Chapter 10
The funeral for my old life happened without a coffin.
It happened in court.
Under bright lights.
With cameras outside and my son’s small hand in mine.
Victor Bellini was denied bail.
Russo was denied bail.
Javier looked at me across the courtroom like I had betrayed him.
Maybe I had.
I had betrayed every rule that said blood mattered more than innocence.
Every rule that said sons belonged to empires.
Every rule that had killed Elena.
Leo sat between Sofia and me.
When Javier’s lawyer claimed the incident in the garden had been “discipline misunderstood,” Leo squeezed my hand.
I stood.
The judge looked at me.
“Mr. Romano, sit down.”
“My son is not a lesson,” I said.
The courtroom went silent.
“My wife is dead because these men wanted control. My son was hurt because they wanted obedience. I will not let them dress cruelty in family language.”
The judge warned me once.
I sat.
But the damage was done.
Reporters printed every word.
For the first time, the city saw the Romano name attached not to fear, but to confession.
After court, Agent Quinn pulled me aside.
“There will be retaliation attempts.”
“I know.”
“Protective custody is available.”
I looked at Leo.
He was showing Sofia a drawing.
A house.
A lemon tree.
A woman with wings.
“We’ll take it.”
Sofia stared at me.
“You’re leaving the estate?”
“I should have left three years ago.”
Her face softened.
“Where will you go?”
“Somewhere my son can breathe.”
That night, we packed only what mattered.
Elena’s notebook.
Leo’s drawings.
Family photos without my father’s portrait.
Before we left, Leo asked to visit the greenhouse.
He placed one lemon beside the tree.
“For Mom,” he whispered.
May you like
Then he took my hand.
And we walked out.
