by Sienna Blake
“You’d be harboring a criminal,” I said, still stunned at his benevolent intentions.
“Roman Tyrell, all men are sinners. All men are thus equal in the eyes of the Lord.”
I still couldn’t stand.
He walked back to me. “Come,” he repeated softly as he pulled me to my feet. “Things have a habit of looking more hopeful after a good night’s sleep.”
* * *
Father Laurence set me up in a spare room up in the tower of the church. It was simply furnished with a small bed and rug, a tiny toilet in an adjacent room. I lay upon this bed with a thin pillow under my head. The pre-dawn light was still minutes away from lighting up the stained glass windows, so all was dark except for a single candle I’d kept lit by my side. I was already drowning in darkness; I could not stand to be consumed by the night. I was very much alone except for the ghosts of all the men I’d sent to their deaths. I was not a superstitious man, but something about the vaulted ceiling that rose above me—or perhaps it was the ghost of tears and cold finality that clung to the gray stone walls—made me feel as if I were lying at the base of my own tomb.
A knock sounded on the door.
I sat up, thankful for the reprise from my sour self-pity. “Come in, Father.”
The door creaked open. A figure, much too short to be Father Laurence, stepped into the small room and closed the door.
“Jules…” I stood, my heart jamming against the back of my throat and wrapping around my spine. If I weren’t already standing with the backs of my calves against the bed, I would have stumbled back farther, knocked off my feet at the sight of her.
She was an angel in a dark hooded sweater and jeans, the lit candle she was holding brushing a warm radiance about her face, making her whiskey eyes glow like amber. “I came to speak to Father Laurence. He told me you were here.”
The good Father did give me up after all. “Have you come to arrest me? I’ll go peacefully.”
Her mouth sprang open. “I didn’t tell them it was you.”
What? “Why? I am guilty.”
She lifted her chin, her honey hair falling over her shoulders to frame her face. “If you are guilty, then so am I.”
“You? Guilty?” I couldn’t believe her words. Her only guilt was caring too much for me.
“If I’d only told Espinoza about you, about us, he wouldn’t have fired.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I am as much to blame as you.”
I shook my head, disbelief making me lightheaded. “If you’re not here to arrest me, then…why are you here?” She was risking her reputation by being here.
“Could you…?” She stepped farther into the room, then hesitated.
“Could I what?”
“Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
Forgive her? My head spun so hard I was nearly forced to my knees. “Forgive you…” I could barely get the words out, they were so absurd, “for what?”
“The way I sent you away… What I said to you…” She chewed on her beautiful bottom lip, sending a curl of warmth through me.
“Leave now,” she hissed. “Leave Verona. Go where you’ll never be found. Because the next time I see you, I will bring you in.”
She was here asking for…of all things…my forgiveness, when I should be begging for hers.
“I’d just shot your partner, your friend.” I took a step towards her, partly testing her reaction to my proximity, partly because it physically hurt to be in a room with her and not get closer. “Your reaction was angelic considering the circumstances.”
“He’d just killed your best friend.” She matched my step. “Your reaction was…understandable considering the circumstances.”
She didn’t hate me. Through my darkness, a ray of light appeared. I could scarcely dare to hope. “Do you think…” Dare I ask? “Do you think…you could ever forgive me?” I kept closing the space between us, desperate to hear the answer and yet terrified of it too.
“That is what love does. Forgives the unforgivable.”
My head spun at her words. Could she still love me? After all I had done? “You still l…” I trailed off. I felt so undeserving even to speak the word.
“Still love you? Yes.” She lifted her chin, her features stained with sorrow. And yet there, on her face, was everything I’d ever wanted but never deserved. Forgiveness, openness, love. I took it because I could not believe my luck. I took it because I could not do anything else.
I claimed her mouth. I stole her breath into my lungs and let it bring me back to life. I crushed her against me like I could drag her into my body. Her tiny fingers curled into my shirt and she pressed up against the heart that only beat for her. This was my saving grace; that I was good enough to love her.
I promised to God, from that moment on, I would do everything in my power to be the man she deserved. To be the man she saw in me. To be the man who deserved her love. Even if it took a whole lifetime.
18
____________
Julianna
We lay under a blanket, naked, squashed together on the bed that barely fit the two of us. I was sated and warm and happier in this tomb-like room with Roman by my side than anywhere else without him. The dawn began to spill into the room. We would have to face the world soon. But not yet.
“Why did you break up with me?” I traced his hard, muscled chest with my finger.
He stiffened. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me. You’re still engaged to her.”
“Rosaline,” he growled under his breath.
I gave him silence, the space to speak. He inhaled long and loud before he spoke. “Rosaline knew about you. She said she saw me leaving my apartment late one night and followed me. I led her straight to you,” he said through gritted teeth.
I traced his jaw and it softened.
