Chapter 4 - The Ghost of IsabellaWhile Naomi held Arthur under armed guard in the reinforced panic room downstairs, I walked quietly down the corridor toward the children's wing. The morning sun was streaming through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant pools of red and blue across the floor.
I pushed the door open to Rosie and Jack’s room.
They were sitting on the edge of their shared bed, holding each other tightly, whispering in fear. When they saw me, Jack instinctively threw himself in front of Rosie, trying to shield her with his small body.
"Dad," Jack stammered, his voice trembling. "We—we didn't mean to make noise. We were just waiting for Camille."
My chest shattered. I dropped to my knees right there on the rug, ignoring the pride of a mafia boss, and held out my hands.
"Hey," I said softly, my voice cracking. "Look at me. Look at your dad."
Jack hesitated, looking into my eyes. He didn't see the monster Camille had described. He saw the man who used to carry him on his shoulders through the streets of downtown Chicago.
"Dad?" Rosie whispered, peeking out from behind her brother.
"Come here," I choked out, pulling them both into my arms so tightly I could feel their rapid heartbeats. "I am so, so sorry. I am sorry I wasn't listening. I am sorry I let strangers into our home. But I promise you, right now, on your mother’s memory... nobody will ever hurt you again."
Rosie began to sob, burying her face in my neck. "She took Mom's rabbit, Daddy. She said Mom didn't love us because she was weak."
A cold, lethal fury settled deep into my bones. Isabella hadn't died of a routine asthma attack. The medical examiner’s report from eighteen months ago flashed through my mind. Sudden respiratory failure. No autopsy performed because Arthur had expedited the paperwork while I was out of the country.
"Your mother was the strongest person I ever knew," I whispered fiercely, kissing the top of Rosie's head. "And we are going to find out exactly what happened to her."
Behind me, the door clicked open. Naomi stepped in, holding a encrypted tablet.
"Roman," she said quietly. "We have a major problem. Camille just left the penthouse. And she didn't go to her office."
"Where is she?"
"She’s heading to the warehouse district on the South Side. And she’s meeting the person behind the unknown number."
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I stood up, gently placing my children back on the bed. I walked over to the closet, reached behind the false panel, and pulled out my father’s heavy leather shoulder holster, strapping it securely over my chest.
"Get Arthur," I told Naomi, my voice like crushed ice. "We're going to a family reunion."
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