Chapter 8 - Elias Romano
Camille packed a suitcase.
She did not intend to leave Chicago.
She did not even intend to leave the Moretti job permanently.
But she needed one night outside the estate.
One night in her own apartment.
One night without guards in the hallway, without Lucian’s presence pressing against every decision, without wondering whether every honest moment would be followed by another locked door.
Marco objected.
Politely.
Lucian did not come to stop her.
That hurt more than Camille wanted to admit.
Nico appeared in the foyer while she waited for a car.
“You are leaving.”
“For the night.”
“Does Lucian know?”
“I assume the surveillance network reported it.”
Nico winced.
“He deserves that.”
Camille looked at him.
“Who was Elias Romano?”
Nico stopped.
“You too?”
“I am not Lucian.”
“That is increasingly obvious.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Elias was our father’s partner.”
“Business?”
“Originally.”
Nico looked toward the staircase.
“Later, enemy.”
“What happened?”
“I was fourteen. I know pieces.”
“Tell me the pieces.”
Nico hesitated.
“Elias accused our father of stealing from him. Dad accused Elias of selling information to competitors. They fought. Publicly. Then Elias disappeared from Chicago.”
“Disappeared how?”
“He moved.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Camille exhaled.
Nico gave her a tired look.
“We have a dramatic last name, Camille. Not every verb means murder.”
“Good to know.”
“Elias went to Arizona. He died three years ago.”
“So why does Daniel think the name matters?”
Nico’s face tightened.
“Because before Elias left, someone attacked him.”
Camille went still.
“How badly?”
“Hospital.”
“Lucian?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nico.”
“I don’t.”
His voice sharpened.
“I asked once. Lucian told me never to ask again.”
Camille stared at him.
That sounded exactly like the Lucian she had first met.
“What did people believe?”
“That Dad ordered it.”
“And Lucian?”
“Some people said he was there.”
Camille’s stomach tightened.
“How old was he?”
“Twenty.”
Before their mother died.
Before Lucian became Nico’s substitute parent.
Before he turned control into armor.
“Did Elias ever accuse him?”
“Not publicly.”
“Police?”
“No charges.”
“So Daniel is using an old rumor.”
“Yes.”
“Unless there is more.”
Nico looked away.
Camille’s car arrived.
He opened the door for her.
“Please do not decide who Lucian is based on the worst story told about him.”
She paused.
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“Then what?”
“I am deciding what I can trust based on what he is willing to tell me.”
Nico nodded slowly.
“That is fair.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He smiled faintly.
“I know.”
The car pulled away.
Camille’s apartment felt strange after a week at the estate.
Smaller.
Quieter.
Normal.
She kicked off her shoes, changed into soft pants and an old university sweatshirt, and ordered Thai food.
At nine, someone knocked.
Camille froze.
The building had a doorman.
Visitors were supposed to be announced.
She called downstairs.
“Ms. Brooks,” the doorman said, embarrassed, “Mr. Moretti is here.”
Of course he was.
Camille closed her eyes.
“Send him up.”
When she opened the door, Lucian stood in the hallway wearing a black coat over a dark shirt.
Alone.
No Marco.
No visible guard.
“You traveled without security?” she asked.
“They are downstairs.”
“Of course.”
He looked at her apartment.
“May I come in?”
Camille stared.
May I.
Not I need to speak with you.
Not let me in.
She stepped aside.
“Yes.”
Lucian entered.
He looked absurdly large in her living room.
Camille folded her arms.
“Why are you here?”
“To answer your question.”
Her anger shifted.
She pointed toward the couch.
“Sit.”
He sat.
Camille remained standing.
Lucian looked at his hands.
“Elias Romano was my father’s partner for fifteen years.”
“I know that part.”
“Nico?”
“Yes.”
Lucian nodded.
“Elias was also my godfather.”
Camille had not expected that.
“He taught me to drive. He taught me poker. He gave me my first watch.”
Lucian touched the silver watch at his wrist.
Camille realized.
“This one?”
“No. That one is locked away.”
He continued.
“When I was nineteen, I learned Elias was taking money from several family businesses.”
“How?”
“I found discrepancies.”
“Did you tell your father?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“My father confronted him.”
Lucian’s mouth tightened.
“Elias denied it. Then he accused my father of worse things. Some were probably true.”
Camille sat in the chair opposite him.
“What happened the night he was attacked?”
Lucian went silent.
She waited.
At last he said, “I went to see him.”
“Why?”
“To ask him to leave Chicago.”
“Your father sent you?”
“No.”
“You were twenty.”
“I thought I could stop the situation from becoming worse.”
The irony was painful.
“What did Elias say?”
“That my father had turned me into a guard dog.”
Lucian gave a humorless smile.
“He was not entirely wrong.”
“And?”
“I told him if he stayed, someone would hurt him.”
Camille’s chest tightened.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It was a warning.”
“Did he believe the distinction?”
“No.”
Lucian looked at the floor.
“I left.”
“What happened after?”
“Two hours later, he was beaten outside a restaurant.”
“By your father’s men?”
“I do not know.”
Camille studied his face.
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Did you know it would happen?”
