Chapter 5 - THE EMPTY CHAIRRoman did not wake Josephine.
He quietly showed the photograph to Dominic instead.
Dominic’s face changed.
“We have six men on this floor.”
“Then one of them is compromised.”
“Or hospital security.”
“Find out.”
Dominic nodded.
“And Josephine?”
Roman looked through the glass.
She was asleep with her head against the wall, arms folded, mouth slightly open.
The most stubborn woman he had ever met.
“She doesn’t know.”
“You think that’s wise?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Roman’s voice lowered.
“Because she’ll argue.”
Dominic stared at him.
“You’re afraid of an argument?”
“I’m afraid she’ll be right.”
Dominic almost smiled.
By morning, Josephine knew anyway.
She woke to find Roman standing near the elevators with two unfamiliar men.
She saw their attention sweep the corridor.
Then she noticed the camera above the NICU entrance had been removed.
“What happened?”
Roman said nothing.
Josephine held out her hand.
“Phone.”
“No.”
“Roman.”
He sighed.
She waited.
He gave it to her.
The photograph made her stomach tighten.
Her own sleeping face.
Her own vulnerability.
Someone close.
Very close.
She handed the phone back.
“Okay.”
Roman blinked.
“That’s it?”
“No yelling?”
“Oh, I’ll yell later.”
She stood.
“But first I’m going to work.”
“No.”
There it was.
She turned.
Roman already knew he had made a mistake.
“Try again.”
“The clinic is unsafe.”
“The clinic opens at eight.”
“You are not going.”
Josephine put on her coat.
“Watch me.”
Roman stepped in front of her.
She looked up.
He had at least eight inches on her.
It did not help him.
“My patients are expecting me.”
“My uncle has threatened the building.”
“Then call the police.”
“I told you why—”
“And I heard you.”
Josephine lowered her voice.
“What I will not do is teach every frightened woman who walks into our clinic that dangerous men get to decide whether she receives care.”
Roman stared.
“You make everything into a principle.”
“Some things are.”
“You could die.”
“So could any of us.”
“That is not an argument.”
“It is when you think fear gives you authority over me.”
Roman looked away.
Josephine touched his arm.
“Come with me.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“To the clinic?”
“Yes.”
He almost looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather know where you are than wonder whether you’re walking into your uncle’s trap alone.”
Roman studied her face.
“You think I’m going tonight.”
“I know you are.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
She walked toward the elevator.
Roman followed.
Harbor Women’s Clinic opened at eight on the dot.
Josephine insisted on it.
Roman had arranged discreet security across the street and in the building lobby, none visibly armed.
Patients came.
A mother brought twins.
A college student cried over an unexpected pregnancy.
An older woman arrived for follow-up after surgery.
Life continued.
Roman sat in Josephine’s cramped office wearing a dark suit that cost more than every chair in the building combined.
He looked absurd.
Josephine handed him a paper cup of clinic coffee.
He took one sip.
“This is terrible.”
“It’s free.”
“That explains it.”
“Stop complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining. I was identifying a crime.”
For a while, the danger felt distant.
Then a young woman entered the waiting room.
Nineteen, maybe twenty.
Very pregnant.
Bruise beneath one eye.
Josephine noticed immediately.
So did Roman.
The woman kept looking at the door.
Josephine approached gently.
“Hi. I’m Josephine.”
“Kayla.”
“How far along are you?”
“Thirty-nine weeks.”
“Appointment?”
Kayla shook her head.
“My boyfriend said I wasn’t allowed to come back.”
Roman looked up sharply.
Josephine saw it.
She gave him a look that meant stay out of this.
Remarkably, he did.
Josephine took Kayla into an exam room.
Twenty minutes later she returned.
Roman was waiting.
“She okay?”
“None of your business.”
He frowned.
“You looked worried.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
Josephine hesitated.
“Because she’s in early labor.”
“That’s normal.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She has signs of physical abuse.”
Roman’s expression became cold.
“Name?”
“No.”
“Josephine.”
“No.”
“If a man hit a pregnant woman—”
“Her medical information is private.”
“So we do nothing?”
“We help her make a safe plan.”
Roman laughed once.
“You ask permission?”
“Yes.”
“To save someone?”
“Yes.”
His face hardened.
“What if they’re too afraid to choose?”
“Then we keep offering doors until they can walk through one.”
Roman leaned back.
“That sounds inefficient.”
“Human beings are inefficient.”
Before he could answer, shouting erupted in the waiting room.
A man’s voice.
“Where is she?”
Josephine moved.
Roman was faster.
A thick-built man in a Patriots jacket stood near reception.
Kayla’s face had gone white.
“That’s him,” she whispered.
The man spotted her.
“Get your stuff.”
Kayla stepped backward.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What did you say?”
Roman stood.
Josephine grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t.”
The boyfriend pointed.
“Who the hell are you?”
Roman looked at him.
Nobody answered.
