Chapter 8 - WHAT ROMANO OWNED
Julian Orsini was charged with attempted arson, conspiracy, intimidation, and enough related offenses to keep three teams of attorneys employed.
Vincent Orsini gave a statement from his hospital bed.
Then another.
Then, after federal investigators showed him what they had recovered from Antonio’s tape and Michael Valente’s notebook, he asked for a lawyer and began cooperating.
Chicago’s most respectable families suddenly discovered a great enthusiasm for phrases like no comment.
Elena enjoyed that more than she should have.
The center reopened six days after the fire.
Volunteers repainted the damaged hallway.
Romano sent workers.
He asked first.
Growth.
He also sent a check.
Elena returned it.
Regression.
He appeared in her office twenty minutes later.
“You returned the donation.”
“Yes.”
“It was unrestricted.”
“It was enormous.”
“That is not a legal category.”
“Neither is absurd.”
“It was enough to replace the roof.”
“Exactly.”
He sat across from her.
“Elena.”
“Romano.”
“How is the fundraiser?”
“Eighty-one thousand.”
He blinked.
“Seriously?”
“Luchia’s page went national after someone posted the video of her hitting Julian with a cane.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
“People like her.”
“Everyone likes her.”
“You say that like a complaint.”
“It is complicated.”
Elena smiled.
The kiss had complicated things too.
They had not repeated it.
Not because she regretted it.
Because the week exploded afterward.
Federal interviews.
Insurance.
Board meetings.
Contractors.
Media.
Romano’s own problems.
His businesses were under renewed scrutiny after the old records became public.
Some deserved it.
He did not pretend otherwise.
That surprised Elena most.
He had spent three days reviewing everything Michael left behind.
Legal companies.
Illegal arrangements.
Old agreements.
Modern operations inherited because “that was how things worked.”
Then he called her on Thursday and said:
“I found out.”
She knew what he meant.
Did you hurt innocent people?
Do you know that, or do you tell yourself that?
She had asked.
He came to the center after closing.
No guards inside.
He sat on the same chair where children took violin lessons.
Elena waited.
“I told you I didn’t know.”
“Yes.”
“I know now.”
Her chest tightened.
“And?”
“My companies paid protection fees that pushed smaller businesses into contracts they didn’t want.”
She said nothing.
“I never ordered anyone harmed for refusing.”
“Did people believe they could refuse?”
Long silence.
“No.”
That mattered.
“Anything else?”
“Shipping.”
“What about it?”
“We moved goods I did not ask enough questions about.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Weapons?”
“No evidence.”
“People?”
His face hardened.
“No.”
Relief.
Small.
Still.
“But stolen merchandise. Cash. Maybe counterfeit pharmaceuticals.”
Elena looked away.
“That can hurt people.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
“Closing the routes.”
“And the men who depend on that money?”
“Paying severance where the work itself was not criminal. Turning over records where it was.”
She looked back.
“To authorities?”
“Yes.”
“Your lawyers must love you.”
“They have developed eye twitches.”
She almost smiled.
“Why?”
He understood the real question.
Why change?
Not what.
“Because Antonio was right.”
His voice lowered.
“You cannot stand beside something wrong and call yourself clean because your reason feels better.”
Elena looked at him for a long time.
“I’m glad.”
“That isn’t forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“You are not responsible for making me better.”
“I know that too.”
Good.
He had learned something important.
Now, a week later, he sat in her office arguing over a check.
“Keep the donation.”
“No.”
“It is not tied to me.”
“It came from you.”
“So?”
“I don’t want the center depending on you.”
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Understanding.
“Because then if this—”
He gestured between them.
“—changes, the center changes.”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
Elena blinked.
“That was easy.”
“I have a therapist now.”
She stared.
Romano looked offended.
“What?”
“You?”
“Apparently control issues are a recognized category.”
She laughed so hard she had to put down her pen.
He waited.
“Finished?”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are not.”
“I really am.”
“Liar.”
She smiled.
“Who suggested therapy?”
“Luchia.”
“Of course.”
“She said if I wanted to date a woman who runs a community center, I should learn to communicate before she beat me with grant applications.”
Elena stopped laughing.
“Date?”
Romano went still.
“Yes.”
“You said date.”
“I know the word.”
“Do you?”
His eyes narrowed.
She smiled.
“Are you asking?”
He stood.
Walked around the desk.
Stopped.
Not too close.
“Dinner.”
“When?”
“Friday.”
“Where?”
“Your choice.”
“That is dangerously flexible.”
“I’m medicated by personal growth.”
“You’re not taking medication.”
“Metaphor.”
She laughed.
“Fine.”
His expression softened.
“Fine?”
“Dinner.”
“No guards at the table.”
“They will be nearby.”
“Nearby.”
“Agreed.”
“Your aunt is not invited.”
“That one I cannot guarantee.”
“Romano.”
“I can refuse to tell her.”
“Good.”
Luchia called Elena eleven minutes later.
“What are you wearing Friday?”
Elena stared at the phone.
“How?”
“God tells me things.”
“I am hanging up.”
Dinner happened.
Then another.
And another.
Romano was bad at normal dating.
He reserved entire restaurants until Elena told him that made her feel like a hostage in a luxury dining room.
He bought flowers the size of furniture until she asked for one small bunch from the neighborhood florist.
