Chapter 9 - THE WOODEN TOY
Six months later.
The snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes outside the massive windows of the Aspen townhouse. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the rustic living room.
I sat on the plush rug, watching Sophie build a wobbly tower out of simple, brightly painted wooden blocks.
She placed a blue square on top of a red cylinder. It held for a second before the whole thing tumbled down. Sophie giggled, a bright, joyous sound that echoed off the high timber ceilings.
“Again, Mommy!” she cheered.
“Alright, one more time,” I smiled, helping her gather the blocks.
A lot had changed in six months.
Isabella was gone. When the police raided the estate, she had quietly packed her bags and fled to Europe, her engagement broken, her debts paid off by a final, uncharacteristically generous wire transfer from Roman before his accounts were frozen.
Victor was in a federal supermax prison, awaiting a trial he would inevitably lose. Roman’s ledger had been a kill shot to the syndicate. Dozens of arrests had been made. The criminal empire was dismantled.
As for Elena, she was in a high-security psychiatric facility under federal guard. She had survived the gunshot, though just barely. I hadn’t visited her. I wasn’t ready. Maybe I never would be. But I had forgiven her, for my own peace of mind, if not for hers.
And Roman.
The news had been filled with his face for months. The billionaire who turned whistle-blower. Because he hadn’t directly participated in Victor’s violent crimes and had provided the evidence to dismantle the network, the district attorney had cut a deal. Heavy fines, asset forfeitures, and six months of house arrest at a secure, undisclosed location.
Today was the exact six-month mark.
I looked at the heavy grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was 4:00 PM.
My heart did a familiar, anxious flutter. I had heard nothing from his lawyers in three days.
“Mommy, look!”
Sophie held up a little wooden horse. “For Uncle Roman.”
She had never forgotten him. In the terrifying blur of that night, Roman had been the immovable wall between her and danger. To a three-year-old, he wasn’t a mafia boss. He was her hero.
“He’ll love it, sweetie,” I said, kissing her cheek.
Suddenly, the heavy oak front door of the townhouse clicked.
The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed in the quiet foyer.
I froze. The security detail outside wouldn’t just let anyone walk in.
I stood up slowly, wiping my palms on my jeans.
The door pushed open, letting in a gust of cold mountain air and a flurry of snow.
A man stepped inside, dropping a heavy duffel bag onto the hardwood floor.
He was wearing a thick wool coat, snowflakes dusting his dark hair. He looked exhausted. He looked older. He had lost the aura of the untouchable billionaire, and somehow, that made him look even more imposing. More real.
Roman brushed the snow from his shoulders and looked up.
His dark eyes locked onto mine across the room. The breath I had been holding for six months finally left my lungs in a rush.
“You’re late,” I whispered, tears instantly blurring my vision.
Roman offered a crooked, tired smile. “Traffic out of New York was murder. Plus, I had to stop and buy a car. The feds took all mine.”
He stepped fully into the light, shedding his coat.
“Uncle Roman!”
Sophie scrambled to her feet, dropping her blocks, and ran across the room as fast as her little legs could carry her.
Roman dropped to one knee. He caught her mid-stride, lifting her high into the air as she shrieked with laughter, before pulling her tight against his chest. He buried his face in her curly brown hair, his broad shoulders shaking slightly.
“Hey, little bird,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You got so big.”
“I made you a horse,” she said, shoving the wooden toy into his face.
Roman took it gently, examining it as if it were a three-million-dollar diamond. “It’s the best horse I’ve ever seen. Thank you.”
He stood up, holding Sophie on his hip, and walked toward me.
He stopped a foot away. The air between us crackled, heavy with all the things we hadn’t said that night in the greenhouse.
“It’s done,” Roman said quietly, looking deep into my eyes. “The syndicate is gone. Victor will never see the outside of a cell. My slate is clean.”
“And you?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Are you clean?”
Roman reached out with his free hand. His knuckles were bruised, his palm rough. He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down my face.
“I’m just a guy in a cabin in Aspen,” he whispered. “No empire. No secrets. Just a man who wants to take care of his family. If you’ll let me.”
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes, feeling a profound, overwhelming sense of safety wash over me for the first time in five years.
I wasn’t the framed maid anymore. I wasn’t the hunted sister.
I was home.
I opened my eyes and looked at the man who had burned his entire world down just to keep us warm.
“Welcome home, Roman,” I said.
May you like
He smiled, leaning down to press his lips gently against mine, while Sophie giggled and tapped the wooden horse against his shoulder.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, burying the past, leaving only a pure, untouched white canvas for whatever came next.
