“The records involving DeLuca.”
“They could look at us too.”
Roman stared at him.
“Then perhaps we should give them less to find going forward.”
Nico understood.
Roman was changing the Moretti organization.
Not overnight.
Not magically.
But deliberately.
Businesses that depended on threats and corruption were separated from legitimate companies.
Men who refused to adapt left.
Some were removed.
Roman stopped pretending his father’s legacy was sacred.
Harper watched the transformation cautiously.
She did not want to become the woman who believed she could rescue a dangerous man through love.
Roman never asked her to.
He changed because he chose to.
That mattered.
Three weeks after the warehouse, Harper returned to Laura.
Paul met her near the entrance.
“Your job is waiting.”
Harper smiled.
“Actually, I came to resign.”
His face fell.
“Moretti hired you?”
“No.”
“Then where are you going?”
Harper looked toward the dining room.
“I’m going back to school.”
Years earlier, she had begun studying social work with the intention of specializing in accessibility services.
Leo’s death ended that plan.
Now she wanted it again.
Roman offered to pay.
Harper refused.
They compromised after an argument lasting forty-five minutes.
A foundation would fund scholarships for deaf and hard-of-hearing students and train hospitality workers in accessibility.
Harper would help design the program.
Her tuition would come from a legitimate salary for legitimate work.
Beatrice called this “romantic stubbornness.”
Harper called it boundaries.
Roman called it exhausting.
He loved her anyway.
Greg approached before Harper left Laura.
He looked uncomfortable.
“Can I talk to you?”
Harper folded her arms.
“Sure.”
“I owe you an apology.”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“You’re supposed to say I don’t.”
“Why would I lie?”
Greg almost smiled.
“I started the training Mrs. Moretti requested.”
He raised his hands awkwardly.
Then signed:
Sorry.
Harper stared.
His form was terrible.
His intention wasn’t.
She corrected his hand position.
“Better.”
Greg nodded.
“I was an ass.”
“Also correct.”
He laughed.
“I deserved that.”
Harper looked toward the south alcove where everything had begun.
“You know what Beatrice wanted?”
“What?”
“She didn’t want you destroyed.”
Greg looked ashamed.
“She wanted you to learn.”
He nodded.
“I’m trying.”
“That’s enough to start.”
Harper walked out of Laura for the last time as an employee.
Roman waited outside.
No bodyguard immediately beside him.
No armored posture.
Just Roman.
He held out his hand.
Harper took it.
“You resigned?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because Greg stares at you.”
Harper stopped.
“Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“You’re absolutely jealous.”
“I’m Roman Moretti.”
“That was not an answer.”
He opened the car door.
Harper refused to move.
Roman sighed.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Say it in sign.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You enjoy this too much.”
“Absolutely.”
He signed:
I am jealous.
Harper laughed.
Then she kissed his cheek.
“You’re improving.”
Roman touched her waist.
“I have a good teacher.”
They arrived home for dinner.
Home.
Harper still caught herself thinking of the Moretti mansion that way.
Evelyn was staying there temporarily while her new apartment was prepared.
Beatrice was teaching her basic ASL.
Roman practiced every evening.
One night Harper entered the sitting room and stopped in the doorway.
Roman and Beatrice were arguing.
Silently.
Fluently.
Beatrice signed something rapid.
Roman answered.
She slapped his arm.
He protested.
Harper laughed.
Both turned.
“What?”
Roman asked.
“Nothing.”
Beatrice signed:
He thinks he is good now.
Roman caught it.
“I understood that.”
Beatrice smiled proudly.
Harper’s eyes filled.
Roman saw.
He came toward her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Harper.”
She looked at his hands.
“You learned.”
“For her.”
“I know.”
Roman touched her cheek.
“And for you.”
Harper leaned into him.
Then Beatrice interrupted.
Dinner.
Roman sighed.
Harper smiled.
Some things did not require sound.
That night, however, Roman received one final envelope connected to his father’s old records.
Inside was a letter.
Written eleven years earlier.
Addressed to Beatrice.
Roman read it twice.
Then he found Harper.
“You need to see this.”
The letter contained one paragraph about Leo.
Salvatore Moretti had known.
He had known Carlo was responsible.
And he had established a private trust for the Hayes family out of guilt.
But the money had never reached them.
Someone had stolen it.
Harper looked at Roman.
“Who?”
Roman turned the page.
The signature beneath the transfer authorization made his face go cold.
The person who had stolen the money was someone still working inside Moretti Holdings.
May you like
Someone Roman trusted more than almost anyone.
Nico Romano.
