Chapter 7 - The Night Roman Lost Chicago
By noon, Roman Castellano still believed he owned an empire.
By sunset, technically, he owned almost nothing.
The process wasn't magical.
It was paperwork.
That made it sweeter.
Moretti Logistics terminated six Castellano contracts under criminal-conduct clauses.
Three banks froze credit facilities after my attorneys delivered evidence of fraud.
Two investors withdrew.
An insurance carrier suspended coverage.
The board of Castellano Development called an emergency session after discovering Roman had pledged the same properties against multiple loans.
Roman had spent years teaching Chicago that power looked like black cars and armed men.
My father taught me something better.
Real power could look like signatures.
At 8:03 p.m., Castellano Tower lost access to three warehouses.
At 8:17, Roman's private aviation company grounded his aircraft.
At 8:41, two senior executives agreed to cooperate with investigators.
At 9:05, Roman called me seventeen times.
I answered the eighteenth.
“You vindictive little—”
“Careful.”
He breathed heavily.
“You think you won?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
“No.”
“I'll kill them.”
“If you do, every file becomes public.”
Silence.
That was our leverage.
Roman needed the evidence contained.
We needed the hostages alive.
“Midnight,” he said.
“I'll be there.”
I hung up.
Dante stood across the room.
“You don't have to enter that building.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
He corrected himself immediately.
“I don't want you to.”
Better.
“Neither do I.”
“Then why?”
“Because Roman needs to see me.”
Dante understood.
I would be the distraction.
At 11:56 p.m., I entered Castellano Tower carrying a silver briefcase.
Roman waited on the forty-seventh floor.
Margaret and Gabriel were tied to chairs.
Both were alive.
Roman stood behind them.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“Where's Dante?”
“Not here.”
Roman smiled.
“Still lying badly.”
He gestured.
A guard searched me.
No weapon.
No transmitter they could detect.
Roman pointed at the briefcase.
“Open it.”
I did.
Paper ledgers.
A drive.
The sapphire ring.
Roman stared at it.
“You brought the ring.”
“It started this.”
“No, Evelyn. Your father started this.”
“By discovering you were criminals?”
“By believing morality made him stronger than men willing to do what he wouldn't.”
I looked at Margaret.
Blood marked her lip.
Gabriel's left eye was swollen.
“Release them.”
Roman laughed.
“You still think you're negotiating.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise you would have killed me when I walked through the door.”
His smile disappeared.
I continued.
“You need my signature.”
Roman stared.
“The Moretti shares can't be transferred without it. The documents in that briefcase mean nothing if I don't cooperate.”
“Then cooperate.”
“Release one hostage.”
“No.”
I closed the briefcase.
Roman raised a gun.
“Open it.”
I didn't.
He stepped closer.
“Do you know what your problem always was?”
“I married you?”
Margaret actually laughed.
Roman's face tightened.
“You confused my patience with weakness.”
“No. I confused your control with love.”
That landed.
Perhaps because somewhere beneath everything, Roman needed to believe I had loved him.
I had.
That was the tragedy.
He pointed the gun at Gabriel.
“Sign.”
I took the documents.
“Release Margaret.”
Roman nodded toward a guard.
Margaret was untied.
She stumbled toward me.
Roman extended a pen.
I signed.
He smiled.
Then I handed him the page.
His smile disappeared.
“What is this?”
“My resignation as trustee.”
Roman looked up.
“You—”
“The controlling interest transferred this afternoon.”
“To whom?”
“A charitable foundation.”
His face emptied.
Moretti Logistics could never again become Roman's bargaining chip.
“You bitch.”
He struck me.
My head snapped sideways.
Margaret screamed.
I tasted blood.
Roman grabbed my throat.
Then the lights went out.
Gunfire did not erupt.
That was intentional.
Dante's team had entered through the building's maintenance floors, assisted by a security supervisor who had agreed to cooperate with federal investigators.
Emergency lights flashed.
Roman's men shouted.
I drove my knee into Roman and pulled away.
Dante appeared through the darkness.
He hit Roman once.
Roman fell.
Dante raised his fist again.
“Stop.”
My voice.
Dante froze.
Roman laughed from the floor.
“Listen to her.”
Dante stepped back.
Federal agents flooded the room.
Gabriel was freed.
Roman stared at me as agents handcuffed him.
“You think this is justice?”
“No.”
I touched my bleeding lip.
“This is consequences.”
They led him toward the elevator.
Then Roman stopped.
He looked at Dante.
“You still haven't told her.”
My stomach tightened.
Dante said nothing.
Roman smiled.
“There is always another secret with the Vale family.”
“Take him,” an agent ordered.
Roman called over his shoulder.
“Ask Dante why he was at your birthday party before you gave away the ring.”
The elevator closed.
I turned.
Dante's face told me Roman had landed one final blow.
“You weren't there by coincidence.”
“No.”
“You knew I might leave.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dante looked at Margaret.
She lowered her eyes.
My heart sank.
“Tell me.”
Margaret answered.
“Because we arranged for you to discover Vanessa.”
“What?”
Dante stepped forward.
“Not the affair.”
“But?”
“The photograph that confirmed it.”
I remembered.
Two weeks earlier, an anonymous envelope had arrived.
Roman kissing Vanessa outside a restaurant.
“You sent it.”
“Yes.”
“You manipulated me.”
“I gave you information.”
“Knowing what I would do with it.”
“Hoping you'd leave him.”
I stared at him.
He had helped save my father.
He had protected me.
He had also interfered in my life without permission.
Again.
“Evelyn—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I spent four years married to a man who decided what I was allowed to know because he believed he knew what was best for me.”
Dante's expression fell.
“You don't get to become the better version of the same prison.”
I walked away.
He didn't follow.
That was the first thing he did right.
Outside, reporters surrounded the tower.
Questions flew.
Was Roman arrested?
Was I divorcing him?
Was Dante my lover?
I ignored all of them.
Then one reporter shouted:
“Mrs. Castellano, where is Vanessa Lane?”
I stopped.
Vanessa?
She was supposed to be under protection.
I called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a text appeared from her phone.
A photograph.
Vanessa unconscious in the back of a car.
May you like
Beneath it were five words.
ROMAN WAS NEVER WORKING ALONE.
