Chapter 17 - The Truth About Roman Duca
The investigation lasted eleven months.
During that time, Roman learned that redemption was considerably less dramatic than revenge.
There were no orchestras.
No heroic speeches.
Mostly paperwork.
Depositions.
Lawyers.
Long meetings.
Old families returning with stories Roman did not want to hear but forced himself to hear anyway.
Everett Shaw eventually accepted a plea agreement covering conspiracy, obstruction, bribery, evidence tampering, and crimes connected to Vincent Vale’s false imprisonment.
Several retired officials were charged.
Two active officials resigned.
The city spent months arguing about how one respected judge had hidden so much for so long.
Roman testified.
Publicly.
He admitted the crimes he had committed in his twenties.
Not murder.
Not trafficking.
But intimidation.
Illegal collections.
Participation in businesses he knew were corrupt.
His attorneys advised careful language.
Roman ignored them.
Serena attended every day.
Sometimes she sat behind him.
Sometimes beside attorneys.
Once, after a particularly difficult testimony, Roman exited the courthouse and found nearly a hundred reporters waiting.
The old instinct returned.
Do not show weakness.
Do not reveal attachment.
He saw Serena behind the security barrier.
Without hesitation, Roman crossed directly toward her.
Cameras flashed.
Serena held out her hand.
Roman took it.
One reporter shouted, “Mr. Duca, do you believe people should forgive you?”
Roman stopped.
Serena expected him to keep walking.
Instead he turned.
“No.”
The reporters quieted.
Roman continued.
“People I harmed do not owe me forgiveness. The only thing I can control is what I do with the years I have left.”
Then he walked away with Serena.
That evening, she found him in the kitchen.
Cooking.
Badly.
Smoke filled the room.
Serena opened a window.
“What happened?”
Roman stared at a pan.
“I followed the recipe.”
“You estimated.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“You have learned nothing.”
He smiled.
Their marriage was not magically repaired.
That surprised Serena most.
Stories made forgiveness look like a door.
You walked through once and everything changed.
Reality was more like a staircase.
Some days they climbed.
Other days they slipped backward.
Roman still became controlling when frightened.
Serena still interpreted silence as rejection before asking what it meant.
They argued.
Once Serena moved back to her sister’s guesthouse for four days after Roman secretly doubled security around her office.
He apologized.
She returned.
Another time Serena learned about a business threat from Marcus rather than Roman.
She did not speak to her husband for two days.
Roman had to admit he had hidden information automatically.
Old habits.
Old wounds.
But there were new habits too.
Roman held her hand in restaurants.
He kissed her cheek before entering meetings.
He stopped arranging separate arrivals.
At first the public affection looked almost mechanical.
Serena teased him.
“You’re acting like you read a marriage manual.”
“I did.”
She stared.
“You did?”
Roman looked embarrassed.
“Two.”
Serena laughed for nearly five minutes.
Then kissed him.
Adrian Vale became an unexpected part of their lives.
His shoulder healed.
His anger took longer.
Roman offered him money.
Adrian refused.
Roman offered a business partnership.
Adrian laughed.
Eventually they settled on something stranger.
Truth.
Together they established the Vincent Vale Foundation, providing legal support for families harmed by wrongful convictions.
On the foundation’s opening day, Adrian stood beside Roman.
“You know our fathers would hate this.”
Roman smiled.
“That improves it.”
Julian Cross remained Serena’s friend.
Roman tolerated him.
Barely.
At a charity dinner six months later, Julian approached Serena.
Roman watched from across the room.
Julian noticed.
He smiled mischievously.
Then deliberately extended his hand toward Serena.
Roman began walking.
Serena burst out laughing.
Julian raised both hands.
“Still works.”
Roman arrived.
“I disliked you before.”
“I know.”
“I dislike you more now.”
“Progress.”
Serena slipped her arm through Roman’s.
This time he smiled.
No fear.
No embarrassment.
Just acceptance.
Later that night, they stood on the Imperial Hotel balcony again.
The city spread beneath them.
Serena rested her hand on Roman’s forearm.
He looked down.
For half a second, the old memory passed between them.
Then Roman covered her hand with his.
“You know,” Serena said, “I almost left you that night.”
“I know.”
“I had the suitcase open.”
“I remember.”
“What would you have done if I never came back?”
Roman looked toward the city.
“Probably bought your sister’s neighboring property.”
Serena stared.
He smiled.
“Kidding.”
“You’re not.”
“Mostly.”
She shook her head.
Then became serious.
“Do you regret the ballroom?”
“Yes.”
“The whole night?”
Roman thought.
“No.”
Serena waited.
“I regret hurting you.”
His thumb moved across her fingers.
“But I think losing control that night forced me to see what I was becoming.”
“What were you becoming?”
“My father in a nicer suit.”
Serena studied him.
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s true.”
“No.”
Roman looked at her.
“You were becoming afraid.”
He said nothing.
“There’s a difference.”
Roman leaned down.
Kissed her forehead.
“And that,” he whispered, “is why I married you.”
But Serena knew one final fear still lived inside him.
One Roman had not admitted.
May you like
And it would surface sooner than either expected.
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