Chapter 9 - The Broken Crown
When I woke, the smell of diesel and lake salt was gone.
In its place was the clean, crisp scent of eucalyptus and lavender. Sunlight—bright, golden, and warm—poured through high arched windows, casting long shadows across a wide room with exposed cedar beams.
I was lying in a massive, soft bed piled with white down comforters. The burning fire in my side had subsided to a dull, manageable ache; someone had cleaned and re-stitched my wound with professional surgical skill.
I bolted upright in panic. ""Sophie!""
""She’s right here, Aaron. She’s safe.""
Roman sat in a wooden rocking chair beside the bed.
He looked unrecognizable. He wore an ordinary grey flannel shirt and faded jeans. His manicured beard had grown into rough stubble, and his hands, usually adorned with heavy gold signet rings, were completely bare.
In his arms, wrapped in a fresh yellow cotton blanket, lay Sophie. Roman was gently rocking her, his broad chest rising and falling in sync with her tiny breaths. He was holding her with such fragile reverence, as if holding a piece of spun glass that could shatter at the slightest tremor.
""Where... where are we?"" I asked, my voice dry and cracked.
""A private medical retreat on Madeline Island,"" Roman said softly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the baby. ""Up in northern Wisconsin, near the Apostle Islands. No one knows we're here except Vincent and the doctor.""
I leaned back against the pillows, letting out a long, shaky breath. ""How long was I asleep?""
""Thirty-six hours,"" Roman said. He looked at me, his eyes bruised with sleeplessness. ""You had a severe pelvic infection. The doctor said if you had spent another six hours in the cold... you wouldn't have survived.""
He swallowed hard, tears shining in his eyes once more. ""I almost killed you, Aaron. By being a coward who couldn't face his own mistakes, I almost killed the mother of my child.""
""What happened in Milwaukee?"" I asked quietly.
Roman looked down at Sophie, gently stroking her downy dark hair.
""It’s over,"" he said simply. ""I signed the cooperation agreements with the federal task force. Frank Miller, my chief attorney, oversaw the liquidation. The syndicate has been dismantled. My lieutenants took plea deals, Laya was indicted for multiple counts of corporate conspiracy and extortion, and the Moretti name no longer exists on the streets.""
I stared at him, stunned. ""You gave it all away?""
""I didn't give it away,"" Roman said, turning his head to meet my gaze. ""I traded it for a chance to ask for your forgiveness. Even if it takes the next forty years.""
He stood up carefully and walked over to the bed. He laid Sophie gently in the crook of my arm. The moment her tiny body touched mine, a deep, primal wave of peace washed over my chest. She was warm, healthy, and smelled of baby powder.
""I bought this cabin under a clean family trust,"" Roman continued, sitting on the edge of the mattress, keeping a respectful distance. ""Vincent has secured us permanent residency in northern Ontario if you want to leave the country entirely. If you want me to leave, Aaron... I will walk out that door right now. I’ll send child support through Vincent’s firm and never bother you again.""
I looked at the man who had terrified an entire state, now sitting before me stripped of every weapon, every title, and every shred of vanity.
""I don't want you to leave, Roman,"" I said softly.
He looked up, his breath catching.
May you like
""But the man who walked out of our nursery to stroke his ego is dead,"" I continued, holding his gaze with unyielding strength. ""You don't get to be Roman Moretti anymore. You have to be someone worthy of her.""
Roman covered his face with his hands and wept—quiet, cleansing tears of a man who had been given a second life he didn't deserve.
