Chapter 10 - THE HOUSE WITH THREE NIGHT-LIGHTS
Malcolm looked twenty years older.
Roman barely recognized him.
They sat across from each other in a federal detention facility separated by a metal table.
For once, Malcolm had no threats.
No leverage.
No plan.
“You brought no lawyer,” Malcolm said.
“I don’t need one to say goodbye.”
Malcolm’s face tightened.
“You came here to disown me?”
Roman almost smiled.
“You can’t disown someone you never had.”
The words landed.
Malcolm looked down.
“I loved your mother.”
“I believe you.”
“I would have loved you.”
Roman waited.
Malcolm corrected himself.
“I should have.”
That mattered.
Not enough for forgiveness.
But enough for truth.
“You had twenty-eight years to decide what kind of man Vittorio made you,” Roman said. “You decided to become another version of him.”
Malcolm nodded.
“I know.”
“And I almost did the same.”
“You’re different.”
“I’m trying to be.”
Malcolm looked at him.
“The twins?”
“Healthy.”
“And Lily?”
“Home.”
A faint smile appeared.
“She likes astronomy.”
“I know.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“You don’t get to know her anymore.”
Malcolm accepted it.
“I understand.”
Roman stood.
Malcolm spoke quickly.
“Roman.”
He stopped.
“I’m sorry about Naomi.”
Roman turned.
For months he had imagined this moment.
He had imagined rage.
Violence.
Maybe satisfaction.
Instead, he felt tired.
“Naomi deserved apologies while she was alive.”
Malcolm lowered his eyes.
Roman walked out.
He never saw Malcolm again.
Two years later, the D’Angelo house looked nothing like the mansion Roman once owned.
There were fingerprints on the refrigerator.
Plastic toys beneath expensive furniture.
A purple bicycle lying permanently in the driveway.
Three night-lights glowed every evening.
One in Lily’s room.
One beside Isabella.
One beside Matteo.
Roman had discovered that fatherhood was mostly performing ridiculous tasks while sleep-deprived.
At 2:14 one morning, Matteo woke screaming because his stuffed dinosaur was “looking suspicious.”
Roman turned it toward the wall.
“Better?”
Matteo nodded.
At 2:37, Isabella demanded water.
At 3:05, Lily appeared because she had dreamed about her mother.
Roman sat beside her.
“Do you remember Cassandra?” she asked.
“Not the way you do.”
“I’m scared I’ll forget her voice.”
Roman understood that fear.
He had spent two years replaying Naomi’s recordings partly because he was afraid memory could erode love.
So the next morning, Roman bought Lily a recorder.
They began making a memory archive.
Lily recorded stories about Cassandra.
Roman recorded stories about Naomi.
Isabella mostly recorded herself yelling.
Matteo recorded dinosaur noises.
It became their favorite family ritual.
The Naomi D’Angelo Foundation expanded to twelve hospitals.
The emergency transport program Roman funded had already helped hundreds of mothers.
Claire remained clinical director.
And somewhere between meetings, hospital visits, spilled coffee, and Roman learning that a four-year-old could negotiate more ruthlessly than a crime boss, something unexpected happened.
Life became ordinary.
Roman had never known ordinary could be beautiful.
On the twins’ third birthday, the backyard filled with balloons.
Lily, now eleven, had appointed herself event manager.
“You’re putting the cake in the wrong place.”
Roman stared at her.
“There’s a wrong place for cake?”
“Yes.”
“According to whom?”
“Me.”
Roman looked toward Luca.
“Help.”
Luca shook his head.
“I’m not challenging her authority.”
Roman carried the cake where Lily instructed.
Guests arrived.
Claire came with her husband.
Margaret brought books.
Dr. Hart brought two enormous stuffed bears despite Roman specifically requesting no more stuffed animals.
Even Elena came.
They gathered around when Isabella and Matteo blew out their candles.
Roman stood behind them.
For one brief second, he imagined Naomi beside him.
Not as a ghost.
Not as a wound.
As a memory that no longer hurt every time he touched it.
Elena approached later.
“She’d be proud of you.”
Roman looked across the yard.
“I used to need to believe that.”
“And now?”
“Now I hope she would be.”
Elena smiled.
“That sounds healthier.”
Roman laughed.
His phone vibrated.
A message from his attorney.
The final federal settlement had been approved.
