Chapter 8 - Four Million Witnesses
My father looked nothing like a ghost.
He stood at the bottom of the church steps in a charcoal coat, silver hair combed neatly, one hand resting on a cane he did not need. Twelve armed men formed a semicircle behind him.
Ethan walked into the open.
“Thomas.”
My father smiled. “Ethan Romano.”
“You look disappointing for a dead man.”
“You look sentimental for a crime lord.”
“Former.”
“Men like us don’t retire.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
Thomas laughed. “That is exactly what I designed you to believe.”
I stood behind the church door, hidden in shadow.
Daniel whispered, “Stay down.”
“No.”
“Isabella.”
“No.”
Outside, Ethan said, “You want me?”
“I want my daughter.”
“She doesn’t want you.”
“Children rarely understand what parents sacrifice.”
I nearly screamed.
Ethan’s voice remained calm. “She understands you bombed her house.”
“A controlled blast.”
“There was a woman inside.”
“She survived.”
“That is not the standard for good parenting.”
Even now, Ethan could make cruelty sound conversational.
Thomas’s smile faded. “You corrupted her.”
Ethan laughed. “I met her at twenty-three.”
“You were always going to meet.”
That made him pause.
“What?”
Thomas stepped closer. “Did you really think it was chance?”
My skin turned cold.
Ethan said nothing.
“You met at the Met fundraiser because I arranged your seating.”
I remembered. A donor had changed tables at the last minute. I ended up beside Ethan. He spilled wine on my dress. I called him arrogant. He laughed.
By midnight, we were inseparable.
Thomas continued. “Your courtship was encouraged. Your marriage was inevitable.”
Ethan’s face became still.
“And the divorce?”
“Unfortunate.”
“You tried to stop her leaving.”
“I tried to keep her alive.”
I clenched my fists.
Ethan’s voice dropped. “You sent Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“To kidnap her?”
“To redirect her.”
Daniel closed his eyes beside me.
Thomas looked toward the church. “Daniel betrayed me.”
“Good habit,” Ethan said.
Thomas sighed. “You don’t understand the value of what she carries.”
“He has a name.”
I froze.
Ethan had never asked what I planned to call the baby.
Thomas tilted his head. “Does he?”
Ethan looked toward the church.
Our eyes met through the crack.
I whispered, “Noah.”
He could not hear me.
But somehow, he smiled.
Then he turned back.
“Yes.”
Thomas’s expression hardened. “I built Providence before you were born.”
“No. You financed monsters.”
“I financed progress.”
“You selected children like racehorses.”
“We eliminated disease.”
“You created suffering.”
“We created you.”
Ethan’s eyes became cold. “And now I’m going to destroy you.”
Thomas lifted one finger.
Twelve guns rose.
Inside, Marco whispered, “We need a shot.”
Daniel shook his head. “Too exposed.”
I looked at Victoria. “Give me your phone.”
She stared. “Why?”
“Because your social account has four million followers.”
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
I opened the camera.
“What are you doing?” Daniel whispered.
“Making disappearance inconvenient.”
I started a livestream.
Then I stepped through the church doors.
“Dad.”
Every gun shifted.
Ethan turned.
His face went white with fury.
“What are you doing?”
I raised the phone. “Say hello.”
Thomas stared. “To whom?”
“Four million people.”
Victoria stepped beside me. “And climbing.”
For the first time, my father looked afraid.
I continued. “Tell everyone about Providence.”
“Turn that off.”
“No.”
“Isabella.”
“You faked your death. You stalked me. You bombed my house. Now you’re pointing guns at a pregnant woman outside a church.”
Comments exploded across the screen.
Ten thousand viewers.
Thirty thousand.
One hundred thousand.
Thomas’s men began looking at each other.
He raised his cane. “You think attention protects you?”
“No. I think it makes murder terrible public relations.”
Ethan’s mouth twitched.
“Bella.”
“Not now.”
“You are insane.”
“You married me.”
“Fair.”
Thomas stepped closer. “Enough.”
I pointed the camera directly at him.
“Who created Project Providence?”
He said nothing.
“Who financed the experiments?”
Silence.
“Why do you want my child?”
His face tightened.
Then he smiled.
“You want drama for your audience?”
He raised his voice.
“Fine.”
He looked into the phone.
“My daughter is carrying a child whose genetic profile could be worth billions.”
Comments blurred.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Ethan’s expression became murderous.
Thomas continued. “Pharmaceutical companies. defense contractors. private research foundations.”
“Stop.”
“You asked.”
“My baby isn’t for sale.”
“Everything is for sale.”
Ethan stepped between us. “Not him.”
Thomas smiled. “You’re wrong.”
A siren sounded in the distance.
Then another.
The livestream had summoned the city.
Police helicopters appeared above the rooftops.
Thomas’s men shifted nervously.
I kept filming.
“Say his name,” I demanded.
“What?”
“My baby. Say his name.”
Thomas frowned. “Why?”
“Because you keep calling him a result.”
He looked at me.
I said it clearly.
“Noah.”
The name went out to millions of people.
Noah Bennett Romano.
Not a code.
Not a line.
Not an heir.
A child.
Thomas’s face changed for one second.
Something like grief.
Then it vanished.
He lowered his hand.
His men lowered their guns.
“Leave,” Ethan told him.
Thomas looked at me. “This isn’t over.”
“I know.”
He retreated toward the cars.
Then he stopped.
“One more thing, Isabella.”
I stared.
“You should ask Ethan why he really filed for divorce first.”
My stomach dropped.
I turned.
Ethan’s face changed.
“What does he mean?”
Thomas smiled. “He never told you?”
Sirens screamed closer.
My father climbed into his car.
Ethan said, “I didn’t file.”
Daniel stepped beside us.
“Actually,” he said quietly, “you did.”
Ethan turned. “What?”
Daniel removed a document from his coat.
A divorce petition.
Filed three days before mine.
Signed by Ethan Romano.
I stared at him.
Ethan looked at the signature.
Then whispered, “That isn’t mine.”
For a moment after Thomas disappeared, nobody moved. Police lights washed the church steps blue and red while strangers online kept typing hearts, accusations, prayers, and theories into Victoria’s phone. I ended the livestream with shaking fingers.
Ethan looked at me. “You could have been killed.”
“So could you.”
“That is different.”
“No, that is exactly the problem.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Daniel took the phone from me and handed it to an agent. Victoria leaned against the stone wall, breathing hard.
“You realize,” she said, “my father is going to blame me for this.”
“Your father already bruised you,” I said. “Let him blame you from a distance.”
She gave a weak laugh.
Ethan watched the police close the street. “Thomas wanted the world to think he was untouchable. You just made him visible.”
“Visibility isn’t justice.”
May you like
“No.” His eyes found mine. “But it’s a beginning.”
For the first time that night, I believed we might actually have one.
