Chapter 9 - The Reading of the Will
Two weeks later.
The high-rise glass offices of Keller & Associates sat on the forty-fifth floor of the city’s financial district. Rain washed down the tall glass windows, but inside, the conference room was warm, bright, and silent.
Sitting at the long conference table were Roman, Leo, and the syndicate’s senior legal counsel. Across from them sat Arthur Keller—a seventy-year-old attorney with snow-white hair and thin gold-rimmed spectacles, who had served as Naomi’s father’s primary attorney thirty years ago.
On the mahogany table lay a thick leather binder stamped with the D’Angelo family seal, alongside a small, silver tape recorder.
"Mr. D’Angelo," Arthur Keller began, adjusting his glasses as he opened the binder. "We have finalized the dissolution of the Voss assets, the annexation of the East District properties, and the full liquid transfers from the Moretti estate. Everything has been successfully consolidated into the D’Angelo Twin Irrevocable Trust."
Roman nodded once. "And the federal situation?"
"Sabrina Voss entered a guilty plea this morning to charges of conspiracy to commit murder, federal racketeering, and illegal substance transportation," Keller replied. "She was sentenced to two life terms without the possibility of parole. She was transferred to the maximum-security facility in Hazelton an hour ago."
Roman’s expression didn't change. Sabrina was gone. Marco was dead. Carmine Moretti was buried. The city was completely, absolutely under his control.
"There is one final matter," Keller said, reaching for the small silver tape recorder on the table. "Your wife recorded a personal audio testament three days before she went into emergency surgery. She instructed me to play it for you only after all legal transfers were complete and all threats to the heirs were neutralized."
Roman looked at the silver machine. His breath slowed.
"Leave the room," Roman commanded.
Leo and the legal team stood up without a word, bowing their heads slightly, and walked out of the conference room, closing the heavy double doors behind them.
Roman was left alone with the old attorney.
"I will step outside as well," Keller said softly, pressing the play button on the machine before rising from his chair. "Take all the time you need, Roman."
The attorney exited, the door clicking softly in its frame.
The tape spooled with a quiet hiss. Then, Naomi’s voice filled the empty, sunlight-dappled room.
“Hello, Roman.”
She sounded tired. The soft breathiness in her voice was more pronounced than in the previous recording, but her tone was warm—freed from the icy weight of the war she had been waging in secret.
“If you are listening to this, it means you survived the storm. It means Sabrina is gone, Carmine is finished, and our children are safe.”
Roman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together.
“I know you never loved me, Roman,” her voice continued softly. “When my father arranged our marriage five years ago, I knew what you were. You were a weapon built by your father to rule an empire. You saw me as an obligation—a quiet girl who stayed in her wing of the house and didn't bother you.”
A small pause sounded on the tape—the rustle of bedsheets, a soft gasp of pain, then a slow breath.
“I didn't mind,” she said. “Because behind all your coldness, behind all the blood on your hands, I saw a man who kept every promise he ever made. You promised my father you would protect me, and you gave me five years of peace. You promised to protect our territory, and you never let an enemy touch our gates.”
Roman closed his eyes. A single, tight line formed between his brows.
“I didn't tell you about Sabrina because I knew you were carrying enough weight,” Naomi’s voice went on, gentle as a summer breeze. “You were fighting three families, managing a dozens capos, and trying to keep the police away. I wanted to fight one battle for you. I wanted to make sure that when our children were born, you wouldn't have to look over your shoulder inside your own home.”
The tape hissed softly as she took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Do not build a wall around your heart for the babies, Roman. Do not raise them to be instruments of war like your father raised you. Teach them how to hold a hand without squeezing it into a fist. Teach them who their mother was—not a victim who died in a hospital room, but a queen who protected her realm.”
The recording drifted into silence for several seconds. Then, her voice returned one last time, barely above a whisper.
“I loved you, Roman. Even when you were silent. Take care of our children.”
CLICK.
The tape reached its end and stopped spinning.
Roman sat in the high-rise office for a long time. The rain outside continued to fall against the glass, reflecting the cold, grey light of the city below.
He pulled his gold wedding band off his finger—the simple ring he had worn for five years out of duty. He held it in the palm of his hand, looking at the small inscription carved into the inner band, an inscription he had never paid attention to until today:
“To the shield of my house.”
He closed his hand around the ring, squeezing it so hard the metal bit into his skin.
Then, he stood up, buttoned his tailored jacket, and walked out into the corridor where Leo was waiting.
May you like
"Boss?" Leo asked quietly.
"We’re going to the hospital," Roman said.
