Hanging in the Stars: A Mafia Romance (Dark Romeo Book 3) Page 14

  I leaned back in my chair, sipping the remainder of my coffee. “I love that Nonna and Nora are friends.”

  “I love you.” Roman stared at me, a small smile on his face.

  “I love that we’re here in Paris.”

  “I love you.”

  “You know, you’re getting very good at saying that.” I remembered when he couldn’t bring himself to say those words to me.

  “I’m not afraid to say it. Anymore.”

  “Well, I love…” I said slowly, tapping my lip with my finger, “…the Eiffel Tower.”

  “You love that I’m as big as the Eiffel Tower.”

  I snorted.

  Roman grinned. “You want to climb the Eiffel tower?”

  We stumbled up the skinny staircase and poured into our apartment, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. He barely got the door shut behind us before I was slammed up against it. Fuck, I loved doors. Doors were amazing. It was my favorite thing to be crushed between them and him. I had only to look at a door now to get wet.

  He kissed me like he was drinking me in. He peeled off my clothes, taking a moment as each article was thrown aside to brush his gaze across my skin and made a small, pained growl of approval. He made me feel so beautiful with the way his eyes devoured me.

  Then we were naked, skin on skin, our limbs twisted around each other, the air sweet with our heavy breaths. When he slid inside me, we lost ourselves in each other, then we found ourselves. Right where we were meant to be.

  36

  ____________

  Roman

  Three months later…

  I shifted myself into a more comfortable position on the pillow and tucked Julianna into the crook of my neck, sweaty and deliciously tired. She had that exhausted, satisfied smile on her face, one I loved putting there.

  She was so beautiful. And she was mine. How did I get so damn lucky?

  Julianna’s burner phone rang, vibrating on the white painted wooden bedside table. She went to roll over but I crushed her to me, keeping her there.

  “It’s probably my father,” she said. “I have to take it.”

  “Let it go to voicemail,” I whispered in her ear as I rubbed my hips against her.

  She pushed at my chest, laughing. “You’re so greedy. Afterwards.”

  I let out an annoyed sigh but I let her go.

  She rolled to sitting, showing off her smooth violin-shaped back, and answered the phone. “Hi, Dad.” There was a pause. She twisted to look at me, a frown on her face.

  “What?” I mouthed to her.

  “It’s…it’s for you.” She held out her phone.

  Me? Her father wanted to speak to me? He was cordial enough to me at our small farewell in Verona. He often asked Jules to pass on his hellos. But he’d never asked to speak to me.

  I took the phone from her and held it to my ear, my stomach doing a flip. “Sir?”

  “Roman,” the chief’s gruff voice sounded so strained. “I have some bad news for you.”

  Bad news. My skin prickled.

  “Your brother’s extradition request was denied by the Colombian government. I think he has bought himself his freedom. Unfortunately, that means we can’t allow you to take back your old life as we planned. If he found out you were still alive, that you took a deal with us, there’s no doubt in my mind he’d take revenge.”

  The blood drained from my fingers as my life, my and Julianna’s life, dissolved in front of me. My happiness, it seemed, was just a castle made of sand. I should have known it was too good to be true. “I see.”

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  “Me too.”

  He hung up. My heart was heavy with the weight of the world on it. Jules was staring at me with wide eyes. She knew something was wrong. I was going to break her heart when I explained. This made me more sad than anything.

  I told her, my heart cracking as tears welled in her eyes. “I used to hate being Roman Tyrell,” I said. “Now I can’t wait to be him again.”

  Julianna curled into my side, her hair falling over my chest.

  “There’s nothing stopping you from returning to Verona, Jules,” I said. “You must miss—”

  “No.” Her head snapped up.

  “You don’t—”

  “I miss Verona. I’m saying ‘no’ to going back without you.”

  “There’s no point in us both being exiled.”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  “But—”

  “End of discussion. What we need to be figuring out is what do we do next.” Her voice was firm. She was so full of strength. It was one of the reasons I loved her. She glanced up at me with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Any ideas?”

  I shook my head. I had no answers.

  * * *

  The next morning I sat at our small dining table, scanning the Colombian news on the tablet for any word on my brother’s activity. Jules was curled on the couch reading a book. We were both quiet today after yesterday’s revelation.

  My phone rang at my elbow. I frowned. It was a private number. Maybe Nonna was phoning using Skype?

  It was too early back in Verona, they were six hours behind us and it was only eleven a.m. here.

  I hesitated before I answered.

  The voice that spoke was one I’d never heard before, deep yet smooth, a mild accent I couldn’t place and slightly formal. “Do not act like anything is wrong, Mr. Montague.” He used the name of my new identity. “We wouldn’t want to scare the lovely Julianna, would we now?”

  Julianna? She was going by the name of Juliet Caraway.

  My skin prickled. My fingers went a deadly cold. I glanced over to Jules, her hair falling over her eyes as she curled around her book. “No, we wouldn’t.”

  “Very good, Mr. Montague...or should I call you Mr. Roman Tyrell.”

  I stood and walked into the bathroom, ignoring Julianna’s questioning glance. I locked the door and leaned against it.

