Chapter 6 - THE WRONG ENEMY
By noon, three news vans were parked outside the Marlo Community Cultural Center.
By twelve-fifteen, someone had posted a photograph of Romano carrying a broken dessert table beside the headline:
MAFIA FEUD ERUPTS AFTER COMMUNITY EVENT.
Elena stared at her phone.
“This is offensive.”
Romano looked over.
“The accusation?”
“The photograph. They cropped out the children’s artwork.”
He almost smiled.
“You have unusual priorities.”
“My center looks depressing.”
“Elena.”
“I know.”
She put the phone down.
Vincent Orsini was alive.
His guard, Paul Mercer, was dead.
Police had not released details beyond confirming a home invasion and the message naming Valente.
That was enough.
Chicago loved an old family rivalry.
By lunch, reporters had turned Antonio’s missing tape, Romano’s visit to the center, Vincent’s board resignation, and the attack into one perfect story.
Valente versus Orsini.
History repeating.
Romano stood near the office window but did not look outside.
“You need to leave.”
Elena folded her arms.
“No.”
“This building is now the center of a public investigation.”
“Which is why the executive director should probably remain inside it.”
“I meant Chicago.”
She stared.
“You want me to leave the city?”
“Temporarily.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I knew you would say that.”
“Then why waste time?”
“Hope.”
“That is new for you.”
His mouth twitched.
Then Luca entered.
“Detectives are here.”
Romano’s face closed.
“Mine?”
“They asked for both of you.”
Elena stood.
“Good.”
Romano looked at her.
“You have a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Call them.”
“I already did.”
His brows lifted.
She grabbed her coat.
“You think I manage grant contracts without counsel?”
“I keep underestimating the bureaucracy around you.”
“It protects civilization.”
“Sometimes.”
Two detectives waited in the front classroom.
One was a woman named Dana Mercer.
Mid-forties.
Sharp eyes.
No visible patience.
The other, Detective Cole, looked ten years younger and slightly alarmed to be sitting across from Romano Valente at a plastic table covered in children’s paint stains.
Mercer opened a notebook.
“Mr. Valente, when did you last speak to Vincent Orsini?”
“Monday.”
“At the board meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
Elena leaned forward.
“He implied the center’s funding depended on us dropping questions.”
Mercer looked at her.
“Us?”
Elena realized too late.
“Me.”
Romano said nothing.
Mercer noticed.
Of course.
“You and Mr. Valente are working together?”
“On archive preservation.”
Cole coughed.
Elena glared.
Romano looked amused.
Mercer continued.
“You discovered an old recording.”
“Yes.”
“Connected to Vincent Orsini’s father.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it now?”
“With counsel.”
Romano turned toward her.
Elena ignored him.
Mercer did not.
“Good answer.”
“Thank you.”
“Does it implicate Samuel Orsini in a crime?”
“It contains allegations.”
Romano murmured, “Archivist.”
Elena kicked his shoe beneath the table.
His expression did not change.
Mercer saw that too.
Great.
She looked between them.
“Let me save everyone time. I don’t care whether your grandfathers hated each other, loved each other, or founded competing bowling leagues. A man is dead.”
The humor vanished.
“Paul Mercer worked for Orsini twelve years. No relation to me. He was shot twice.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“Vincent?”
“Blunt trauma. Concussion. Broken wrist.”
“Did he identify the attacker?” Romano asked.
“Not yet.”
“Camera footage?”
“Disabled.”
Romano leaned back.
“Convenient.”
Mercer’s eyes sharpened.
“You sound experienced.”
“He is,” Elena said.
Romano looked at her.
“What?”
“You are.”
Mercer almost smiled.
Then her phone buzzed.
She read.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
No answer.
She stood.
“Interview paused.”
“Why?” Elena asked.
Mercer looked at Romano.
“Vincent Orsini woke up.”
Romano stood too.
“And?”
“He gave us a name.”
Elena’s pulse jumped.
“Whose?”
Mercer held his gaze.
“Julian Orsini.”
Romano went still.
Elena frowned.
“Who is Julian?”
“Vincent’s nephew,” Romano said.
“Age?”
“Thirty-two.”
“What does he do?”
“Runs Orsini logistics.”
Mercer closed her notebook.
“And according to Vincent, he has been trying to provoke a conflict with the Valentes for two years.”
Elena stared.
“Why?”
Romano answered before Mercer could.
“Territory.”
“I thought Vincent was respectable.”
“He is also rich.”
“Those are not synonyms.”
“No.”
Mercer headed toward the door.
“Stay available.”
Elena pointed outside.
“Hard to disappear with three news vans.”
After they left, Romano called Luca.
“Find Julian.”
Elena held up one finger.
“Legally.”
Romano stared.
“Find him legally.”
Luca looked disappointed.
Elena noticed.
“Good.”
Romano waited until Luca left.
“You enjoy this.”
“What?”
“Supervising my morality.”
“I am not supervising.”
“You are.”
“I am providing quality control.”
He laughed.
Then the laugh vanished.
“Julian was fourteen when Samuel died.”
“So he inherited the grudge.”
“No.”
Romano paced.
“He inherited stories.”
“Same difference?”
“No. Grudges are personal. Stories are worse.”
Elena understood.
Stories turned inherited fear into identity.
Her center existed because stories could preserve people.
She had rarely thought about how they could preserve hatred too.
“Do you know Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Like?”
“No.”
“Useful answer.”
“He has spent years trying to convince Vincent to expand into businesses Vincent abandoned.”
“Illegal businesses.”
“Yes.”
“Your businesses?”
“Some.”
Elena watched him.
“This is the part where I remember you are not simply a donor who knows how to make soup.”
His expression became guarded.
“I never said I was.”
“No.”
That mattered.
He had not lied.
