Page 186 of Dark Romeo

“Because…I care about her as much as you do.”

“Liar.” He stepped forward so the barrel of his gun was inches from my face.

I didn’t flinch. I just held his gaze. “Jules told me about how the two of you used to make pancakes for your late wife on her birthday. Blueberry pancakes. She said that you used to take her and her mom camping out on the lake in the Virgin Forest every July. She told me that you and your wife used to put old Louie Armstrong records on low and dance in the living room on Sundays after you thought she’d gone to sleep. She used to watch you both through the stair railings without you knowing and dream of one day finding a love like that.” As I spoke, the chief’s face softened, his mouth parting wider at each intimate detail I revealed. “Do you want me to go on?”

“She…She told you those things?”

I nodded.

There was a long, terse pause. He lowered the gun but kept it close to his side. He glanced around the street to see if anyone was watching. No one was. I had made sure I wasn’t followed. He turned his hard amber eyes, so much like hers, upon me before stepping back to let me in.

Once inside, he patted me down before he directed me into the living room of his family home, his gun still in his hand. I could see touches of a woman here—the faded pastel yellow of the walls trimmed with cream, soft gray and yellow curtains in a large floral pattern, fringed cushions on the couches. But I could see the years of being a single man layered on top of it: old yellowing newspapers in piles on the chairs and carpet, dirty coffee cups left on each flat surface, water stains in rings from glasses without coasters.

The chief walked over to the curtains and snatched them closed, surrounding us in darkness. He switched on a side lamp, the light throwing shadows across his face. “Now,” he turned to me, “talk.”

I told him what I knew about her attempted abduction, the contract that had fallen to Goldfish, the proof that Goldfish had given me of my father’s involvement.

The whole time the chief paced back and forth across the carpet, tugging at his hair as he became more and more agitated.

“Where is she being held?” he demanded when I finished talking.

I knew. I had paid dearly for that information.

I grabbed Benvolio’s shirt in my fists as he struggled against the rope around his wrists. It had been so easy to incapacitate him. He’d been so damn trusting. He just let me into his apartment and turned his back to me. “You’ll fucking tell me where my father is keeping her.”

“What makes you think he told me?” Benvolio’s voice was shaking even as he tried to keep it steady.

I lifted my lip in a snarl. “The money for her contract was wired from a subsidiary in your name. Don’t even try to deny that you aren’t balls-deep in this shit.”

“Alright. Alright.”

I let go of him and painfully uncurled my knuckles, stiff from the fists I had made in his shirt and his face.

“She’s being held on a farm, southwest of Verona. It used to be a slaughterhouse. There’s a cold storage room there that’s decent for holding…” he stiffened, “people who we need to hold.”

“Address. Now.”

He rambled it off. I pulled out my phone and looked it up. Sure enough, it used to be an old abattoir. “Thanks, cuz.” I slid the phone back into my jacket and curled my fingers around another piece of metal.

“You’ll let me go now?”

Over Benvolio’s shoulder, I spotted the photo frame he kept with a picture of the two of us. We had been sixteen then, lanky arms slung around each other’s necks. “Of course.” I smiled. “We’re cousins. Family.”

Benvolio let out a sigh of relief. “Get this fucking rope off me, man.”

My father’s voice echoed inside me. No weapon, no evidence, no witnesses.

The smile faded from my face. I slid out my gun, a silencer on the end, aimed and pulled the trigger.

Back in the chief’s house, I cracked my neck, shaking off this recent memory. “I know where they’re holding her.”

The chief stopped pacing. “Where?”

I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “I want to make a deal. I want it in writing.”

He stiffened. “What kind of deal?”

I outlined my proposition.

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