Roman would avoid prison after extensive cooperation, restitution, and the surrender of assets connected to his father’s criminal operations.
The legitimate portion of D’Angelo Maritime would survive under independent management.
Roman read the message.
Then put his phone away.
Once, news like that would have controlled his entire day.
Now Isabella was approaching with frosting all over her face.
“Daddy.”
“Yes?”
She wiped both hands on his shirt.
Roman stared down at the pink frosting covering his white shirt.
Luca burst out laughing.
Roman looked at his daughter.
Isabella smiled angelically.
“You did that deliberately.”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
She ran.
Roman chased her across the lawn.
Matteo joined the escape.
Then Lily.
Within seconds, the former head of one of New York’s most feared criminal families was running around a backyard while three children attacked him with water balloons.
He lost badly.
That evening, after everyone left, Roman cleaned the kitchen.
He found Lily sitting on the back steps.
She held Naomi’s old wedding photograph.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you still love her?”
Roman sat beside her.
“Yes.”
“Even though she’s gone?”
“Yes.”
Lily rested her head against his shoulder.
“Can you love somebody who isn’t here?”
Roman looked through the window.
Matteo and Isabella were asleep on the couch beneath a blanket.
He thought about Cassandra.
Naomi.
His mother.
All the people whose absence had shaped the people left behind.
“Yes,” he said. “But you also have to love the people who are still here.”
Lily smiled.
Roman kissed the top of her head.
Later, he carried the twins upstairs.
Matteo automatically wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck.
Isabella murmured something unintelligible against his shoulder.
Roman tucked them into bed.
He switched on their night-light.
Then he walked into his own room.
Naomi’s photograph remained on the dresser.
He no longer apologized to it every night.
That had taken almost two years.
Tonight he simply smiled.
“Happy birthday to them.”
He turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Naomi?”
Silence.
Roman looked at the photograph one last time.
“I kept my promise.”
Down the hallway, someone screamed.
“DADDY!”
Roman ran.
He burst into the twins’ bedroom.
“What happened?”
Matteo pointed urgently toward the floor.
Roman followed his finger.
A tiny spider stood beside the bed.
Roman stared at it.
Then at his terrified children.
He had faced armed men without blinking.
Apparently, spiders were different.
“Okay.”
He grabbed a cup.
Isabella climbed onto his back.
Matteo hid behind his leg.
Lily appeared in the doorway, laughing.
“The terrifying Roman D’Angelo versus one spider.”
“Not helping.”
“You want me to call Uncle Luca?”
“Absolutely not.”
Lily pulled out her phone.
Roman narrowed his eyes.
“Lily.”
She grinned.
“Too late.”
Roman laughed.
A real laugh.
A loud one.
The kind Naomi used to complain she never heard enough.
He trapped the spider beneath the cup and carried it outside while three children followed him like a tiny parade.
The night was warm.
The house behind them glowed.
Not the mansion.
Not the empire.
Not the fortress Roman once believed would protect everything he loved.
Just a house.
A messy, noisy house with toys on the floor, bottles in the sink, photographs on the walls, and three night-lights glowing upstairs.
Roman stood beneath the porch light with Isabella in his arms, Matteo clutching his hand, and Lily leaning against his shoulder.
Three children.
Three second chances.
He had spent most of his life inheriting other men’s sins.
His father’s name.
Vittorio’s empire.
Malcolm’s revenge.
Salvatore’s loyalty to a dead world.
Roman had finally learned that inheritance did not have to determine destiny.
One day his children would inherit something from him too.
But it would not be fear.
It would not be blood debts.
It would not be enemies.
Roman looked down as Matteo squeezed his finger.
“What are you thinking about, Daddy?”
Roman smiled.
“You.”
“All of us?”
“All of you.”
Isabella yawned.
Lily rolled her eyes.
“That’s extremely cheesy.”
“I’m getting old.”
“You’re thirty-nine.”
“Ancient.”
She laughed.
Roman opened the door.
“Inside. Bed.”
The children protested simultaneously.
For once, Roman loved the noise.
He looked toward the dark sky before stepping inside.
For years, Roman D’Angelo had believed power meant making an entire city fear losing you.
Naomi had taught him differently.
Power was giving someone a reason to trust that you would come home.
Roman closed the door behind his children.
May you like
And this time—
he did.
