Chapter 5 - The Confession in the Rain
The arrest of Richard and Bianca Romano made the front page of every major newspaper in the country.
*ROMANO BANKING EMPIRE COLLAPSES: EMBEZZLEMENT, CONSPIRACY, AND CONTRACT MURDER CHARGES FILED.*
Sitting in the sunlit conservatory of the Moretti manor, I stared at the television screen playing silently on the wall. The news footage showed Richard Romano, clad in an orange jumpsuit, his head bowed in shame as federal agents escorted him through the courthouse doors in chains.
Behind him walked Bianca.
Her expensive clothes were gone, replaced by standard-issue prison scrubs. Her face was pale, hollow, and devoid of the arrogant cruelty she had worn like armor for so long. When the reporters shoved microphones toward her face, screaming questions about the stolen inheritance and the plot against Matteo Moretti’s widow, Bianca broke down, sobbing uncontrollably into her cuffed hands.
I reached out and clicked the remote, turning the screen black.
"It’s over, Em," a voice said softly.
I looked up. Leo was walking into the conservatory, carrying a tray with two cups of herbal tea and a plate of fresh biscotti.
Over the past four weeks, the dark fortress of the Moretti estate had changed in ways none of the staff could have predicted. The heavy security remained, but the atmosphere had transformed entirely.
Fresh flowers sat in every vase. Matteo’s favorite classic rock and country records played softly through the mansion’s sound system. The kitchen was constantly filled with the rich aroma of slow-simmered bolognese and fresh bread.
And Leonardo—the terrifying don of the Chicago underworld—had become a man devoted entirely to the care of his brother’s wife.
He sat in the white wicker chair across from me, handing me a teacup. He was dressed casually in a soft cashmere sweater, his sleeves pushed up to reveal his scarred forearms.
"Anthony called from the federal courthouse ten minutes ago," Leo said, his voice quiet and steady. "Richard took a plea deal to avoid the death penalty. He confessed to everything. The embezzlement, the clinic payoffs, the hit on Lake Shore Drive. He received consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole."
I looked down into my tea, watching the steam rise. "And Bianca?"
"Twenty-five years for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, medical fraud, and corporate extortion," Leo answered. "She will serve her time in a federal facility in Texas. She will never see Chicago again. And she will never come within a thousand miles of you or my nephew."
A deep, shuddering sigh left my chest. The phantom weight that had lived between my shoulder blades for eight long months finally dissolved into nothingness.
"What happens to Matteo’s money?" I asked quietly.
"It was never just Matteo’s money, Emma," Leo said, reaching across the table to set a legal document before me. "Matteo’s will was verified by three independent probate judges this morning. Under Illinois law and the terms of the Moretti trust, you are his sole surviving heir. Everything he owned—his real estate, his investment portfolios, his share of the logistics company—has been transferred directly into your name."
I stared at the numbers on the page. The sheer scale of it made my head spin. Over forty million dollars.
"Leo... I can't take this," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. "I never cared about the money. When I fell in love with Matteo, he was driving a beat-up truck and wearing flannel shirts. He told me he was an accountant. I didn't even know his last name was famous until three months before we got married."
Leo smiled, a warm, affectionate look that warmed my heart.
"Matteo did that on purpose," Leo chuckled softly. "He wanted a woman who loved him for his terrible cooking and his awful singing, not his bank account. And he found you."
Leo’s expression turned serious. He reached over and gently covered my hand with his.
"You aren't taking anything, Emma. You are keeping what belongs to your son. Matteo built that portfolio for his family. For you. And as his brother, it is my sacred duty to ensure that you and that boy never have to ask anyone for anything for the rest of your lives."
Before I could reply, a sudden, sharp sensation pulled across the front of my belly.
It wasn't a cramp. It was a hard, tightening wave that took my breath away.
I dropped my teacup. It clattered against the saucer, spilling chamomile across the glass tabletop.
"Emma?" Leo was on his feet in an instant, circling the table to kneel beside my chair. "What is it? Is it pain?"
"No..." I breathed, clutching my stomach as the tightening reached a peak, holding for thirty seconds before slowly ebbing away. "It didn't hurt. But it was tight. Very tight."
Dr. Vance, who had been reviewing medical journals in the adjoining library, hurried into the conservatory, stethoscope in hand.
"How far apart are they, Emma?" Dr. Vance asked calmly, checking his wristwatch.
"That’s... that’s the third one in the last hour," I stammered, my heart racing. "Dr. Vance, I'm only thirty-six weeks. It’s too early!"
"Thirty-six weeks is considered late preterm, Emma," Dr. Vance said with a reassuring, steady smile. "The baby’s lungs are fully developed, thanks to the steroid injections we gave you four weeks ago. Let's get you to the medical suite upstairs and check your cervix."
Leo didn't wait for instructions. He swept me into his arms, lifting me with effortless strength, and carried me through the sunlit corridors toward the private elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, I looked up into his face. His jaw was set, his dark eyes focused with intense, absolute determination.
"Leo," I whispered, clutching his sweater. "I'm scared."
He looked down at me, and for the first time, I saw a fierce, radiant light in his eyes.
May you like
"Don't be afraid, Emma," he whispered softly, his voice steady as an anchor in a raging sea. "Matteo is watching over us right now. And I am right here. You are going to meet your son today."
***