He sent a car.
She took the train.
He complained about the train.
She invited him to ride it.
He did.
Once.
He looked like a man undergoing a hostage negotiation while three teenagers argued about basketball beside him.
Elena treasured the memory.
Two months passed.
The investigation widened.
Vincent admitted Samuel Orsini had ordered Giuseppe Valente’s murder.
He also admitted he had spent years trying to locate Antonio’s original tape because he feared reputational damage.
He denied ordering threats against Elena.
Evidence increasingly supported that.
Julian had orchestrated them.
He wanted Vincent frightened.
Romano enraged.
And both families pulled back toward old habits.
Conflict.
Retaliation.
Julian planned to emerge as the strong man who “protected” Orsini interests.
Instead, he was awaiting trial.
The center’s emergency fundraiser reached one hundred and thirty-four thousand dollars.
Enough for the roof.
Archive digitization.
Summer program.
And security upgrades Elena selected herself.
The board elected a new chair.
Mrs. Patel.
Romano was delighted.
“She makes excellent samosas.”
“That is not a governance qualification.”
“It should be.”
Then another problem arrived.
A property attorney called Elena.
“I need to discuss the center’s deed.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“We found an encumbrance.”
“What kind?”
“Old purchase option.”
“In favor of who?”
A pause.
“Valente Holdings.”
Elena went still.
“What?”
The attorney sent the document.
Signed in 1989.
The center’s original owner had granted Michael Valente an option to acquire the property if the nonprofit ever defaulted on certain debt.
Elena’s blood went cold.
The debt had technically defaulted during the pandemic.
Nobody enforced the option.
Yet.
She called Romano.
“What is this?”
He arrived twenty minutes later.
Read the document.
His face hardened.
“I didn’t know.”
“Your company owns an option on my building.”
“Yes.”
“Since 1989.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you exercise it?”
He scanned.
“Probably.”
“Will you?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Good.
“But your board could.”
“Not without me.”
“Could someone challenge that?”
“Maybe.”
Elena walked to the window.
“The center has spent decades believing we own this building free and clear.”
“You mostly do.”
“Mostly ownership is not ownership.”
“I agree.”
“Then fix it.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Release the option.”
“Yes.”
“No discussion?”
“No.”
“Lawyers?”
“Can complain afterward.”
She turned.
That easy?
Romano smiled faintly.
“You asked what help I wanted.”
“Yes.”
“This.”
“Then yes.”
Two days later, he signed a permanent release.
No money.
No conditions.
No naming rights.
Elena held the notarized document.
Her chest felt strange.
“You could have used this.”
“To do what?”
“Control the center.”
His expression darkened.
“That is exactly why I released it.”
She looked at him.
“You really are changing.”
“Do not sound so shocked.”
“I met you three months ago.”
“You almost fell on me.”
“I did not almost fall on you. I fell near you.”
“Historical revisionism.”
She smiled.
Then looked at the release again.
“There is one problem.”
“What?”
“The option originated with your father.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Michael want it?”
Romano’s face changed.
They both realized at the same time.
The center.
The tape.
Sofia.
Michael.
1989.
Long before Tape A disappeared.
They returned to Michael’s notebook.
Buried near the back was an entry:
Property option secured. If Orsini buys block, center stays outside sale. Sofia agrees.
Elena read it twice.
“He didn’t want the building.”
“No.”
“He used the option to prevent Samuel from buying it.”
Romano nodded.
“My father protected the center.”
“With control.”
“Yes.”
Elena sighed.
“Everyone in your family needs therapy.”
“Generational package discount.”
She laughed.
Then another line caught her eye.
Sofia says Elena will run this place one day.
Elena stopped breathing.
Her mother had written about her future before Elena chose it.
Romano read over her shoulder.
“She knew.”
“I was nine.”
“Maybe you were bossy early.”
“I was organized.”
“Of course.”
Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly.
Romano did not touch her.
He waited.
Elena reached for him.
Then he held her.
Her face pressed against his chest.
“My mother knew.”
“I know.”
“I wish she could see it.”
“I know.”
“She would probably hate you.”
“Likely.”
Elena laughed through tears.
“She disliked arrogant men.”
“I’m doomed.”
“She also liked men who showed up.”
Romano became quiet.
Elena lifted her head.
He looked at her in a way that made the office feel smaller.
“I want to keep showing up.”
Her heart kicked.
“Do not turn this into a proposal.”
His eyes widened.
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
“Should I be offended?”
“Luchia has damaged me.”
“Fair.”
He kissed her.
Slowly.
No fire alarm.
No cameras.
No crisis.
Just the center office, afternoon sunlight, and the strange relief of choosing something because she wanted it.
Then the office door opened.
Luchia entered.
“Finally.”
Romano pulled back.
“Do you not knock?”
“I did. You were distracted.”
Elena covered her face.
Luchia placed a folder on the desk.
“What is that?” Romano asked.
“Wedding venues.”
“No.”
Elena started laughing.
Romano pointed at the door.
“Out.”
Luchia looked at Elena.
“Spring or autumn?”
“Out.”
“Autumn colors are better.”
“Zia.”
She left smiling.
Elena looked at Romano.
“You realize she will never stop.”
“I know.”
“Does that frighten you?”
He considered.
“Yes.”
May you like
“Good.”
They kissed again anyway.
