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She squeezed his hand, declaring, “New plan.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Roman was alone in his office, a feat that had been difficult to achieve. His annoying friends and family had argued with him for an hour. But he’d finally won. Angela’s idea was bloody brilliant. He was only miffed he hadn’t thought of it himself. It was some consolation that none of the others hadn’t thought of it either.
A video call. A fucking video call. He didn’t need to leave Angela and fly all the way across the country to New York. He didn’t need to subject his brother to the trauma of returning to the place he had been forcibly cut from his mother and sold. A video call to his uncle had a chance of yielding results safely. And if it didn’t, they could reevaluate then. But for now, Roman was about to call his father’s younger brother. A man he hadn’t spoken to in years.
Abel, Sal, and Morrigan had been very vocal about listening in. But Roman wanted to handle it privately. He didn’t want any of them on his uncle’s radar unnecessarily. At least Angela and Luca were occupied with Claire. Abel had brought her home a little over an hour ago. Roman had thanked her once again for what she did for Angela, causing her to blush. It was a nice look for her, considering how pale she still was. Luca and Angela were currently in her apartment, helping her out. Her cast went from fingertip to shoulder and was going to be a nuisance.
As for Sal, Morrigan, and Abel, they were camped outside Roman’s door, no doubt with their ears pressed against it. He was tempted to go and kick it, just to make them jump. But that would mean putting off his task for longer. As it was, he had been staring at his monitor for ten minutes, trying to get up the nerve to make the call. A fact that pissed him off. He had nothing to be nervous about. He didn’t fear his uncle and never had.
Dialing the number Luca had provided him with, he waited. It was his uncle’s private line. To his surprise, Armando answered on the third ring with the video turned on. Roman had thought he could be talking to a blank screen. But his uncle looked much the same as he had fifteen years ago when their paths had last crossed. He had thick black hair that was now streaked with silver, mostly at the temples. His eyes were a dark brown, and his expression was annoyed.
“Vincenzo,” Armando greeted him. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Roman. My name is Roman,” he corrected him.
Armando’s eyebrows rose, but his expression didn’t otherwise change. Nor did his even tone. “Your father named you Vincenzo. Vincenzo Francesco Romano the third. His name is a part of his legacy.”
Roman smiled coldly, pointing out, “And look where his legacy got him.”
Armando was silent for a few moments, staring at Roman stonily through the camera. “You’d do well not to remind me. He was my brother. My last remaining sibling.”
There had been four Romano children originally. Roman’s father was the oldest, with Armando being third born. Their sister was the youngest, which was a horrible place to be in—the youngest in a crime family. Emillio, the second-born son, had died at just thirteen when his father was sixteen. Roman had heard rumors that Emillio had been killed by Vincenzo over ice cream. His father had always been a crazy bastard, even as a teen. Their younger sister had been taken and killed by a rival family when Roman was five. His memories of her were hazy, but she had always been kind to him. It was good to remember that not all of his blood relatives were psychopaths.
“He was evil,” Roman said, refocusing.
Armando scoffed. “Evil? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? You’re still hanging around Abel, aren’t you?”
Roman didn’t answer. His family had encouraged close ties to many peers his age, but only those of their choosing. Abel, the son of a mere housekeeper, was not what they were hoping for. Especially a white boy with no Italian blood in his veins.
“I need information,” Roman said, cutting to the chase. “I want access to the vault.”
Armando laughed harshly. “Never.”
“It’s rightfully mine,” Roman pointed out. “Everything in the Romano family is rightfully mine.”
“You gave up any right you had to anything in this family the moment you killed your father,” Armando snarled, his fist slamming onto his desk. He looked to be in his office, the same as Roman was.
Roman rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair in a relaxed way. “Again with that? Please. Don’t pretend you gave a shit about him. You’re all the same. You only care about yourselves.”
“He was my brother,” Armando growled. “The only blood I had left, other than your ungrateful ass. I cared—and still do—a great deal. Blood matters.”
“Fine. Blood matters,” Roman agreed easily. “I carry his blood,” he then pointed out.
His uncle sneered at that. “Unfortunately, that isn’t something I can change.”
“He was as horrible to you as he was to me,” Roman said quietly, speaking the truth. Vincenzo had been a tyrant to all. Including those loyal to him.
“Don’t pretend we have anything in common, Roman,” Armando spat out. “We don’t.”
“But we do,” Roman disagreed. “We’re both good businessmen.”
“Flattery?” Armando laughed. “I thought better of you, nephew.”
The word took Roman by surprise, as it did Armando, apparently. His eyes widened, and he snapped his mouth shut with a frown. He looked hastily to his left and Roman knew he wasn’t alone in his office. From out of nowhere, a vision of his uncle teaching him to ride a bike entered his mind. He had been ten, much older than the average child to get their training wheels off. But bike riding wasn’t a priority for a child being groomed to run not one but two mafia families.
Armando found him struggling to undo the screws on his wheels when he was determined to rid himself of what he thought were “babyish” accessories. His uncle helped him and then spent two hours teaching him to balance and buoying his confidence to ride unassisted. It was a happy memory, unsullied by harsh words or hard slaps. But it was also a useless memory.