  “Who is this?” I hissed. “How did you get my number?”

  “Do not fear, Roman. I am not here to hurt you. I am here to help.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “I hear you have a problem regarding your older brother…Marco.”

  “How do you…?” I trailed off. That was a wasted question. If this man, whoever he was, was able to find out my real name and my phone number, it wasn’t a stretch that he’d found out about Marco’s extradition denial. I moved on to the next best question. “What do you want?”

  “I told you, Roman. I want to help.”

  “Help me how?”

  “I work for an organization that specializes in ridding the world of...problems. Such as the one you have with your brother.” That was an answer in riddles if there ever was one.

  “Oh yeah? How do you propose to solve my problem?”

  The man let out a small chuckle. That sound alone managed to raise the hairs on my arms. “Let me put it this way, the organization I work for is called The Church.”

  My blood turned to shards of ice in my veins. The Church. A group of gentlemen assassins. They were deadly ghosts.

  “Why… Why would you help me?”

  “It’s quite simple. Your brother in exchange for a favor.”

  My throat tightened. “What favor?”

  “One yet to be called upon.”

  “That’s not—”

  “This is not a negotiation. You have twelve hours to think it over. You’ll give me your answer face to face. Tonight. I’m afraid Julianna can’t come. You’ll have to give her the slip. Can you do that?”

  “Roman?” Julianna called through the bathroom door. “Is everything okay?”

  I flinched away from the door. “Fine, honey.”

  He was asking me to lie to Jules, not just about meeting him, but about my brother. I promised I wouldn’t lie to her ever again. I promised her.

  But this was for our future. I’d be doing her a favor by keeping this horrible solution from her, by sparing her f
rom the dark truth.

  “Answer yes or no, Roman,” his voice sounded in my ear.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll text you where to meet.”

  “Give me a name?” I said before he could hang up. “What do I call you?”

  “You can call me…Sevastian.”

  The line went dead.

  I pressed my forehead on the smooth surface of the bathroom door. What would I do?

  Should I take his offer? Should I accept this bloody solution to my problem? The world was better off without Marco Tyrell in it.

  Jules…she’d never agree to it. If I wanted an end to my problem, I had to keep this from her. I didn’t want to keep anything from her.

  But we couldn’t remain in exile forever. She couldn’t live in exile forever. I could already see the homesickness that Julianna tried to hide. It leaked out from her without her knowing. In the smile that didn’t reach her eyes every time she spoke to her father. In the tears she brushed aside when she thought I wasn’t looking. She was here for me. I had to do this for her. I had to take this deal. I had to end our exile so Julianna could go home. I had to lie to her. For her. I had no choice.

  I opened the bathroom door. Jules was standing there, innocent curiosity in her eyes. “Who was that?”

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lie. I’m sorry, Jules.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  We sat on the couch and I began to speak. I watched her face contort as I outlined who The Church was and the details of Sevastian’s offer.

  She shivered and I pulled her closer so she was seated across my lap. “You know what you have to do,” she said quietly.

  I nodded. I had to refuse him.

  Julianna turned her amber eyes to me. “You have to accept it.”

  “What?” If I had been standing, I would have fallen over. “But, it means…”

  “I know what it means. I know you shouldn’t have told me. I’m glad you did. Because now, we can carry the weight of this decision together.”

  I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say.

  She leaned her forehead against mine. “Let’s end this,” she whispered. “Together.”

  37

  ____________

  Julianna

  At eleven p.m. that night Roman and I walked hand in hand to Chopin’s grave at Pere Lachaise. There were so many colorful flowers covering his resting place, lit softly by the cemetery lights, you could barely see it. A man in a dark suit stood at the foot of the grave, his black hair trimmed into a stylish sweep across his forehead. I could only see his profile: a strong jaw, cheekbones of a Renaissance sculpture and a pair of impossibly defined lips. Could this be Sevastian? As I got closer I realized he was humming something familiar. Was that…Rock-a-bye Baby?

  The humming cut off. Roman and I both halted.

  “Do you know that Chopin does not rest entirely here?” the man asked, his voice crisp and deep with a hint of an Eastern European accent. He was staring at the marble statue of the kneeling woman in robes on the headstone. “Chopin’s grave contains everything…but his heart. According to his dying wish, his heart was sent back to Warsaw, Poland.” He turned to face us, revealing a set of intense cerulean eyes framed with thick dark lashes. I thought I could see a flicker of annoyance in them, but it was gone before I could be sure. “I told you not to bring her.”

  Roman tensed beside me. “Where I go, she goes. What I know, she knows. Any decisions, we make together.”

  “Your affection for each other would be heartwarming. If I had a heart. Have you made a decision on my offer?”

  Roman and I glanced over at each other, our eyes locking. He squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.

  He looked over to Sevastian and nodded.

  “Very good.” Sevastian turned to leave.

  “Why are you helping us?” I asked, stopping him.

  Sevastian raised a dark eyebrow. “Would you believe me if I said I was doing it out of the goodness of my heart?”

  I almost laughed. “No.”

  He smiled. “Smart one, she is,” he said to Roman. “Keep her.”

  “And this favor,” I said, suspicion coating my voice. “Why a favor? Why not money?”

