Chapter 8 - THE BULLET
Roman had seen men shot before.
Dozens.
He had seen blood on warehouse floors, alleys, docks, expensive carpets.
He had learned years ago how to separate emotion from emergency.
Pressure.
Breathing.
Pulse.
Call medical.
Control the scene.
But when Emma’s blood covered his hands, every lesson disappeared.
“Emma.”
Her eyes fluttered.
“Stay awake.”
Sophie knelt beside them, crying.
Roman pressed harder against the wound.
Emma gasped.
“Sorry.”
Her lips moved.
“Don’t…”
“What?”
“Apologize.”
Even bleeding, she was arguing.
Roman almost broke.
Marco arrived with guards.
“Ambulance two minutes out.”
“Too long.”
“Roman—”
“Get the car!”
“She needs paramedics.”
“She needs a hospital!”
Marco grabbed his shoulder.
“Roman.”
Roman looked up.
Marco’s voice became firm.
“Pressure. Keep talking to her.”
Roman looked back.
Emma’s face had gone pale.
“No.”
He touched her cheek.
“You do not get to leave.”
Her eyes opened slightly.
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
“Annoying.”
“Yes.”
Sophie grabbed Emma’s hand.
Emma tried to sign.
Her fingers barely moved.
Roman translated for her.
I’m okay.
Sophie shook her head furiously.
Liar.
Emma almost smiled.
“Smart kid.”
Sirens approached.
Roman felt something inside him tearing apart.
Elena.
Rain.
Hospital lights.
Doctors.
Sorry.
He could not do this again.
“Emma.”
She looked toward him.
“I love you.”
Her eyes softened.
“I know.”
“You haven’t said it.”
“Roman…”
“Say it.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Terrible timing.”
“Emma.”
She inhaled painfully.
“I love you too.”
Roman closed his eyes.
One second.
That was all he allowed himself.
Then paramedics arrived.
They cut away her shirt.
The bullet had entered near her lower ribs.
Possible internal bleeding.
Roman rode in the ambulance.
Nobody tried to stop him.
Sophie remained with Marco because Roman could not let her see what came next.
The emergency room doors swallowed Emma.
Roman stood outside covered in her blood.
A nurse approached.
“You need to wait.”
“I’m coming.”
“You cannot.”
Roman stared.
The nurse did not care who he was.
“She needs surgery.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Will she stay alive?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Roman’s world narrowed.
Hours passed.
Antonio arrived.
Then Marco.
Then Diane with Sophie.
Diane looked at Roman’s blood-covered shirt.
Her face crumpled.
Roman signed.
She saved Sophie.
Diane’s hands shook.
I know.
Roman lowered his head.
I should have saved her.
Diane stepped closer.
No.
Roman looked up.
Diane signed firmly.
Do not make her choice about your guilt.
The words struck.
Roman stared.
Diane touched his shoulder.
She chose Sophie.
Honor that.
Roman swallowed.
Sophie sat silently across the waiting room.
Roman went to her.
She would not look at him.
He crouched.
Sophie.
No response.
He touched her knee.
She looked up.
Her hands exploded.
You promised!
Roman froze.
You promised we come back.
“I know.”
You said Emma safe.
Roman’s eyes burned.
“I know.”
You always promise.
Her face crumpled.
Mommy died.
Now Emma.
Roman pulled Sophie into his arms.
She fought him.
Hit his chest.
Pushed.
Then collapsed against him.
Roman held her while she sobbed.
“I’m sorry.”
He signed the words against her back even though she couldn’t see them.
“I am so sorry.”
Four hours after surgery began, Dr. Abrams entered.
Roman stood so fast the chair fell.
“Well?”
“She’s alive.”
Roman’s knees nearly failed.
Sophie saw his face.
Hope appeared.
The doctor continued.
“The bullet fractured a rib and damaged her spleen. Surgeons controlled the bleeding.”
Roman swallowed.
“She’ll recover?”
“If there are no complications, yes.”
Sophie began crying again.
This time differently.
Roman closed his eyes.
“Can we see her?”
“Soon.”
Emma woke the next afternoon.
Her first thought was that breathing had become extremely rude.
Her second was Sophie.
She opened her eyes.
Roman sat beside the bed.
Unshaven.
Same clothes?
No.
Different black shirt.
But exhaustion identical.
He looked at her.
Then stood instantly.
“Emma.”
She tried to speak.
Her throat hurt.
“Sophie?”
“Safe.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Roman took her hand.
“She’s safe.”
“Good.”
“You nearly died.”
“So dramatic.”
His face hardened.
“That is not funny.”
“Little funny.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
He was furious.
Which meant terrified.
“You look terrible.”
“I am considering banning you from humor.”
“Dictator.”
“Correct.”
Emma smiled weakly.
Then noticed Sophie asleep on the couch.
Diane beside her.
Rosa nearby.
Marco outside the door.
Her chest filled.
Roman squeezed her hand.
“Why?”
Emma looked at him.
“Why what?”
“You stepped in front of the bullet.”
She stared.
“I didn’t think.”
“I know.”
“That sounded insulting.”
“It was meant to.”
