Chapter 12 - THE WOMAN WHO OWNED LAURA
Roman’s mother was named Laura Duca.
The restaurant was named for her.
I had worked there eight months and never knew.
“She died when I was twenty.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She hated the business.”
“Your family business?”
“Yes.”
“Then why own a restaurant?”
“It was hers before she married Vittorio.”
Roman showed me photographs.
Laura behind the bar.
Young.
Beautiful.
Laughing.
Thomas Kesler beside her.
Not Vittorio.
My pulse changed.
“They dated.”
“Yes.”
“Before your father?”
“Yes.”
“Did Vittorio know?”
“Yes.”
“Did Adrian?”
Roman looked at me.
“Apparently not until later.”
There it was.
Thomas had been connected to Roman’s mother long before Adrian existed.
Then Marco found Laura’s diary.
Stored inside a bank vault.
One entry changed everything.
Thomas says the baby could be his.
I stared.
“Adrian.”
Roman nodded.
“Laura wasn’t sure.”
“So Vittorio raised Adrian knowing he might be Thomas’s.”
“Yes.”
Another entry:
Vittorio says it doesn’t matter. A child is not responsible for the circumstances that created him.
I stopped.
That sentence softened something in Roman.
His father had been many things.
Violent.
Secretive.
Criminal.
But in this one choice, he had been better than the men around him.
Then another entry.
Thomas threatened to take the baby if I ever left him.
Vittorio moved us into protection.
The story flipped again.
Vittorio had not stolen Laura.
He had helped her escape Thomas.
Roman read silently.
“Adrian thinks Vittorio kept him from his biological father.”
“But really—”
“Vittorio kept Thomas away because Laura wanted him away.”
Consent.
Again.
The center of everything.
We sent the diary pages to Adrian’s attorneys.
He read them before transfer.
According to Marco, Adrian cried.
I felt sorry for him.
Not enough to erase his crimes.
But enough to see the child beneath them.
Then I made a decision about Laura.
The restaurant.
David’s employment ended permanently.
Obviously.
But the staff were innocent.
Servers.
Dishwashers.
Cooks.
People who needed tips for antibiotics.
Roman asked:
“What should we do with it?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“You understand it better than I do.”
“I worked there.”
“Exactly.”
I thought.
“Keep it open.”
He nodded.
“But change the management.”
“Yes.”
“And one rule.”
“What?”
“If someone is forty-five minutes late because they stopped a stranger from bleeding to death, maybe hear them out.”
His mouth moved.
“Reasonable.”
Roman appointed an experienced general manager.
Higher wages.
Emergency employee fund.
Health coverage.
I cried when he told me.
Then got angry.
“Don’t name anything after me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
“I was going to call the emergency fund the Leo Fund.”
I stared.
“No.”
“Why?”
“He is five.”
“He has excellent financial instincts.”
“He buys gummy worms.”
“Diversified portfolio.”
I laughed.
Roman smiled.
Actually smiled.
Then we became quiet.
Something had been growing between us.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
I noticed how he always asked before entering my space.
He noticed I hated being given money but accepted practical help.
I noticed he remembered Leo’s medicine schedule.
He noticed when I lied about being tired.
One evening, after Leo fell asleep, Roman stood at my apartment door.
“Dinner.”
I blinked.
“Is that a statement?”
“A question.”
“Sounded aggressive.”
He adjusted.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
“As thanks?”
“No.”
“As charity?”
His eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“As what?”
He looked almost uncomfortable.
“A date.”
I smiled.
“The mafia boss is nervous.”
“Don’t repeat that.”
“I absolutely will.”
“One dinner.”
“Public place.”
“Yes.”
“No private room.”
“Yes.”
“No security sitting at our table.”
“They’ll be nearby.”
“Across the street.”
Roman sighed.
“Across the street.”
I laughed.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman.
“Is this Megan Carter?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Rebecca Kesler.”
My stomach tightened.
Kesler.
“I’m Daniel’s widow.”
I stopped breathing.
Daniel had been married.
I knew.
But hearing his wife changed something.
“There’s something you should know about Leo.”
My heart pounded.
“What?”
“Daniel had a vasectomy seven years ago.”
Silence.
May you like
“He could not have fathered your son.”
And once again, everything we believed about Leo’s father collapsed.
