Chapter 3 - EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS
Roman Costa lived behind iron gates.
That should have frightened me.
Instead, the first thing I noticed about his estate was the light.
Warm amber lamps glowed through tall windows of a sprawling stone house overlooking Long Island Sound. Rain shimmered across the driveway, and bare maple trees bent beneath the wind.
This wasn’t a dungeon.
It looked like a home.
A guarded, intimidating, absurdly expensive home—but still a home.
Roman led me inside.
A silver-haired woman appeared almost immediately.
“You’re soaked.”
Roman removed his coat.
“Good evening to you too, Elena.”
“Don’t ‘good evening’ me. You haven’t eaten.”
Her attention moved to me.
She smiled.
“And you must be Sadie.”
I stared at Roman.
“How does she know my name?”
“Elena knows everything.”
“I raised him,” she said. “Knowing everything became a survival mechanism.”
Roman actually looked embarrassed.
I almost smiled.
This terrifying man had apparently met his match in a five-foot-four woman wearing slippers.
Elena showed me upstairs.
My room was larger than my childhood bedroom.
Fresh towels waited beside the bathroom. A pitcher of water sat on the nightstand.
There was no lock on the outside.
I checked.
Then felt ridiculous for checking.
At seven the next morning, I entered Roman’s library.
Three accountants were waiting.
Roman stood beside a table covered with files.
“Ready?”
I looked at the mountain of paper.
“Yes.”
We worked for fourteen hours.
By sunset, my family’s empire had begun collapsing in front of me.
Harbor North wasn’t merely receiving suspicious payments.
It was receiving money from projects that had never broken ground.
Miller Development had raised investor capital for apartment complexes in Hartford, Providence, and Boston. Portions of that money had been moved through subcontractors and eventually into Harbor North.
The registered manager?
A dead man.
The mailing address?
A rented office.
The authorized user on several accounts?
Gregory Miller.
I stared at the signature.
My brother’s.
“No.”
Roman stood behind me.
“You recognize it?”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“But Gregory couldn’t organize a grocery list.”
One accountant coughed to hide a laugh.
I wasn’t joking.
Gregory had failed basic finance twice in college.
Dad paid for tutors.
Then paid for a new university after Gregory was suspended for having someone else complete his coursework.
“He isn’t doing this alone,” I said.
Roman pulled out the chair beside me.
“What makes you say that?”
“These transfers are structured.”
I spread the records across the table.
“Look. They stay below internal review thresholds. They move between subsidiaries on days when payroll clears, so the cash-flow changes look ordinary.”
Roman leaned closer.
I caught the scent of cedar and rain.
My concentration disappeared for half a second.
Annoyed with myself, I pointed toward another column.
“And these amounts are being disguised inside construction overruns.”
“You think your father did it?”
I wanted to say no.
Instead, I said, “I don’t know.”
That was worse.
Roman watched me.
“You don’t have to protect him.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been protecting him your entire life.”
My eyes snapped toward his.
“You’ve known me for less than a day.”
“And I’ve watched you find evidence that your family stole millions while apologizing every time you ask one of my accountants for another file.”
I looked away.
He was right.
I hated that.
Roman pushed a cup toward me.
Coffee.
Cream, no sugar.
Exactly how I had been drinking it all day.
“You notice everything,” I said.
“It keeps me alive.”
The words carried something heavier than their meaning.
Before I could ask, his phone vibrated.
Roman read the message.
“Gregory’s car was found.”
“Where?”
“Bridgeport.”
My heart jumped.
“Was he inside?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
Roman didn’t.
“What?”
“The car was wiped clean.”
“Maybe he abandoned it.”
“Maybe.”
I knew from his expression that he didn’t believe that.
At nine that night, Elena forced us to eat.
I expected a formal dining room.
Instead, she served pasta in the kitchen.
Roman rolled up his sleeves.
I tried not to stare at the tattoos covering his forearms.
Elena noticed.
Naturally.
“Those were a terrible phase.”
Roman nearly choked.
“Elena.”
“What? You were twenty.”
I laughed.
Roman pointed his fork at me.
“Do not encourage her.”
For ten minutes, I forgot my family was imploding.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
She was crying.
“Sadie, come home.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“Your father collapsed.”
Everything inside me froze.
“Is he okay?”
“The doctor is here.”
I grabbed my sweater.
Roman was already standing.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
He reached for his coat.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Sadie—”
“My father hates you.”
“That’s not exactly keeping me awake.”
“This is family.”
Roman’s expression became unreadable.
“And what exactly were you last night when they offered you to me?”
The question stopped me.
Elena quietly left the kitchen.
Roman lowered his voice.
“You can love people who hurt you. But loving them doesn’t require walking into danger alone.”
I swallowed.
“I have to go.”
“Then I’m driving.”
Forty minutes later, we entered the Miller estate.
Mom rushed toward me.
“Thank God.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Study.”
I hurried inside.
Dad was sitting upright.
Not collapsed.
Not sick.
Not dying.
Perfectly fine.
I stopped.
He looked at Roman behind me.
Then at me.
“You brought him.”
My stomach dropped.
“Mom said you collapsed.”
“I needed you home.”
Anger burned through me.
“You lied?”
“I’m your father.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He stood.
“Whatever you think Gregory did, you are going to stop.”
Roman remained near the door.
Silent.
Watching.
Dad stepped closer.
“You will tell Costa you made a mistake.”
“I didn’t.”
“You will.”
“No.”
His face twisted.
“You stupid girl. Do you understand what happens if these records become public?”
I stared at him.
There it was.
Not concern for Gregory.
Not confusion.
Knowledge.
“You knew.”
Dad’s eyes flickered.
“You knew about Harbor North.”
Mom whispered, “Thomas?”
Dad ignored her.
I felt sick.
“How much?”
He said nothing.
“How much did you steal?”
His palm struck the desk.
“I built this family!”
“And you stole from it.”
“I did what was necessary.”
Roman finally spoke.
“Where’s Gregory?”
Dad’s expression changed.
For the first time that night, genuine fear appeared.
“I don’t know.”
Roman took one step forward.
“You’re lying.”
“I swear.”
Then the front windows exploded.
Glass sprayed across the room.
Roman grabbed me before I understood what had happened.
He pulled me behind the desk as another crack split the night.
Gunfire.
Mom screamed.
Roman covered me with his body.
His men rushed toward the hallway.
Then silence.
My ears rang.
Roman lifted his head.
“Sadie?”
“I’m okay.”
He checked my face.
His hand stopped against my cheek.
Blood stained his fingers.
“Roman.”
“It’s glass.”
But it wasn’t my blood.
It was his.
A shard had cut his shoulder.
Outside, an engine roared away.
One of Roman’s men shouted from the driveway.
Then another voice called out.
“Boss!”
Roman stood.
Something had been thrown through the broken window.
A black envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Gregory sat tied to a chair.
His face was bruised.
Across the bottom, someone had written four words.
Roman read them.
Then looked at my father.
“What does it say?” I whispered.
May you like
Roman handed me the photograph.
EIGHT MILLION. MIDNIGHT TOMORROW. OR HE DIES.
