Chapter 13 - Forty Million Dollars in Her Name
The money was real.
That was the first problem.
The second problem was where it came from.
Trafficking.
Illegal gambling.
Extortion.
Political bribery.
Money soaked in other people’s suffering.
Sebastian had hidden roughly forty-two million dollars in layered trusts, offshore companies, and investment accounts.
The final beneficiary on paper was Norah Bennett.
Why?
Roman understood before anyone else.
“A dead-man switch.”
Norah frowned.
“What?”
“If Sebastian disappeared, investigators would trace the money to you.”
“So I’d look involved.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were connected to Daniel. Connected to me. Connected to Marco’s false collections.”
A perfect scapegoat.
Again.
Norah laughed bitterly.
“Men really enjoy putting crimes in my name.”
Roman’s expression darkened.
“They’re done.”
She looked at him.
“That sounded possessive.”
“It was intended toward the criminals.”
“Better.”
Federal investigators determined Norah had no involvement.
But because of how certain trusts were structured, unwinding the assets required her cooperation.
She could have signed everything over to the government.
Instead, her attorney suggested petitioning for victim restitution.
Money stolen from victims could return to victims.
Norah liked that.
Roman loved it.
Over the following year, Bennett House expanded nationally.
Forty million did not become Norah’s fortune.
It became legal aid.
Emergency housing.
Debt relief.
Counseling.
Funds for survivors.
Roman donated additional money.
Quietly.
Norah found out because she reviewed the books.
“You donated eight million?”
Roman looked up from dinner.
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“I signed papers.”
“You said three.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You need money.”
“I have money.”
“You bought a used car last month.”
“It runs.”
“You complained the cup holders were too small.”
“That is a design failure.”
She laughed.
Their life had become strange in the gentlest ways.
The former mafia boss cooked pasta badly.
The former maid ran a foundation.
Elias’s garage expanded.
Mrs. Alvarez moved into a sunny condo and immediately complained she missed ordering people around.
Claire joined Bennett House.
Roman began consulting legally on port-security systems, using knowledge that once protected criminal routes to close them.
The past did not disappear.
But it stopped owning every room.
One afternoon, Roman asked Norah to come with him to Saint Matthew’s Church.
They sat in the back pew.
Sunlight colored the floor through stained glass.
“This is where our parents met,” Norah said.
“Yes.”
“Dad volunteered bookkeeping.”
“My mother ran charity drives.”
“They probably argued constantly.”
Roman smiled.
“Definitely.”
Norah imagined them.
Daniel.
Elena.
Two ordinary people trying to stop powerful men.
They failed in their lifetimes.
But they had left evidence.
Letters.
A daughter.
A son.
Maybe that counted as finishing something.
Roman reached into his coat.
Norah immediately noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Roman.”
He removed a small box.
Norah stared.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“No?”
“You are not proposing in a church using my dead father as emotional leverage.”
Roman slowly put the box away.
“That was disturbingly precise.”
“I know you.”
“I had an entire speech.”
“I’m sure it was terrible.”
“It was excellent.”
“Did it include ‘fate’?”
Roman looked offended.
“One time.”
“Absolutely not.”
He stared.
Then Norah laughed.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry you.”
Roman froze.
“What?”
“I said your proposal is terrible.”
He leaned forward.
“You’re criticizing the proposal before hearing it.”
“I saw the box.”
“That isn’t the proposal.”
“Fine.”
Roman stood.
Then unexpectedly walked toward the church doors.
Norah frowned.
“Where are you going?”
“To improve the proposal.”
She laughed.
“Roman!”
He turned.
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Next week?”
“Maybe.”
“Give me a timeline.”
“No.”
Roman stared at her.
She smiled.
For once, he had no control.
And somehow, he looked happier than she had ever seen him.
Three weeks later, Norah came home from work.
No candles.
No orchestra.
No empty restaurant.
Roman stood in her kitchen fixing the cabinet hinge.
Badly.
A screwdriver in one hand.
Grease from the hinge on his cheek.
Norah stopped.
He looked ridiculous.
“Problem?”
She set down her bag.
“You have grease on your face.”
Roman wiped the wrong cheek.
Norah laughed.
It took both of them back instantly.
The secondary kitchen.
Elias.
Jealousy.
The beginning.
Roman looked at her.
“Am I handsome?”
Norah burst out laughing.
“Dangerous question.”
He crossed the kitchen.
Then lowered to one knee.
Norah stopped breathing.
No speech.
No audience.
Just Roman.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant protecting what belonged to you.”
His voice was quiet.
“You taught me love means protecting someone’s freedom even when their choice scares you.”
Norah’s eyes filled.
“You never belonged to me.”
He opened the box.
“You never will.”
The ring was simple.
Elegant.
Not enormous.
Roman had learned.
“I only want to belong beside you, if you choose it.”
Norah covered her mouth.
Roman waited.
No demand.
No certainty.
No control.
She whispered:
“Yes.”
For once, Roman Costa looked completely shocked.
“You said yes?”
“I said yes.”
“You criticized the church.”
“I criticized your proposal.”
“This one?”
“This one was acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
Norah laughed through tears.
Roman stood.
She threw her arms around him.
He kissed her.
When they separated, he whispered:
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then someone applauded from the doorway.
They turned.
Elias.
Mrs. Alvarez.
Claire.
All three standing there.
Norah stared.
“You said no audience.”
Roman pointed at Mrs. Alvarez.
“She has a key.”
The older woman shrugged.
“I also have champagne.”
Elias grinned.
“And I came to make sure you didn’t mention fate.”
Roman glared.
Norah laughed.
The night became celebration.
Messy.
Loud.
Real.
Then, close to midnight, Norah opened an email from her attorney.
A final transfer from Sebastian’s seized assets had been identified.
Not money.
Property.
An abandoned coastal house in Maine.
Ownership history went back decades.
The original owner:
Elena Costa.
Norah looked at Roman.
“Did you know your mother owned a house in Maine?”
His face went still.
“No.”
Attached to the deed was an old handwritten note.
May you like
For Roman, someday.
And suddenly their future had one more door waiting to be opened.
