Chapter 9 - The House on Lake Michigan
Roman didn't speak during the drive to Lake Michigan.
He sat beside me in the back of Daniel's SUV, staring at the photograph of his father that had appeared on the phone screen before the call disconnected.
The man looked older than Roman remembered, but the silver hair and cold eyes were unmistakable.
"Why didn't you tell me about the house?" I asked.
Roman rubbed his hands over his face.
"Because I didn't know it existed."
"Your father built an empire. You expect me to believe he hid an entire house from you?"
"I expect you to believe I spent seven years thinking he was dead."
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me still did.
But I had seen the terror in his eyes when the phone rang. It wasn't the fear of a man losing power. It was the fear of a son discovering that his entire life had been arranged by someone who never intended to let him become his own person.
Daniel drove us to a small town north of Milwaukee, where the roads narrowed and the lake wind cut through the trees.
The house stood behind a stone wall.
No guards.
No lights.
Just a black sedan parked beside the entrance.
Roman approached the front door alone.
I followed with Sophie.
He turned sharply.
"Stay back."
"No more orders."
He looked at our daughter, then stepped aside.
Inside, the house smelled of dust and antiseptic. Medical equipment lined one wall. A monitor blinked beside an empty hospital bed.
On a desk lay a stack of birth certificates.
Roman's.
Mine.
Sophie's.
Nicholas's.
Every document had been altered.
Beneath them was a handwritten letter addressed to Roman.
My son, you were never meant to lead the family. You were meant to prepare it for the heir I chose.
Roman crushed the letter in his fist.
A hidden door opened behind the bookshelf.
A man emerged wearing a gray sweater and carrying a silver cane.
Roman's father.
Antonio Moretti.
Alive.
Roman raised his gun.
Antonio smiled.
"Put that down, son. You wouldn't shoot your own father."
Roman's voice trembled with rage.
"You faked your death."
"I protected my legacy."
"You tried to have my daughter taken."
"I tried to preserve the family."
Antonio looked at Sophie in my arms.
Then his expression softened in a way that frightened me more than his anger.
"She has her mother's eyes."
I stepped backward.
Antonio's gaze shifted toward Roman.
"Tell Aaron what you promised me before Sophie was born."
Roman's face drained of color.
I looked at my husband.
"What is he talking about?"
Roman opened his mouth.
No words came.
Antonio smiled.
"Ask him why he agreed to let me choose which of his children would inherit the empire."
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Then he revealed the one thing Roman had never told me.
Before Sophie was born, Roman had signed a contract surrendering custody of our daughter if the organization ever judged her a threat.
