Chapter 5 - Roman Paid for His Own Sins
Roman was not treated like a hero.
That mattered.
Television headlines called him an organized-crime leader turned cooperating witness.
Prosecutors called him valuable.
Defense attorneys called him a liar.
Families of people harmed by Duca operations called him worse.
Some were right.
Roman had never trafficked drugs.
He had banned certain forms of violence.
He had told himself those lines made him different.
Yet his organization had still collected illegal debts.
Threatened people.
Moved money.
Protected crimes.
Roman had benefited.
He accepted responsibility.
His cooperation exposed Victor's network, corrupt officials, old financial crimes, and the truth behind Giovanni's murder.
It also exposed Roman's own conduct.
Elena asked him once:
“Are you scared?”
They sat across from each other in a federal interview facility.
Roman wore no expensive suit.
No guards.
No power.
“Yes.”
First time he said it without shame.
Elena smiled faintly.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Means you're not insane.”
He laughed.
Then:
“You can leave.”
“I know.”
“You don't owe me—”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
She leaned forward.
“Stop giving me permission to make the decision I've already made.”
Roman stared.
Then smiled.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Their marriage changed.
Not magically.
Elena was furious about his secrets.
Roman was hurt by hers.
They started counseling with someone who had absolutely no interest in being intimidated by either of them.
Dr. Miriam Cole looked at Roman during their second session.
“You protect Elena physically.”
“Yes.”
“Do you respect her psychologically?”
Roman frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You keep deciding what information she can handle.”
Silence.
Elena crossed her arms.
“Thank you.”
Roman glared at both women.
Dr. Cole smiled.
“Excellent. Now we're working.”
Elena had her own confession.
She had continued exchanging messages with Adrian after marrying Roman.
She had searched Roman's study once.
Roman hated that.
She admitted it was a violation.
No excuse.
No “but your family.”
She said:
“I was wrong.”
That mattered.
Roman eventually pled guilty to several financial and racketeering-related offenses under an agreement reflecting both his conduct and substantial cooperation.
He received a prison sentence.
Not decades.
Not nothing.
Thirty months.
Elena cried when the judge announced it.
Roman did not.
Until he saw her afterward.
Then he did.
“I love you,” he finally said.
She stared.
“Now?”
“Terrible timing.”
She laughed through tears.
“Runs in the marriage.”
He served twenty-two months before release under the terms applicable to his case.
During that time, Elena rebuilt her life outside being “Roman Duca's wife.”
She returned full-time to the art gallery.
Then left.
Started a nonprofit art program for young adults in recovery.
Nico's name was on the first studio.
Not as saint.
As brother.
NICOLAS MARINI STUDIO — PEOPLE ARE MORE THAN THE WORST THING THEY SURVIVED.
Roman saw a photograph from prison.
He cried.
Meanwhile, Matteo took charge of winding down illegal operations and transferring legitimate businesses into independent management.
He refused Roman's offer of ownership.
“I've had enough family empires.”
Good answer.
Several former associates left.
Some faced charges.
Some started over.
Nobody pretended transformation erased history.
Victor's prosecution became enormous.
The strongest charges involved Giovanni's murder conspiracy, Adrian's murder, witness intimidation, corruption, financial crimes, and multiple acts committed over decades.
Nico's death was eventually proven connected to one of Victor's lieutenants acting to silence him.
Victor had authorized it.
Elena attended that portion of trial.
Roman, incarcerated, could not sit beside her.
She didn't need him physically there to survive it.
That realization made both of them proud.
When Victor was convicted, Elena called Roman.
“He's guilty.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Of Nico?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Elena cried.
Not relief exactly.
Grief finally allowed to have the correct shape.
“My brother didn't relapse.”
“No.”
“He was trying.”
“I know.”
“They all thought he failed.”
Roman whispered:
“He knew he hadn't.”
That mattered.
Three months before Roman's release, Elena visited.
He looked thinner.
Calmer.
She sat.
“I need to tell you something.”
Roman's heart dropped.
“Okay.”
“I sold the townhouse.”
He blinked.
“Our townhouse?”
“Yes.”
“You sold my house?”
“Our house.”
Fair.
“Why?”
“Too many cameras.”
He laughed.
Then she handed him a folder.
He recoiled.
“No more folders.”
“Different story.”
Inside was a lease.
A small house in Westchester.
Three bedrooms.
Backyard.
No gate.
No armed guards.
Roman stared.
“You rented this?”
“I did.”
“For yourself?”
Elena smiled.
“For us, if you want.”
He looked at her.
The language mattered.
If you want.
Not obligation.
Not debt.
Roman swallowed.
“I want.”
Then she said:
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“I want a real wedding.”
He frowned.
“We are married.”
“I know.”
“You want to divorce me first?”
“Don't tempt me.”
He laughed.
Elena continued.
“The first wedding belonged to rumors. Debts. Victor. Strategy.”
She reached through the gap beneath the visitation divider and touched his fingers.
“I want one that belongs to us.”
Roman cried.
No shame.
“Yes.”
When Roman finally walked out of prison, there were no black cars.
No army of men.
Elena waited in an old blue Subaru.
Roman stared.
“What is that?”
“My car.”
“Is it safe?”
“It passed inspection.”
“That wasn't what I meant.”
“I know.”
She tossed him the keys.
“You drive.”
He stared.
“I haven't driven in two years.”
“Then go slowly.”
Roman climbed in.
No convoy.
No guns.
No empire.
He looked at Elena.
“What if someone follows us?”
She smiled.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“Try being ordinary for ten minutes.”
He started the engine.
It was the hardest assignment of his life.
May you like
And unexpectedly—
the best.
