Chapter 9 - Not a Transaction
Roman Rossi spent seven months dismantling the life that had made him Roman Rossi.
It was not clean.
It was not inspirational.
It was lawyers, hearings, financial disclosures, asset seizures, cooperation agreements, and newspaper headlines that made Sadi want to throw every phone she touched into Lake Michigan.
Carlo was indicted.
So were three Moretti associates.
The art-laundering network collapsed across several states.
Ethan cooperated and avoided prison but lost his company.
He and Chloe remained married.
Barely.
They went to therapy.
Sadi considered that more courageous than pretending everything was fine.
Linda sold the Oak Park house voluntarily.
Not because Moretti took it.
Because the memories inside had become heavier than the furniture.
She bought a smaller condo.
For the first time in her adult life, she apologized to Sadi without immediately explaining why she had hurt her.
“I made Chloe the daughter I bragged about,” Linda said one afternoon.
“And you made me the daughter you worried about.”
Sadi waited.
Linda’s eyes filled.
“I thought worrying was love.”
“It can be.”
Sadi looked at her.
“But not when you use it to tell someone she’s disappointing you.”
Linda nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
Sadi believed her.
Forgiveness took longer.
That was fine.
Derek testified against Vescari’s old network.
Amanda left him permanently.
Months later, she sent Sadi a photograph from a trip to Italy.
She was eating pasta.
Real pasta.
Sadi smiled for ten minutes.
Then there was Roman.
He pleaded guilty to financial offenses linked to businesses under his control.
His cooperation and lack of charges in the art conspiracy prevented the worst outcome, but he did not walk away untouched.
He received supervised restrictions, enormous penalties, and the loss of several businesses.
The old Rossi organization fractured.
Roman let it.
Sadi saw him for the first time after sentencing in a coffee shop.
Public.
Ordinary.
No guards at the visible tables.
He wore a dark sweater instead of a suit.
For once, nobody moved out of his way when he entered.
Sadi found that strangely beautiful.
He sat across from her.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Silence.
Roman looked almost nervous.
Sadi enjoyed that more than she should have.
“How are you?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“It’s a common question.”
“I know.”
“Then answer.”
“I’m…”
He considered.
“Unemployed by historical standards.”
She laughed.
Roman smiled.
“I kept the hotel company.”
“Legal?”
“Painfully.”
“The restaurant group?”
“Legal.”
“The nightclubs?”
“Sold.”
“The men who mysteriously stand in doorways?”
“Security.”
“Licensed?”
He looked offended.
“Yes.”
“Growth.”
Roman leaned back.
“You?”
Sadi had changed jobs.
Obviously.
Working as Roman’s maid after becoming publicly associated with his federal cooperation would have been absurd.
Instead, the Art Institute research team connected her with a provenance consultancy.
Six months later she had helped identify fourteen suspicious works.
Her name appeared in an industry journal.
Her useless degree was suddenly useful.
“I got promoted.”
Roman’s eyes warmed.
“I know.”
She frowned.
“How?”
“I read.”
“You monitor.”
“I read publicly available professional publications.”
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“My attorney helped.”
Sadi laughed again.
Then silence returned.
Roman looked down at his coffee.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Several.”
“Yes.”
That surprised her.
He continued.
“For using your rehearsal dinner for my own purposes.”
She waited.
“For assuming protecting you gave me authority over your choices.”
Another pause.
“For refusing your father when he asked for help.”
That one hurt.
Roman’s voice lowered.
“I cannot know whether helping him would have changed what happened.”
“No.”
“But I know the reason I refused was cowardice dressed as strategy.”
Sadi stared.
Roman continued.
“I thought keeping other people’s problems outside my walls was strength.”
“And now?”
“I learned walls do not care who built them when the fire starts.”
She looked down at her hands.
“Very poetic.”
“I practiced.”
“Of course you did.”
His eyes held hers.
“I also need to tell you something without asking for anything back.”
Sadi’s pulse quickened.
Roman spoke carefully.
“I love you.”
No dramatic music.
No crowd.
No pressure.
Just coffee steaming between them.
Sadi swallowed.
“When?”
“When what?”
“When did you know?”
Roman thought.
“The kitchen.”
“The first night?”
“No.”
She waited.
“The morning after the wedding. You were standing in my study reading your father’s file and you hated me.”
Sadi blinked.
“That was when?”
“Yes.”
“That is psychologically concerning.”
“I have been told.”
“Why then?”
“Because you were furious and still cared more about the truth than punishing me.”
Sadi looked away.
Roman continued.
“I don’t expect you to say it.”
“Good.”
“I don’t expect a relationship.”
“Good.”
“I don’t expect—”
“Roman.”
He stopped.
“You’re ruining it.”
“Sorry.”
She studied him.
The feared mafia boss.
Former.
Mostly.
The man who once believed everything was a transaction.
She reached across the table.
Took his hand.
Roman stared at their fingers.
Sadi said, “I love you too.”
His eyes lifted.
“But.”
“There is always a but.”
“We start over.”
“How?”
“No boss and maid.”
“Agreed.”
“No fake boyfriend.”
“Agreed.”
“No deciding what I need without asking.”
He hesitated.
“Roman.”
“Agreed.”
“No background checks.”
“That seems reckless.”
She pulled her hand away.
“Agreed.”
He caught it gently.
“Agreed.”
Sadi smiled.
“And I’m not moving into your mansion.”
“I sold it.”
Her mouth opened.
“You what?”
“The estate was mostly bad memories and marble.”
“Where do you live?”
“A condo.”
“You?”
“In a condo.”
She laughed so hard several people looked over.
Roman smiled.
“What?”
“I spent a year thinking you were Dracula and now you have a condo.”
“It has excellent parking.”
That made it worse.
Sadi wiped her eyes.
Roman watched her with an expression she had once thought impossible on his face.
Peace.
Not complete.
But beginning.
He squeezed her hand once.
“So.”
“So?”
“What does starting over involve?”
Sadi pretended to think.
“You can pick me up Friday.”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll arrive at six forty-five.”
She pointed at him.
“Seven.”
Roman sighed.
“Seven.”
“And where are we going?”
His expression became serious.
“Somewhere dangerous.”
Sadi narrowed her eyes.
“Roman.”
He smiled.
“A museum.”
She groaned.
“That was terrible.”
“I’m learning humor.”
“Stop immediately.”
Roman laughed.
And for the first time, Sadi realized she no longer needed him to make anyone regret losing her.
She had stopped believing being chosen by a powerful man was proof of her value.
May you like
Roman did not make her worthy.
He simply happened to be the man she wanted beside her now that she knew she already was.
