Chapter 14 - Half an Empire
Roman did not sleep that night.
Neither did Clara.
Catherine survived.
The bullet had torn flesh but missed bone and organs.
Roman moved her to a private medical wing under armed protection before returning to the estate.
At three in the morning, Clara found him alone in the chapel.
Roman was not praying.
He sat in the back pew, staring at the stone floor.
“My father stole everything,” he said when she approached.
Clara sat beside him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
Roman rubbed his palms together.
“They called him honorable.”
Clara almost laughed.
“In your profession?”
A faint smile appeared.
It vanished immediately.
“He built rules around violence and convinced himself that made him different.”
“And you?”
Roman looked at her.
“What about me?”
“Are you different?”
He did not answer.
Clara leaned against his shoulder.
“You saved Leo when killing him would have been easier.”
Roman stared forward.
“You saved me when trusting me made you vulnerable.”
Still silence.
“You protected Catherine when she told you your father might have been a criminal even by your standards.”
Roman finally looked at her.
“I am a criminal, Clara.”
“I know.”
“You say that disturbingly calmly.”
“I also know what you are capable of choosing.”
Roman lowered his head.
“That sounds dangerously close to believing in me.”
“I do.”
He kissed her forehead.
By morning, Marcus had found the deed.
It had been filed through an old Swiss trust.
Antonio Duca’s legitimate holdings—shipping companies, real estate, hotels, warehouses, and financial investments—were divided equally between Roman and Adrian.
Roman stared at the numbers.
Half his legal empire belonged to a missing brother.
Marcus pointed to another clause.
“If one son is deceased, ownership transfers entirely to the other.”
Clara felt immediate dread.
“So whoever wants Roman weakened…”
“Needs Adrian alive long enough to prove his claim,” Marcus said, “or dead before he can.”
Roman stood.
“Find him.”
Marcus’s team searched adoption files, tax records, military databases, universities, passports.
Nothing.
Then Clara remembered the initials on the blanket.
A.S.D.
“What if Sofia changed his last name but kept Adrian?”
Roman looked over.
Marcus began searching.
Thousands of results narrowed to hundreds.
Then dozens.
A facial-recognition comparison against Roman’s childhood photographs produced one match above eighty percent.
Dr. Adrian Shaw.
Thirty-four.
Emergency trauma surgeon.
Chicago.
Clara stared at the photograph.
She nearly forgot how to breathe.
Adrian had Roman’s eyes.
Not similar.
The same.
Roman stood perfectly still.
Marcus looked at him.
“Boss?”
Roman touched the screen.
“My brother saves lives.”
The words carried something almost painful.
They flew to Chicago that afternoon.
Adrian Shaw was halfway through a twelve-hour trauma shift when Roman entered the private physician lounge.
Adrian looked up.
His coffee cup slipped from his fingers.
It shattered.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
They were not identical.
Roman was harder, broader, scarred by violence.
Adrian had a surgeon’s lean build and exhaustion beneath his eyes.
But blood recognized blood.
Adrian stared at Roman.
“No.”
Roman closed the door.
“My name is Roman Duca.”
“I know exactly who you are.”
That surprised him.
Adrian stepped backward.
“You need to leave.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“Someone tried to kill the woman who raised you.”
Adrian went pale.
“Catherine?”
“You know her.”
“She told me enough to stay away from you.”
Roman absorbed the blow.
“She knew.”
“She knew who I was.”
Adrian’s voice shook with anger.
“She told me my biological family was dangerous. She said if a Duca ever came looking, I should run.”
Roman slowly nodded.
“That sounds like sensible advice.”
Adrian stared at him.
Then Clara noticed something on the table.
An envelope.
Cream stationery.
Exactly like the one delivered to the greenhouse.
Roman noticed it too.
His hand moved toward his weapon.
“Who gave you that?”
Adrian looked at the letter.
“A woman.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What woman?”
May you like
Adrian’s answer froze Roman where he stood.
“She said her name was Sofia.”
