Chapter 3 - The Call From Jason
Morgana slept for fourteen hours.
She woke expecting guilt.
Instead she heard silence.
No bottles crashing.
No television screaming downstairs.
No Jason pounding on her door demanding money.
She sat in bed and listened.
Nothing.
The quiet frightened her.
Freedom, she discovered, could feel suspicious when chaos was all you knew.
Mrs. Alvarez had left clean clothes outside.
Morgana chose jeans and a gray sweater.
She carried the envelope of money downstairs and found Roman in a library.
He stood behind a desk speaking to Marco.
On the wall was a map dotted with shipping routes.
Roman ended the conversation when he saw her.
“You sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Eat?”
“Not yet.”
Mrs. Alvarez appeared almost magically.
“Kitchen. Now.”
Morgana blinked.
Roman almost smiled.
“You heard her.”
Ten minutes later, Morgana sat with eggs, toast, potatoes, and coffee.
She had barely taken three bites when her phone vibrated.
DAD.
Her body stiffened.
Roman noticed.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Morgana almost rejected the advice simply because he gave it.
Then she answered.
“Hello?”
Jason was crying.
“Morgana.”
She closed her eyes.
“Honey, you need to come home.”
She looked across the kitchen.
Roman stood by the doorway, giving her distance.
“Why?”
“I made a mistake.”
“You signed me away before counting your cash.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“They're dangerous people.”
Morgana glanced at Roman.
Roman raised one eyebrow.
Jason continued.
“You don't understand Costa. He kills people.”
“And you sold me to him.”
“I panicked!”
“You've been panicking my entire life.”
Jason’s breathing grew ragged.
“Morgana, listen. There's stuff you don’t know.”
“About Mom?”
Silence.
Morgana gripped the phone.
Roman stopped moving.
Jason whispered, “What did he tell you?”
“Enough.”
“No. No, sweetheart. Roman is lying.”
“Did Mom write him a letter?”
Long pause.
Jason said, “That woman had problems.”
Morgana stood.
“Don’t.”
“She was paranoid.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“She tried to ruin us!”
“There was no us.”
Jason's voice changed.
The crying disappeared.
“You come home right now.”
Morgana recognized the tone.
Cold.
Controlling.
The Jason who emerged when guilt failed.
“You hear me?”
Morgana's heart hammered.
Roman stepped forward.
She shook her head at him.
She needed to do this herself.
“No.”
Jason went silent.
Morgana had never said that word so cleanly to him.
“No,” she repeated.
“You’re my daughter.”
“You remembered that yesterday?”
“Morgana.”
“I’m not coming home.”
Jason snarled, “Then don’t blame me for what happens.”
The call ended.
Morgana stared at the phone.
Roman held out his hand.
“May I?”
She hesitated.
Then gave him the device.
Roman forwarded the recording from an automatic security application she had not realized had been installed.
“You recorded that?”
“Your phone did.”
“You changed my phone?”
“I had Marco add emergency tracking.”
Morgana stiffened.
Roman immediately placed the phone back on the table.
“I should have asked.”
“Yes.”
“You’re right.”
The apology disarmed her.
“I'll have it removed.”
Morgana stared at him.
“Keep the recording.”
Roman nodded.
“Nothing else.”
“Nothing else.”
Marco entered.
His expression had changed.
“Boss.”
Roman looked at him.
Marco placed a tablet on the counter.
Security footage.
Jason's house.
Morgana frowned.
“Why are you watching him?”
“Because somebody else is.”
On screen, a gray sedan sat across from Jason’s property.
Two men inside.
Morgana did not recognize them.
Roman did.
“Caruso.”
Marco nodded.
“Looks like it.”
“Who's Caruso?” Morgana asked.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“A man my father should have killed twenty-five years ago.”
Morgana folded her arms.
“That sounds reassuring.”
Roman looked at her.
“Vincent Caruso handled collections for my father.”
“Did he know my mother?”
“Yes.”
Morgana's skin chilled.
“Did he know Jason?”
Roman glanced toward Marco.
“Very well.”
The gray sedan doors opened.
Two men approached Jason’s house.
One carried a briefcase.
The other looked armed.
Morgana's anger vanished beneath instinctive fear.
“What are they doing?”
Roman said nothing.
The men disappeared inside.
Seven minutes passed.
Then Jason emerged.
Not dragged.
Not threatened.
He shook one man’s hand.
Morgana stared.
“He knows them.”
Roman's face had gone completely still.
Marco zoomed the footage.
Jason handed over something.
A folder.
The man with the briefcase opened it.
Inside were papers.
And a photograph.
Marco enlarged the image.
Morgana moved closer.
She recognized the picture.
Her mother.
But Evelyn was not alone.
Standing beside her was a man Morgana had never seen.
Roman did.
His reaction was immediate.
“No.”
“What?”
Roman grabbed the tablet.
“Who is he?”
Marco looked grim.
“Salvatore Costa.”
Morgana stared at Roman.
“Your father?”
Roman nodded.
The photograph showed Evelyn and Roman’s father standing beside the Costa warehouse.
On the back, visible when the man flipped it, was handwriting.
Roman froze the frame.
Three words were visible.
FOR MORGANA — 2004.
Roman sat down.
Morgana's heartbeat thundered.
“What does that mean?”
Roman said nothing.
“Roman.”
He finally looked at her.
For the first time since she met him, the mafia boss appeared genuinely shaken.
“Morgana...”
She waited.
Roman's voice became quiet.
“My father died believing he had another child.”
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
Morgana stared at the photograph.
“No.”
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“No.”
“Morgana—”
“You think your father was my father?”
“I think Jason just handed Caruso evidence he’s been hiding for twenty-two years.”
Morgana backed away.
Her chair struck the wall.
Everything she knew about herself had begun collapsing twenty-four hours earlier.
Now even her name felt uncertain.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face darkened.
“What?”
Roman asked.
Marco lowered the phone.
“Jason's gone.”
Morgana froze.
“Gone where?”
“We don’t know.”
May you like
Marco looked at Roman.
“But the house is burning.”