Roman turned his dark eyes towards me with a look so intense that my breath caught in my throat. “First, she threatened to come clean about her lies as my alibi. When that didn’t work, she threatened to expose you if I didn’t marry her. I couldn’t let her ruin you.”
I knew there was a reason. I just thought it had been his father who had forced him into a sham of a marriage. I made a face. “So you broke up with me instead of talking to me about it.”
He grimaced. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound very smart.”
I rolled my eyes. “Understatement of the century.”
“Okay, I was an idiot.”
“About so many things.”
He tugged me closer so I was sprawled over his body, his warm, hard body under the length of mine causing the lick of desire to rush through me. I could feel him stirring against my hip. “It probably won’t be the last time I act like a fool.”
“Are you telling me that I better get used to it?”
“How long are you planning to stick around?”
I shrugged. “Just for always or so.”
His fingers tightened around me. “Always?”
“Always.” I brushed my nose against his as we made a cave with our breaths and sighed happily as the world was shut out for just a little longer. “I don’t want to live without you. I tried but I can’t. I’m done trying,” I said, repeating words he once said to me.
He let out a low growl and kissed me with an intensity that told me he wanted “always” too. Before I could deepen the kiss, he pulled back and gave me a sad smile. “It’s a beautiful dream. But it’s just a dream, Jules. You’re still a detective. I’m still a Tyrell.”
“What if it didn’t have to be?”
He flinched. “What do you mean?”
“Remember when you asked me if I wanted to run away to Paris with you?”
He licked his lips. And nodded.
“Does that offer still stand?”
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then closed it. For once, Roman Tyrell was speechless.
Was he trying to figure out a way to let me
down gently? I sniffed. “It’s not that hard a question, Roman.”
He shook his head, still looking dazed. “That offer was never retracted. But Jules, your career, your father…” All the reasons why I told him I couldn’t leave Verona.
“My career is over. I just lied to the chief of police about witnessing a shooting. And,” I tried not to let the bitterness show in my voice, but I failed, “it turns out that my father is not the man I thought he was.”
Roman tucked me against his chest, his hand stroking my hair. I found myself softening against his solid, hard warmth. “I’m sorry. It’s hard when fathers fail us.”
He hadn’t answered my question. I pulled back to look at him. “So…?”
“It would mean a life on the run. It would mean leaving everything behind.”
“It would mean being with you. Really being with you. Walking down the street together, holding hands, kissing in public.”
“You’d never be able to come back, to see your father or Nora again.”
I paused. My heart squeezed. “Nora will understand.”
“And your father?”
I gritted my teeth. “He won’t. But that’s not my problem.”
Roman shifted under me, his features pensive. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I know what I’m getting myself into,” I said firmly. I had never been so sure of anything in my life. Paris, with Roman. Hell, I’d go anywhere as long as he was with me.
A small, slow smile crawled across his face. “Okay.”
Our mouths crashed together. In my heart, there was this warm feeling of certainty that I had come home.
“Wait.” He pulled back as my greedy hands wandered down his body. “We have a lot to plan.”
“Later,” I said, pushing him onto his back and sliding down on his length.
* * *
I could have stayed with Roman all day. Father Laurence had told us we wouldn’t be disturbed there. Later, once we were long gone, we would have more than enough time for lazy days in bed.
We agreed to leave Verona together after Mercutio’s funeral that afternoon at another church. We’d take out all the cash we had access to, then leave in my car, ditching it for another once we were out of town. Then we’d hole up in a motel in a nearby town while Roman’s contact worked on getting us fake passports so we could leave the country without being detected. The rest we’d figure out as we went.
I watched Roman slipping on his dark t-shirt, apprehension coiling in my belly. Now that we’d decided to do this, I didn’t want him to leave my sight. What if his father found him? What if my father caught him? “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. It’s too dangerous for us to risk being seen together.”
I chewed my lip, my stomach doing flips despite his reassurances. “I’ll go crazy just sitting here waiting for you. I’ll go home, get clothes, say goodbye to Nora.”
He caught sight of my face as he slipped on his shoes. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me against him. “Don’t worry,” he mumbled against my hair, “I won’t let anyone see me.” He kissed me long and deep.
I gripped his shirt, not ready to let him out of my sight. “Promise me you’ll come back?”
“I promise.”
19
____________
Roman
I watched Mercutio’s funeral from afar, cowering behind an old oak tree. It was held at the small Catholic church that Nonna went to every Sunday, the Church of St. Michael. She used to make Mercutio and me go with her when we were boys. As we got older it became harder for us to sit still long enough for her to wrangle us into our Sunday best.
The small chapel on the grounds was unassuming, a simple rectangular design with a copper bell hanging from the bell tower. The tombstones here were like small, simple, mismatched teeth across a threadbare lawn, Mercutio’s grave sitting open and fresh like a cavity.
I should be the one in the ground. What kind of person did it make me to take happiness from being alive when he was dead? What kind of person did it make me to take shelter in the arms of the woman I loved when the ones he loved paled with his loss? I would return to Julianna and Nonna would return to an empty house.