  Sevastian chuckled and shook his head. “So sweet, so lovely.”

  I felt Roman bristling beside me. I squeezed his hand. Stay calm, Roman.

  He remained at my side, relaxing slightly, but remaining on alert. He squeezed back. Just say the word, I’ll choke the life out of him.

  “I have money,” Sevastian said. “Lots of money. If I ever need more I can get more. Money is worthless to me. Now, a favor bestowed from powerful people, people with…connections or access to information, that is worth something.”

  As Sevastian spoke, I felt as if a cold draft had been let in through my body. I fought a shiver. Sevastian was not someone I ever wanted to cross.

  “You’ll get a message from me when it’s done,” he said. “One more if I am ever in need of your help. Otherwise, you’ll never hear from me again.”

  That, at least, was a blessing.

  38

  ____________

  Roman

  Twenty-four hours later…

  Unknown: It is done.

  39

  ____________

  Julianna

  Three months later…

  We returned from Paris under the cloak of night. I spotted my father standing at the airport arrivals gate, a few plainclothes policemen at his side.

  I threw myself into his arms. “Missed you, Julu,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

  “Me too.”

  We pulled back. Roman stood beside me, our few bags at his feet. He cleared his voice. “Sir.” He nodded respectfully to my father and stuck out his hand.

  I held my breath. For a few moments it looked like my father was going to reject Roman’s handshake.

  My father grabbed Roman and pulled him in for a hug, slapping his back. Roman stared at me over my father’s shoulder, the surprise in his eyes reflecting mine.

  “Welcome home…son,” I heard my father say.

  “T-Thank you, sir.”

  My father pulled back and gave Roman a solemn nod. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Marco.”

  “Thank you. Colombia is a dangerous place. He had some very dangerous enemies.” Roman didn’t glance at me but I saw the dark flash in his eyes, sending a thrill up my spine. I knew who this dangerous enemy was.

  My father and his armed guard escorted us to a hotel, where we were checked in under false names for the duration of the trials. After the tape in the barn was revealed, all of the Tyrell associates were scrambling over each other to make deals and turn each other in. There was very little left of the Tyrell empire.

  Roman was on standby. He wouldn’t be called up to testify unless the prosecutor felt they needed his testimony in order to secure a win. Thankfully, the evidence spoke for itself.

  Until Abel’s murder trial for the death of Roman’s mother.

  Giovanni had admitted on tape to ordering the murder of his wife. But the prosecutor needed Roman’s testimony of what had happened on the night of his mother’s murder, specifically, his testimony that his mother managed to injure her assailant with a cigarette lighter, leaving a scar exactly like the one that Abel had on the back of his right hand.

  “You’re going to be fine,” I said to Roman, my hands picking invisible pieces of lint off his shoulders.

  We stood in a witness waiting room down the corridor from the courtroom where Abel was being tried. I could feel the hardness of the bulletproof vest he wore under his suit. I hated that it was so dangerous that he had to wear one. I was glad that he didn’t argue when my father entered the room earlier with a police-issued vest in his hand and demanded he wear it. Just in case.

  “Mr. Tyrell?” the bailiff said from the doorway. “They’re almost ready for you.”

&
nbsp; “Be brave,” I said, echoing what he once told me.

  “I am because you’ll be there.” Roman leaned in for a soft kiss, then left with the bailiff.

  I slipped into one of the public benches in the courtroom. Abel sat at the defense table, a cruel smile on his face. His defense attorney, a weasely looking man in a navy pinstriped suit, sat beside him.

  Mr. Snow, the state prosecutor, stood up. He was an older man with a face like Father Christmas but a reputation as a bulldog. He had worked alongside my mother when she had been alive, so he had a personal stake in this trial. He wasn’t allowed to try the case against Abel for my mother’s murder because he had been friends with her, but he was allowed to try Abel for Maria Tyrell’s. “The prosecution would like to call one last witness to the stand.”

  “Objection,” the defense attorney called as he rose to his feet. “There are no more witnesses on the witness list.”

  “It’s a last-minute inclusion to the witness list. I’m sure once you hear who it is, you’ll understand why we couldn’t advise the court any earlier.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” the defense attorney argued. “I haven’t had the time to prepare my cross-examination.”

  The judge eyed the two attorneys. “I’ll allow it, Mr. Snow, but we will break for the day once you’ve finished your initial questioning. The defense can commence his cross-examination first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sure that’s enough time to prepare, Mr. Frisk?”

  My stomach churned as the defense attorney nodded and took his seat. Here it goes.

  Mr. Snow cleared his throat. “The prosecution calls to the stand…Roman Giovanni Tyrell.”

  The courtroom erupted as everyone began talking at once. It was big news in Verona when Roman Tyrell “died” in the barn shootout. His being alive would no longer be a secret now.

  “What the fuck?” Abel burst from his seat as Roman walked calmly into the courtroom following the bailiff. “You fucking rat. I’ll fucking get you.” Abel scrambled over the table at Roman. I leapt to my feet, preparing to shove my way through the crowd. To Roman’s credit, he didn’t flinch. The court security guards were on Abel in seconds, holding him back.