Chapter 4 - NO SAFE PLACEJosephine stared at the photograph until the words blurred.
Harbor Women’s Clinic.
The glass entrance she walked through every morning.
The narrow staff kitchen where Dr. Patel burned toast twice a week.
The waiting room where children colored pictures while their mothers filled out forms.
Someone had put a rifle sight on it because Josephine had refused to let a pregnant woman die.
Roman took the phone from Dominic.
“Lock the clinic down.”
Josephine turned on him.
“No.”
Roman ignored her.
“Get security there now. Plain clothes. Nobody enters without being checked.”
“No.”
Dominic looked between them.
Roman’s patience thinned.
“Josephine.”
“You are not turning a women’s clinic into one of your fortified warehouses.”
“Someone is threatening you.”
“They’re threatening the building.”
“Because of you.”
“Exactly. Which means your men showing up with guns will make every frightened patient inside wonder what kind of place we run.”
Roman stepped closer.
“And if Matteo walks through the door?”
“Then we call the police.”
His jaw tightened.
“We are not doing this again.”
“We?”
Josephine’s eyes flashed.
“You keep using that word like I joined something.”
“You did when you got into that SUV.”
“I got into that SUV because your sister was dying.”
“And now you are a target.”
“Then I make decisions about my safety.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
It was subtle enough that almost anyone else would have missed it.
Josephine did not.
“You’re scared,” she said.
Dominic found the ceiling fascinating again.
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m realistic.”
“No. You’re scared, so you control everything around you.”
“I’m trying to keep you breathing.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t trade my life for a cage.”
The sentence landed heavily.
Roman looked away first.
Dominic cleared his throat.
“We could use city-licensed private security.”
Josephine turned to him.
“No visible weapons.”
“Fine.”
“No men intimidating patients.”
“Fine.”
“No collecting names.”
Dominic glanced at Roman.
“Fine.”
“No breaking into my apartment.”
Roman folded his arms.
“That happened once.”
“It was four days ago.”
“We replaced a lock.”
“You replaced my lock.”
“It was terrible.”
“It was mine.”
Dominic took one step backward.
“I’m going to arrange the clinic security.”
Smart man.
He disappeared down the hall.
Josephine exhaled.
Roman rubbed his face.
“You should not go home tonight.”
“No.”
“You are exhausting.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I have a house in Brookline.”
“I have an apartment in Jamaica Plain.”
“A house with guards.”
“An apartment without mobsters.”
“Technically Dominic has never been convicted.”
Josephine stared.
Roman’s mouth twitched.
She hated that she almost laughed.
A nurse approached.
“Mr. DeLuca? Your sister is awake.”
Everything changed.
Roman followed the nurse into recovery.
Josephine remained outside.
She should leave.
She had worked fourteen hours before all of this began. Her clothes smelled like warehouse dust. There was dried blood on one shoe.
But twenty minutes later Roman returned.
“She asked for you.”
Josephine entered.
Elena DeLuca looked nothing like her brother.
Roman was dark edges and controlled force.
Elena was soft-faced, with chestnut hair stuck damply against her temples and freckles across her nose. She looked exhausted beyond description.
“Midwife,” she whispered.
Josephine smiled.
“That’s me.”
“You insulted Matteo.”
“I did.”
Elena’s mouth curved weakly.
“I liked that.”
Josephine sat beside her.
“How do you feel?”
“Like a truck learned surgery.”
“That’s pretty normal after an emergency C-section.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“My baby?”
“Stable in the NICU.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“You will.”
Elena looked toward Roman.
He stood at the foot of the bed.
Far enough away to be punished.
Josephine noticed.
“So,” Elena said, “you finally came when someone shot you?”
Roman’s face hardened.
Josephine glanced between them.
Elena laughed weakly.
“He thinks because he pays for things, he shows up.”
“Not now,” Roman said.
“Why? Because I almost died?”
“Elena.”
“Four months, Roman.”
His jaw tightened.
“I called.”
“You sent men.”
“To protect you.”
“You sent groceries.”
“You needed—”
“I needed my brother.”
Silence.
Josephine looked down.
This was not her family.
But somehow she had walked into the center of it.
Elena wiped her eyes.
“Do you know why I stopped taking my blood-pressure medicine?”
Josephine answered carefully.
“I assumed fear, side effects, or access.”
Elena shook her head.
“Because Matteo told me Roman’s doctor was poisoning me.”
Roman went still.
“What?”
“He said the medication came through one of your pharmacies.”
“Elena, those prescriptions came from your obstetrician.”
“I know that now.”
Roman’s voice dropped.
“Why would you believe him?”
Her face twisted.
“Because he was the only person in this family who visited me without security waiting downstairs.”
The words hit.
Roman absorbed them without moving.
Elena looked at Josephine.
“He brought dinner. Fixed a cabinet. Took me to appointments when I was too sick to drive.”
Roman’s expression became something terrible.
“He was learning your routine.”
“Yes.”
Elena looked away.