“No.”
His voice did not rise.
That made her believe him more.
“But,” Lucian said, “I knew it could happen.”
Camille waited.
“And I did not call the police. I did not warn Elias’s wife. I did not tell anyone outside the family.”
“Why?”
“Loyalty.”
The word sounded ugly.
Lucian looked at her.
“I was twenty years old and had already learned that loyalty meant silence.”
Camille’s anger softened.
“Then why refuse to tell me?”
“Because the story is useful.”
“To Daniel?”
“To anyone.”
Lucian leaned back.
“Elias was attacked after I warned him to leave. There was no charge. No proof. My father denied involvement. The public version is simple.”
“And the truth?”
“The truth is that I was a coward.”
Camille blinked.
He looked directly at her.
“I told myself I could not control what happened after I left. That was convenient. I knew the environment. I knew what my father was capable of. I chose family silence over someone who had once treated me like a son.”
The room was quiet.
Camille understood then why Lucian hated uncertainty.
He had spent years turning it into guilt.
If he knew everything, maybe no one got hurt.
If he controlled everything, maybe he never again had to ask whether he could have prevented the worst thing.
“Did you ever speak to Elias again?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Eight years later.”
Camille leaned forward.
“He called me.”
“What did he say?”
“That he knew I had not ordered the attack.”
Relief moved through her.
Lucian did not look relieved.
“He also said it did not matter.”
“Why?”
“Because I represented the family when I came to his door. He said I had carried my father’s threat whether I intended to or not.”
Camille swallowed.
“That is hard.”
“It was true.”
“What did you say?”
“I apologized.”
“Did he accept?”
“No.”
The answer hurt.
Lucian continued.
“Three months later, I sent evidence of the financial crimes that had caused the dispute to federal investigators. It implicated my father’s associates and Elias.”
Camille stared.
“Your own family?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Several people were charged. My father was not.”
“Did he know you were responsible?”
“He suspected.”
“That must have been dangerous.”
“It was.”
“What did Elias think?”
“He called again. He said it was the first honest thing I had done.”
Camille looked at him for a long moment.
“Why is none of this public?”
“Because confession does not become virtue because it is convenient later.”
“That sounds like something you have punished yourself with for years.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Do not turn this into therapy.”
“I charge more for therapy.”
His mouth almost moved.
Camille’s voice softened.
“Daniel wants to publish the simple version.”
“Yes.”
“Lucian threatened Elias. Elias was attacked.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought keeping the full story from me protected me?”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I thought it protected me.”
The honesty landed.
He continued.
“I did not want you to look at me differently.”
Camille’s throat tightened.
“Why does that matter?”
Lucian stared at her.
The question was dangerous.
They both knew it.
He stood.
Camille stood too.
The small living room suddenly felt much smaller.
“Because I care how you see me.”
His voice was low.
No performance.
No menace.
Just truth.
Camille’s heart beat hard.
“You cannot ask me to see you clearly and then choose which parts are visible.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep learning it.”
She looked at him.
He looked tired.
Not physically.
Morally.
Like a man who had spent his entire adult life believing his value existed in never needing forgiveness.
Camille stepped closer.
“Did you come here because you wanted me back at the estate?”
“Yes.”
“Ask.”
Lucian inhaled.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
She smiled slightly.
“Yes.”
Relief moved across his face.
Camille noticed.
Then she said, “I am still angry.”
“I know.”
“And I am not letting you decide my movements.”
“I know.”
“And if Daniel publishes the Elias story, we tell the truth.”
Lucian hesitated.
“Not all of it.”
“Why?”
“Because parts involve people who did not consent to become public.”
Camille nodded.
That was reasonable.
“We tell enough.”
“Yes.”
A silence opened.
Lucian looked at her old sweatshirt.
“Northwestern?”
“Scholarship.”
“I know.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He closed his eyes.
“Public biography.”
“Good recovery.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
There it was again.
That pull.
Camille’s pulse changed.
Lucian stepped closer.
Then stopped.
“May I?”
Her breath caught.
He did not specify.
He did not need to.
Camille looked at him.
A week earlier, the man would have assumed.
Now he asked.
She wanted to say yes.
Dangerously.
Completely.
Then her phone rang.
Daniel.
Camille laughed once, without humor.
“His timing is becoming offensive.”
Lucian stepped back.
She answered on speaker.
“Daniel.”
“Did he tell you?”
Camille’s face hardened.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Daniel had expected secrecy.
That disappointed him.
“He gave you his version.”
“He gave me enough.”
“You believe him?”
“I believe evidence.”
Lucian glanced at her.
Daniel’s voice cooled.
“Then you will enjoy tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“You’ll see.”
The call ended.
Camille stared at the phone.
Lucian’s expression hardened.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
At six the next morning, every major Chicago news outlet received an anonymous package.
It contained Camille’s private coaching notes.
The Elias Romano rumor.
And a photograph designed to cause the most damage possible.
Lucian Moretti stood in the image with his hand around a man’s throat.
The timestamp was from two years earlier.
May you like
The headline wrote itself.
By the time Camille woke, the city was already reading it.
