Chapter 3 - The Secret Behind Roman Rossi’s Name
The lights went out.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The restaurant that had been filled with laughter, expensive conversations, and carefully controlled smiles became completely silent.
I could hear my own heartbeat.
Then the emergency lights turned on.
A faint red glow filled the terrace.
My mother was still standing in front of me.
Still holding the photograph.
Still looking terrified.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer.
Her eyes moved toward Roman.
And for the first time since I met him, I saw something different on his face.
Not anger.
Not confidence.
Not control.
Fear.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But real.
Roman stepped forward.
“Linda.”
My mother tightened her grip on the photograph.
“Don’t call me that.”
The words shocked me.
My mother had always been polite.
Even when she was angry, she remained controlled.
But now?
She sounded afraid.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
And suddenly, I felt like I was standing in the middle of a conversation that had started long before I was born.
“Sadi,” she said quietly.
“You need to leave with me.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Now.”
Roman moved slightly closer to me.
Not threatening.
Not aggressive.
Protective.
“She stays.”
My mother looked at him.
“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”
The sentence landed harder than anything else.
I looked between them.
“What is happening?”
Nobody answered.
That scared me more than anything.
Because people only stayed silent when the truth was worse than the lie.
I looked at the photograph in my mother’s hand.
“Show me.”
She hesitated.
Then slowly turned it around.
My fingers went cold.
The picture was old.
The colors had faded.
It showed a younger Roman.
Much younger.
Maybe ten years ago.
He stood outside a building I didn’t recognize.
But he wasn’t alone.
Standing beside him was my father.
My dead father.
The man I had buried eight years ago.
My breath caught.
“That’s impossible.”
My mother looked down.
“I know.”
I took the photograph from her.
My hands were shaking.
“My father never met him.”
Roman said nothing.
That silence answered everything.
I looked at him.
“You knew my father?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Because I realized he could have lied.
And he chose not to.
“When?”
Roman looked away for a second.
“Before I knew you.”
I laughed quietly.
Not because it was funny.
Because my brain couldn’t process everything.
“So you hired me knowing who I was?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“I hired you because you were qualified.”
“But you knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew my father.”
“Yes.”
I stepped back.
The dress suddenly felt too tight.
The night that was supposed to be fake suddenly felt very real.
The fake boyfriend.
The family dinner.
The perfect performance.
All of it.
“What else don’t I know?”
Roman looked at me.
For the first time, he didn’t have an answer ready.
That scared me.
Because Roman Rossi always had an answer.
My mother sat down slowly on the terrace chair.
Her hands were trembling.
“Sadi…”
I looked at her.
“Tell me.”
She swallowed.
“Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was.”
The words felt impossible.
“My father was a good man.”
“I know you believe that.”
The way she said it made my chest hurt.
“Because that’s what he wanted you to believe.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Sadi—”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t get to do this.”
My voice became louder.
“You don’t get to stand here eight years later and suddenly tell me my father wasn’t who I thought he was.”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Silence.
Then Roman answered.
“From me.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He looked directly at me.
“Your father knew things about my family.”
I frowned.
“Your family?”
Roman glanced toward the restaurant.
Making sure nobody else was listening.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Your father discovered information that could destroy powerful people.”
My heart started beating faster.
“And you?”
“I tried to keep him safe.”
The sentence made me freeze.
“You tried?”
Roman looked away.
“I failed.”
That was the first time I heard regret in his voice.
Not business regret.
Not losing-money regret.
Real regret.
“He died because of something connected to you?”
Roman didn’t answer.
And that was answer enough.
I felt sick.
The man holding my hand an hour ago.
The man who made my family speechless.
The man who looked at me like I mattered.
Was connected to the worst moment of my life.
I stepped away.
“I need to go.”
Roman immediately moved.
“Sadi.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I don’t know who you are.”
The words hurt him.
I saw it.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
And somehow that made everything worse.
Because I wanted to hate him.
I needed to.
But some part of me remembered him standing in that kitchen.
Remembered him telling me not to apologize for existing.
Remembered how safe I felt beside him.
Even though I didn’t understand why.
My mother stood.
“We’re leaving.”
I nodded.
I didn’t argue.
Not because I trusted her.
Because I didn’t know what else to do.
As I walked toward the restaurant entrance, I heard Roman behind me.
“Sadi.”
I stopped.
But I didn’t turn.
“If you leave now, you’ll hear the version of the story everyone wants you to hear.”
I slowly looked back.
“And what version is that?”
His expression was serious.
“The one where I’m the villain.”
I stared at him.
“And are you?”
Roman was silent.
Then:
“I don’t know anymore.”
That answer stayed with me.
Because a man like Roman Rossi was not supposed to admit uncertainty.
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat on my apartment floor with the photograph in front of me.
My father.
Roman.
A secret I had never known existed.
My entire life suddenly felt like a room where someone had moved all the furniture while I was gone.
Everything looked familiar.
But nothing felt right.
At 3:17 in the morning, my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
One message.
My hands froze when I opened it.
Stop asking about your father.
A second message appeared.
Roman Rossi already took enough from your family.
Then a third.
A picture.
My blood turned cold.
It was a photograph of Roman.
Standing outside my apartment building.
Taken earlier that night.
Someone had been watching us.
I immediately stood.
I looked toward my window.
The street below was empty.
Too empty.
Another message appeared.
Ask him why your father trusted him before he died.
I stared at the screen.
Then my phone rang.
Roman.
I almost didn’t answer.
Almost.
But I did.
“Hello?”
His voice came immediately.
“Sadi.”
I stayed silent.
“How did you get this number?”
“I have always had it.”
The answer made me uncomfortable.
“You were watching me?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Silence.
Again.
That silence.
“Roman.”
His voice became lower.
“Lock your door.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Right now.”
I looked toward my apartment door.
“Why?”
Because then I heard it.
A sound.
A quiet sound.
From the hallway outside.
Someone stopping in front of my door.
Roman spoke again.
“Sadi, listen to me carefully.”
My hand slowly moved toward the lock.
“Do not open the door.”
I froze.
Because the person outside knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Then a voice whispered through the door.
A voice I hadn’t heard in eight years.
“Sadi…”
May you like
I dropped the phone.
Because my dead father was standing outside my apartment.