“And I handed it to him because I was lonely.”
Josephine reached for her hand.
Elena squeezed tightly.
“I’m stupid.”
“No.”
“I trusted him.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Roman stared at his sister.
“Who else did he mention?”
Elena hesitated.
“Uncle Salvatore.”
Roman’s eyes sharpened.
Josephine saw it.
Fear again.
Different this time.
“Why?”
“Matteo said Salvatore thought you’d forgotten what the family was supposed to be.”
Roman’s voice flattened.
“What exactly did he say?”
“That you’d become too legitimate.”
Josephine almost laughed at the absurdity.
Then she saw Roman’s face.
No joke.
Elena continued.
“He said the old men think you care more about city contracts and hotels than respect.”
“Respect,” Josephine said, “meaning fear?”
Elena gave her a tired look.
“You learn fast.”
Roman walked to the window.
Outside, Boston glowed beneath wet streets.
Salvatore DeLuca was his father’s younger brother.
He had held Roman at twelve years old after Roman’s mother died.
He had taught him to drive.
He had stood beside him at his father’s funeral.
He had placed the family ring into Roman’s palm and said, You protect blood before business.
Roman had believed him.
Maybe that had been the mistake.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Roman.”
A familiar voice spoke.
Old.
Warm.
Almost fatherly.
“Your sister survived.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Salvatore.”
Elena turned pale.
Josephine felt the room shrink.
Salvatore sighed.
“I told Matteo not to hurt her.”
Roman’s grip tightened on the phone.
“He kidnapped her.”
“He is emotional.”
“He nearly killed her.”
“And now perhaps you understand what happens when leadership becomes uncertain.”
Roman’s voice grew colder.
“You declared war on me.”
“No.”
Salvatore sounded disappointed.
“I’m trying to save you from yourself.”
Josephine watched Roman change.
This was the man newspapers feared.
Quiet.
Still.
Deadly.
“You threatened a clinic full of women.”
“A message.”
“You used my sister.”
“A lesson.”
Roman’s eyes found Josephine.
Salvatore continued.
“You’re distracted, Roman. Softened. First Elena. Now this nurse.”
“She’s a midwife,” Roman said automatically.
Josephine almost smiled despite everything.
Salvatore chuckled.
“There. That is what I mean.”
Roman’s face went blank.
“What do you want?”
“The family table tomorrow night.”
“No police. No outsiders. You come alone.”
“And if I don’t?”
Salvatore’s tone remained gentle.
“Then Harbor Women’s Clinic will need new windows.”
The line went dead.
Elena started crying.
Roman lowered the phone.
Josephine stood.
“You’re not going.”
Roman looked at her.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“I heard him.”
“So did I.”
“He wants you alone.”
“Yes.”
“That usually means something terrible.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still going.”
Roman tucked the phone into his coat.
“Josephine, my family has survived for three generations because when threats came, someone stood between them and the door.”
She stepped in front of him.
“And how many of those people got buried?”
His silence answered.
She softened.
“Elena did not almost die because you failed to be violent enough.”
Roman looked toward his sister.
“She almost died because this family taught men that love and fear are the same thing.”
Elena watched him.
Roman said nothing.
Josephine stepped closer.
“You keep trying to protect people by making choices for them. Paying rent. Sending guards. Deciding where they live. Who they see. What risks they’re allowed to take.”
His eyes met hers.
“That isn’t protection if everyone you love is terrified of you too.”
The words struck deeper than any bullet.
Elena closed her eyes.
Roman stood motionless.
Then the NICU nurse entered.
“Ms. DeLuca?”
Elena opened her eyes.
“Your son is stable enough for you to visit briefly.”
She began crying immediately.
Roman moved to the bed.
Elena reached for his hand.
He stared at it.
Then took it.
Josephine saw something break inside him.
Not weakness.
A wall.
Elena whispered, “Come meet your nephew.”
Roman nodded.
The nurse wheeled her toward the NICU.
Josephine remained behind.
Roman paused at the door.
“Come with us.”
She blinked.
“This is family.”
Roman looked at her for a long moment.
“Yes.”
Then, almost as if the word frightened him, he added:
“I know.”
That night, beneath the quiet lights of the neonatal intensive care unit, Roman DeLuca touched his premature nephew’s hand through the incubator opening.
The baby’s fingers closed around one of his.
Roman stopped breathing.
Josephine stood beside him.
“What’s his name?” she asked Elena.
Elena smiled through tears.
“Marco.”
Roman looked at her.
Their father’s name.
Elena squeezed his arm.
“He wasn’t perfect.”
“No.”
“But once, before all this, he was our dad.”
Roman looked down at the tiny baby.
For one dangerous second, he imagined a life where children in his family did not inherit enemies.
Then his phone vibrated.
A text.
Tomorrow. 8 PM.
Come alone.
A second message followed.
And Roman’s blood turned cold.
May you like
It was a photograph of Josephine asleep on a chair outside the NICU.
Taken from less than twenty feet away.
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