There was a cluster of mourners around his gravesite. Nonna was among them, her soft, trembling body shaking with grief. She cried as the priest spoke. She wailed as the coffin was lowered into the cold ground.
I wanted to go to her. To wrap my arms around her shaking shoulders. I wanted to howl alongside her and beat my fists at the ground. I wanted to throw my wretched self at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, forgiveness I didn’t deserve.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to cause her any more pain than I already had. I stayed where I was, letting this hurricane wreck the insides of me.
If only I could turn back time, Nonna. I’d have gladly taken that bullet meant for me. He shouldn’t have tried to save me, damn him, but he was just too good a man to let me die. He was too good for this world so the angels took him. He belonged with them now.
When it was all over Nonna collapsed in her exhausted state, moaning, held up by her friends and neighbors that I’d met over the years. The crowd dispersed, one by one, like black chess pieces off a board. Then there was no one left except Mercutio, lying alone in the cold, cold dirt.
I remained frozen in my hiding spot.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a figure walking towards the grave from between the headstones. A man in a gray suit with a cane in one hand. I squinted through the light, misty rain that had begun to fall. I knew that walk, that swagger.
That was Mercutio’s father. Tito Brevio.
Goldfish.
I was told once by my father that the Chinese have the same character for crisis and opportunity. I don’t think I’d truly understood why until now. My grief fell below the surface as this opportunity rose like an oil slick. I would find out who Goldfish was working for. I was no longer helpless and aimless. I grabbed this reprieve from sorrow and ran with it.
I snuck up behind him, ducking from gravestone to gravestone as silently as I could, as Goldfish came to stand at the base of Mercutio’s grave.
“Ah, son,” I heard Goldfish say, his deep voice weighed down by what sounded like pity. “You were such a good boy. Such a good boy. You still ended up here.”
I grabbed Tito’s shoulder and swung the man around. His cane came for me. I ducked aside, grabbed his wrist and spun him around with his arm twisted around his back. He let out a small wail and dropped his cane into the damp grass.
“Mr. Brevio,” I said in a low voice. “It’s been a long time.”
Goldfish flinched. He looked over his shoulder at me, his graying eyebrows drawing together when he recognized me. “Roman Tyrell,” he spat out my name like it was bitter. “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk.”
“Yeah? Well I don’t talk well when I’m being held against my will.”
I leaned in to Tito’s ear. “Try to run and I’ll blow your kneecaps off.”
“I don’t doubt it, son.”
I let go of him and he scrambled to get some distance from me. He cleared his throat, composing himself as he brushed down his suit and straightened his silver tie. “I heard you were back.”
I picked up his fallen cane. He held out his hand for it.
I flicked the head of the cane. A blade came out of the end. I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think I’ll hang on to this until you’ve answered my question.” I flicked his weapon closed and gripped it in my left hand.
Goldfish gave the cane one more yearnful glance before focusing on me. “What question would that be?”
“Who hired you to kidnap Julianna Capulet?”
“That lovely young detective?” He raised an eyebrow. “Someone tried to kidnap her, did they?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Even if I did know, why do you care what hap
pens to Detective Capulet?” There was a glint in his eye as he spoke. He knew something.
“That’s none of your business. Now answer the question.” I pulled the pistol from inside my jacket and pointed it at him. “Or they’ll be digging a second grave next to Mercutio’s.”
He eyed me over, his eyes stopping briefly at the gun. “You’re asking a dangerous thing, boy.”
“I’m not a boy anymore.”
Goldfish let out a puff of air. “No, you are not. You grew up into a man. Just like your father,” he added with a cruel twist to his lips.
“I’m nothing like him.”
Goldfish’s lip twitched. His gaze felt as heavy as a fallen pillar. “Of course not.” He glanced down at the freshly covered grave, a mound of dirt and a new headstone marking the final resting place of his son and my best friend. He let out a sigh. “He grew up too. He grew up into a good man.”
“The best,” I agreed, swallowing around an acorn in my throat.
“And yet…here he lies. Gone too soon.”
I studied Goldfish’s face, an older version of Mercutio’s, and felt a stab of sadness. Merc would never grow old enough to look like his father did now.
“I was never a good father to him,” Goldfish said, so quietly I barely heard it.
“No, you weren’t.”
His eyes snapped up to meet mine, a tension to his jaw. “I did the best I could for him, which was to stay away. It was more than you did.” His words were barbed, but the wounds I had already inflicted on myself were so raw that nothing more could be said to hurt me. “You want to know who ordered the capture of your little girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Consider this a funeral gift. Because Mercutio would have wanted it.”
“Who?”
“Ask your father.”
My father. The shock snapped at me and yet it didn’t. It already echoed something I knew deep down but was too afraid to admit. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie?”
“Because you’ve never liked me. Because you’re covering for the person you’re really working for.”
