Chapter 8 - WHAT A FATHER CHOOSESRoman wanted to lead the rescue.
The state police captain told him no.
Roman argued.
Josephine watched.
Finally the captain leaned across the hood of an unmarked SUV.
“Mr. DeLuca, if you enter that building with a weapon, my officers have to track you, the suspects, and your son. You become another threat vector.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“My son is inside.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t tell me to stand here.”
“I’m telling you to be his father, not a fourth gun.”
Josephine looked at Roman.
The words landed.
He stepped back.
Barely.
The tactical team moved through the snow.
Minutes stretched.
Roman stared at the dark lodge.
Josephine stood beside him.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“No.”
He looked at his hands.
They were trembling.
The same way they had trembled on her couch after being shot.
“I should have told him.”
“Yes.”
“I should have brought him home.”
“Maybe.”
“I should have—”
“Roman.”
He looked at her.
“You can spend the rest of your life listing the things you should have done. Or you can be ready for what he needs when he comes through that door.”
“If.”
“When.”
Roman studied her.
“You always this certain?”
“No.”
“Then why say when?”
“Because you need somebody to.”
A gunshot cracked from the lodge.
Roman moved.
Three officers restrained him.
“No!”
Another shot.
Josephine grabbed his arm.
“Roman!”
The radio exploded with voices.
Movement.
Suspect down.
Child located.
One fleeing.
Roman stopped breathing.
Then the door opened.
A state trooper emerged carrying a boy wrapped in a blanket.
Roman tore free.
“Gabriel!”
The boy looked up.
“Dad?”
Roman ran.
He dropped to his knees in the snow.
Gabriel slammed into him.
Roman wrapped both arms around his son.
For ten seconds, he could not speak.
Josephine turned away.
It felt too private to watch.
Then Gabriel whispered, “You lied.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The child pulled back.
“Mom?”
Roman’s face broke.
“Yes.”
Gabriel started crying.
“You said accident.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
“You’re not scared of anything.”
Roman looked at his son.
“I am scared of a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
Roman’s eyes found Josephine.
Then returned to Gabriel.
“Losing you.”
The boy wiped his face angrily.
“You already did.”
Roman flinched.
Josephine’s heart hurt for both of them.
A trooper approached.
“Mr. DeLuca, we have Matteo in custody.”
Roman looked toward the lodge.
“And Salvatore?”
“Escaped through the rear tree line.”
Roman stood.
Old instinct surged.
Chase.
Hunt.
End.
Gabriel grabbed his sleeve.
“Dad.”
Roman looked down.
The choice arrived without ceremony.
An empire had trained him for fifteen years to pursue enemies.
His son asked him to stay.
Roman stayed.
They returned to Boston before sunrise.
Gabriel met Elena in the hospital.
His anger disappeared for ten minutes when he saw Marco in the incubator.
“That’s my cousin?”
Elena smiled.
“Yes.”
“He’s tiny.”
“You were too.”
Gabriel looked at Roman.
“Was I?”
Roman nodded.
“You fit on my forearm.”
“You held me?”
Roman almost laughed.
“All night.”
Gabriel seemed to store that fact somewhere.
Josephine watched.
Small truths mattered.
Over the next week, Roman began dismantling the hidden structure beneath DeLuca Holdings.
Not quietly.
Accounts went to investigators.
Properties were surrendered.
Several senior men disappeared before warrants reached them.
Others cooperated.
Dominic gave a statement that lasted eleven hours.
Roman gave one that lasted sixteen.
Josephine did not ask what crimes he admitted.
He did not volunteer.
There were things between them too heavy to romanticize.
Roman had not been a misunderstood businessman.
He had ordered violence.
Benefited from fear.
Covered crimes.
He knew what accountability might cost.
That mattered.
But it did not erase anything.
One evening, Josephine found him outside the clinic.
The front glass had finally been repaired.
He stood across the street.
Not entering.
“Why are you lurking?”
“I was invited not to break into the building.”
“You learned.”
“Slowly.”
She crossed the street.
“How’s Gabriel?”
“Angry.”
“Good.”
Roman frowned.
“Good?”
“Anger is honest.”
“He barely speaks to me.”
“Then listen when he does.”
Roman shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
“I rented an apartment near his school.”
Josephine stared.
“You’re moving to Vermont?”
“Part-time.”
“Roman DeLuca in Vermont.”
“I own boots.”
“You own Italian leather boots.”
“They’re waterproof.”
“No, they’re expensive.”
He almost smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“I’m withdrawing him from boarding school.”
“Did he ask?”
“No.”
Josephine waited.
Roman sighed.
“I asked what he wanted.”
“And?”
“He wants to live with Elena when she’s discharged.”
Josephine blinked.
“Not you?”
“No.”
“Are you letting him?”
Roman nodded.
“For now.”
That was new.
Josephine smiled.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you approve of me.”
“I have no such face.”
“You absolutely do.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Roman’s eyes settled on her.
The city seemed to quiet.
Josephine’s breath changed.
Roman stepped closer.
“If I kiss you, are you going to lecture me?”
“Possibly.”
“Before or after?”
“Depends on technique.”
Roman smiled.
Then he kissed her.
It was not dramatic.
No thunder.
No gunfire.
No orchestra.
Just warmth beneath a streetlight in front of a clinic with new glass.
Roman touched her face carefully.
Josephine rested one hand against his coat.
When they separated, he looked almost stunned.
“That was—”
His phone rang.
Josephine laughed.
Roman stared at the screen like he might destroy it.
“Answer.”
“No.”
“It could be Elena.”
“It’s Dominic.”
“Answer.”
Roman did.
“What?”
Dominic spoke.
Roman’s smile vanished.
“Where?”
Josephine knew immediately.
“What happened?”
Roman lowered the phone.
“Salvatore took someone.”
Her blood went cold.
“Who?”
Roman looked through the clinic window.
Inside, Kayla sat in the waiting room, now two days past her due date.
A nurse beside her.
One chair empty.
Roman’s voice was grim.
“Dr. Patel.”
Josephine went pale.
Roman continued.
“He wants me to exchange myself.”
“Where?”
“DeLuca warehouse nine.”
Josephine looked at him.
“You’re thinking about going.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“He’ll kill her.”
“And he may kill you too.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“Then what do you suggest?”
Josephine stared through the clinic window.
Then she saw Kayla stand suddenly.
Liquid ran down her legs.
Her eyes widened.
“My water broke!”
Josephine turned toward the door.
Roman stared at her.
A kidnapped doctor.
A laboring patient.
Salvatore waiting.
Two worlds demanding a choice.
Josephine looked at Roman.
“Call the police.”
May you like
Then she ran inside.
This time, Roman did not argue.