Emma smiled.
Roman’s eyes filled.
She had never seen him cry.
Not fully.
Now one tear escaped.
Then another.
Emma’s humor disappeared.
“Roman.”
He lowered his head.
“I thought…”
His voice failed.
Emma lifted her hand.
It hurt.
She touched his face anyway.
“I’m here.”
Roman pressed his cheek into her palm.
“You do not get to do that again.”
“Take bullets?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t planning a hobby.”
He laughed through tears.
Then kissed her palm.
Emma whispered, “Come here.”
Roman leaned down.
She kissed him carefully.
Sophie woke.
She saw.
Immediately sat upright.
Emma laughed and winced.
“Ow.”
Roman panicked.
“What?”
“Laughing hurts.”
“Then stop.”
Sophie ran to the bed.
She signed.
You are alive.
Emma smiled.
You noticed.
Sophie’s lip trembled.
You got shot for me.
Emma’s expression softened.
Come here.
Sophie climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed.
Emma touched her cheek.
I would protect you again.
Roman instantly signed:
NO.
Emma rolled her eyes.
Sophie laughed.
Then the child’s expression became serious.
Why?
Emma knew what she meant.
Why would you protect me?
Emma looked toward Roman.
Then back at Sophie.
Because I love you.
Sophie cried.
She hugged Emma carefully.
Roman turned away, but not before Emma saw his face.
Later, while Sophie slept against Emma’s hip, Marco entered.
“Boss.”
Roman stepped into the hallway.
Emma could hear voices but not words.
Ten minutes later he returned.
His expression had changed.
“What happened?” Emma asked.
Roman sat.
“They captured the shooter.”
“The one who…”
“Yes.”
Emma swallowed.
“Who is he?”
“One of Vittorio’s men.”
Roman looked toward Sophie.
“He talked.”
Emma waited.
“My father is in New York.”
Her blood chilled.
“Where?”
“We’re finding him.”
“Roman.”
He looked at her.
“Don’t become him.”
Roman stared.
“You know what I mean.”
“He killed Elena.”
“I know.”
“He tried to take Sophie.”
“I know.”
“He almost killed you.”
Emma squeezed his hand.
“And I’m asking you not to give Sophie another ghost.”
Roman looked away.
“This man deserves—”
“Justice.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You still believe in that?”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because if everyone decides revenge is justice, Sophie grows up inside exactly the world you say you want to change.”
Roman went silent.
Emma continued.
“You were going to give the FBI evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
Roman looked at her for a long time.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Emma exhaled.
He leaned closer.
“You realize nobody else could ask me this.”
“That seems unhealthy.”
Roman smiled.
Then he kissed her forehead.
The next morning, federal agents entered Roman DeLuca’s estate.
He gave them everything.
Shipping records.
Bank transfers.
Names.
Photographs.
Elena’s files.
Antonio’s testimony.
Marco’s intelligence.
Roman also admitted his own crimes.
Emma learned later that his attorneys nearly fainted.
Roman did it anyway.
Because Vittorio had built an empire on secrets.
And Roman decided the only way to destroy it was sunlight.
Forty-eight hours later, coordinated raids hit warehouses in Brooklyn, New Jersey, Baltimore, and Naples.
Thirty-seven trafficking victims were rescued.
Eleven Cardinals were arrested.
Enzo Ferraro was detained.
Bianca vanished.
And Vittorio DeLuca disappeared again.
Emma remained hospitalized.
Roman rarely left.
One night she woke and found him asleep with his head beside her hand.
She watched him.
The feared man.
The criminal.
The father.
The widower.
The man trying, badly and stubbornly, to become someone his daughter could be proud of.
Emma touched his hair.
His eyes opened.
“You’re awake.”
“Unfortunately.”
Roman sat up.
“How’s the pain?”
“Five.”
“I’ll call the nurse.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
She smiled.
“Good boy.”
He stared.
Emma laughed carefully.
Then Roman reached into his pocket.
Her heart stopped.
“Roman.”
He took out a small velvet box.
“No.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“You are holding the universal warning sign for emotionally complicated decisions.”
Roman opened it.
A ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
Old.
Emma stared.
“Elena’s?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
“My grandmother’s.”
Roman looked at it.
“I am not asking yet.”
Emma blinked.
“What?”
“I am showing you.”
“Why?”
“Because one day, if you still want this insane life after the danger passes…”
His voice softened.
“I will ask.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“And if I say no?”
“I’ll ask again.”
She laughed.
“Arrogant.”
“Persistent.”
“Same family.”
Roman smiled.
Then his phone buzzed.
His expression changed.
Emma knew immediately.
“What?”
Roman read the message.
A photograph.
Bianca.
Standing beside Vittorio DeLuca.
Emma’s blood chilled.
Below the image:
THE NEXT BULLET WON’T MISS.
Roman closed the box.
His face became calm.
Too calm.
Emma reached for his hand.
“Justice.”
Roman looked at her.
Then nodded.
“Justice.”
May you like
But three blocks from the hospital, a black car was already waiting.
And inside it, Bianca Ferraro loaded a pistol.