The boyfriend grabbed Kayla’s arm.
Josephine stepped forward.
“Let her go.”
“Mind your business.”
“This is my business.”
He shoved Josephine.
Roman moved.
One second the man was standing.
The next his face was against the wall, Roman’s forearm across his shoulders.
“Roman!”
Josephine’s voice stopped him.
The boyfriend struggled.
Roman’s eyes were murderous.
Josephine stepped closer.
“Release him.”
“He put his hands on you.”
“I said release him.”
Roman did.
Slowly.
Clinic security and two city police officers arrived seconds later.
The man was arrested after Kayla, shaking violently, finally agreed to make a statement.
When the room calmed, Josephine found Roman by the stairwell.
“You almost broke his arm.”
“He shoved you.”
“And?”
Roman looked genuinely baffled.
“And?”
“Do you see what happened?”
“Yes. A violent man touched you.”
“No.”
Josephine stepped closer.
“Kayla chose.”
He frowned.
“She was scared. She hesitated. We gave her space. And when she decided, she asked for help.”
Roman looked toward the clinic.
“You think that has something to do with me.”
“I think everything has something to do with you today.”
He looked down at his hands.
“I don’t know how to stand there.”
“What?”
“When someone is hurting somebody I care about.”
Josephine’s breath caught.
Roman did not seem to realize what he had said.
She did.
He continued quietly.
“I know how to stop them.”
“Those aren’t always the same thing.”
Their eyes met.
For the first time, there was no sarcasm between them.
No argument.
Only the awareness that something was happening neither had planned.
Then Dominic entered the stairwell.
“Boss.”
Roman stepped back.
“What?”
“We identified the man who took Josephine’s picture.”
“Who?”
Dominic hesitated.
“Anthony Russo.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Josephine noticed.
“Who is that?”
“My driver.”
“Your driver?”
“Eleven years.”
Dominic nodded grimly.
“He admitted Salvatore paid his brother’s gambling debt.”
Roman looked almost wounded.
Not shocked.
Wounded.
Dominic continued.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Anthony says Salvatore has at least nine men inside the organization.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“He knows the meeting tonight is a trap.”
Josephine folded her arms.
“So we agree you’re not going.”
Roman looked at her.
“No.”
She stared.
“No?”
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because if I don’t, Salvatore will move against anyone he thinks I care about.”
“So your solution is to walk into a room designed to kill you?”
“My solution is to end it.”
Josephine’s eyes burned.
“With more guns?”
Roman said nothing.
She laughed bitterly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The only language you trust.”
He stepped closer.
“You think I enjoy this?”
“I think you don’t know who you are without it.”
That struck.
Hard.
Roman’s face closed.
Josephine immediately regretted the cruelty.
But not the truth.
He picked up his coat.
“Roman.”
“I’ll have Dominic take you home.”
“I’m not asking about a ride.”
He stopped.
She softened.
“Don’t become the thing you say you’re protecting everyone from.”
Roman looked at her for a long moment.
Then left.
At 7:55 that evening, Roman entered the DeLuca family dining room alone.
The old house in Beacon Hill had belonged to his grandfather.
Twelve chairs surrounded a walnut table.
Only two were occupied.
Salvatore sat at one end.
Matteo sat at the other.
Alive.
Smiling.
Roman stopped.
Salvatore gestured toward the empty chair between them.
“Sit.”
Roman remained standing.
Matteo laughed.
“Still dramatic.”
Salvatore poured wine.
“You disappointed me, Roman.”
“You threatened a clinic.”
“I threatened glass.”
“You kidnapped Elena.”
“That was Matteo’s enthusiasm.”
Matteo shrugged.
Roman’s hand twitched.
Salvatore noticed.
“There’s the boy I raised.”
Roman’s voice was low.
“You didn’t raise me.”
Salvatore smiled sadly.
“I raised the part that survived.”
For two hours they talked.
Territory.
Money.
Loyalty.
Power.
Old grievances disguised as tradition.
Finally Salvatore placed a document on the table.
“You resign.”
Roman looked at it.
“You sign control of the private operations to Matteo. You keep the legitimate companies.”
Matteo smirked.
“A retirement package.”
Roman looked at both men.
“And Josephine?”
Salvatore’s smile faded.
“She becomes irrelevant.”
“Elena?”
“Safe.”
“The baby?”
“Safe.”
Roman picked up the pen.
Matteo’s smile widened.
Then Roman snapped the pen in half.
“No.”
Salvatore sighed.
“I was hoping you’d finally choose family.”
Roman looked at him.
“I am.”
The side door opened.
Three federal agents entered.
Then six Boston police officers.
Matteo jumped to his feet.
Salvatore went white.
Roman remained seated.
“You brought police?”
“No.”
Josephine stepped into the doorway behind them.
Roman stared.
She held up her phone.
May you like
“I did.”
For the first time in his adult life, Roman DeLuca had no idea what to say.
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