Avoided.
Withheld.
But when she asked directly, he answered.
She could work with that.
Maybe.
“What does Julian gain from framing you?”
“War makes old men choose sides. Contracts move. People panic.”
“And if Vincent dies?”
“Julian inherits significant control.”
Elena’s stomach dropped.
“So Vincent was not the target of a Valente attack.”
“No.”
“He was the target of an Orsini succession plan.”
“Possibly.”
“Family.”
Romano gave her a dark smile.
“Always.”
Luchia entered carrying soup.
Nobody knew how she kept getting past security.
“I heard Vincent named Julian.”
Romano turned.
“Who told you?”
“Mrs. Alvarez’s daughter works at the hospital.”
“That is confidential.”
“It is Chicago.”
Fair.
Luchia placed a container on Elena’s desk.
“Eat.”
Elena opened it.
Lentil.
She looked at Romano.
“Yours?”
“No.”
Luchia looked offended.
“Mine is better.”
Romano said nothing.
“Now,” Luchia continued, “I have something else.”
She removed a small notebook from her purse.
“Antonio’s?”
“No. Michael’s.”
Romano froze.
“My father’s?”
“He gave it to me before he died.”
“And you are just mentioning it?”
“I am eighty-two. There is a lot in the queue.”
Elena bit her lip.
Romano did not find it funny.
Luchia opened the notebook.
“One entry matters.”
She handed it to him.
2005 — Sofia moved original. Paid Costa to remove archive card. Orsini believes destroyed. Keep it that way.
Romano read twice.
Then looked at Elena.
“Sofia.”
“My mother.”
Luchia nodded.
Elena’s pulse accelerated.
“Michael paid Robert Costa.”
“Yes.”
Elena grabbed the ledger copy.
R.C. — DUPLICATE REMOVAL.
Then:
M.V. — SILENCE / ARCHIVE.
She looked at Romano.
“We read it wrong.”
His face changed.
“Your father wasn’t paid for silence.”
“No.”
“He paid to create silence around the tape.”
“To protect it.”
Luchia nodded.
“Michael and Sofia worked together.”
Elena sat.
All week, the past had rearranged itself every few hours.
“Why?”
“Michael regretted helping Samuel bury the story. He wanted Antonio’s tape to survive.”
Romano looked at the notebook.
“He did what Antonio asked.”
“Eventually.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
Luchia’s expression softened.
“Because he was afraid you would choose revenge.”
Romano laughed bitterly.
“Was he wrong?”
No one answered.
That answer mattered too.
Romano closed the notebook.
“I need air.”
He walked toward the hall.
Elena followed.
Outside, reporters shouted from the sidewalk.
Romano stopped under the center awning.
Cameras turned.
Questions flew.
“Mr. Valente! Did you order the Orsini attack?”
“Is this a gang conflict?”
“Is Elena Marlo connected to your organization?”
That one changed his face.
Elena saw it.
He stepped toward the reporters.
She caught his sleeve.
“What?”
He looked down.
“You are about to say something regrettable.”
“They’re dragging you into this.”
“I am already in it.”
“Because of me.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“My mother hid the tape before I met you. Vincent sat on my board. Julian’s people broke into my apartment.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is not all yours.”
He looked at her hand on his sleeve.
She released him.
Cameras continued clicking.
One reporter shouted, “Ms. Marlo, are you romantically involved with Romano Valente?”
Elena froze.
Luchia, standing behind them, whispered, “Finally, a useful journalist.”
Romano closed his eyes.
Elena turned toward the cameras.
“No.”
Romano looked at her.
Something tiny dropped in her chest.
She ignored it.
“Mr. Valente is helping the center preserve historical material connected to his family.”
A reporter shouted, “So you’re just friends?”
Elena opened her mouth.
Romano spoke first.
“No comment.”
She looked at him.
He looked straight ahead.
The internet would enjoy that.
Wonderful.
By evening, #RomanoAndElena was trending locally.
Luchia printed screenshots.
Elena threatened to ban her from the center.
Then Luca entered the office.
“We found Julian.”
Romano stood.
“Where?”
“He checked into a hotel under another name.”
“Police?”
“On their way.”
“Good.”
Luca hesitated.
“What?”
“He left something at the front desk addressed to Elena.”
Romano’s face changed.
“What?”
Luca handed over an envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
Sofia Marlo and Michael Valente stood in the archive room in 2005.
Between them sat Tape A.
On the back:
YOUR MOTHER PICKED THE WRONG SIDE.
Elena’s hands went cold.
Another smaller note slipped out.
SATURDAY.
HERITAGE NIGHT.
FINISH WHAT THEY STARTED.
Romano took it.
“What is Saturday?”
Elena looked at him.
“The center’s rescheduled performance.”
“No.”
“Romano.”
“No event.”
“Julian wants us to cancel.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So we disappoint him.”
Elena smiled slowly.
Romano saw it.
“No.”
She folded the note.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep planning things that will get you killed.”
“Not if we plan better.”
Luchia leaned in from the doorway.
“I vote Elena.”
Romano stared at the ceiling.
Elena looked at him.
“Saturday night. Full crowd. Media attention. Federal agents if Mercer agrees.”
“You want Julian to believe the tape will be played publicly.”
“Yes.”
“Bait.”
“The tape is bait.”
“And you?”
“I am the woman holding the play button.”
His eyes darkened.
“Same thing.”
Elena stepped closer.
“Then stand beside me.”
Silence.
The request changed him.
Not behind me.
Not in front.
Beside.
Romano nodded once.
“Fine.”
Luchia clapped.
“Excellent. Now we need flowers.”
Both turned.
“For security?” Elena asked.
“No. Atmosphere.”
May you like
“Zia.”
“What? If people are going to threaten us, we should at least decorate.”
