Page 2 of Last Violent Call
With some hesitance, Yulun shuffled forward in his seat. The chair leg scraped against the floorboards with a grating sound.
“I heard that you’re the people to go to for weapons,” he said. “I… I wanted to acquire some, but I don’t have the means to meet the prices.” He looked into his lap. “I was hoping that you might be open to an exchange of some sort. I’m great at running messages.”
Juliette blinked, tilting her head curiously. A wisp of hair fell into her eyes. She attempted to blow it back, only her hair was long these days, growing far past her shoulders, so the huff did nothing except stick the lock to the side of her cheek.
“We’re not really hiring right now,” Juliette replied. She felt Roma trail a finger along her arm, the contact unhurried, more an instinct than something he was consciously aware of doing. The silence drew out in the kitchen. Juliette shook her hair back into place. “But I do want to know why exactly you are trying to come into possession of weapons. You’re not our usual demographic.”
Yulun’s gaze flickered over to Roma. He must have divulged this already, if Roma was willing to bring him all the way here to get Juliette’s opinion.
“My fiancée is being threatened.”
Ah.Juliette let out a small sigh, leaning into her chair. Of course it was something like this that got Roma’s sympathy. Him and his soft heart. She adored him so much that it hurt.
“She’s not from around here,” Yulun went on. “She fled Vladivostok three years ago and entered Shanghai as a refugee before making her way farther inland.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. Clearly Roma hadn’t seen this yet, because he leaned forward too and jolted immediately in surprise. His reaction was almost indiscernible, but he still had his hand against Juliette’s arm, and she felt his tension like it was her own.
Yulun’s fiancée looked just like Alisa, Roma’s little sister.
The differences were evident enough that they were clearly two different people, and yet upon first glance Juliette would have easily made the mistake, from the blond curls to the deep-set dark eyes crinkled in a smile.
“I’m all she has,” Yulun finished softly. “I was hoping you could help me. If not with weaponry, then…” The boy trailed off. When he slumped his shoulders, all his strength left him. “Someone from her past keeps contacting her. If weapons aren’t an option, I had hoped you might sell your safeguarding.”
Roma finally glanced away from the photo, one of his brows quirking up.
“You didn’t mention that part on the drive.” His tone had turned perplexed. “What sort of safeguarding could we possibly provide? We run a small business, not a security force.”
Yulun gulped tightly. He reached into his pocket again and this time pulled out what appeared to be a newspaper clipping.
“You once offered protection, didn’t you?” He unfolded the clipping slowly. The two portraits were revealed first, then the large-print headline above it:
Commemorating the Star-Crossed Lovers of Shanghai
Juliette Cai & Roma Montagov
1907–1927
“Juliette Cai and Roma Montagov, heir to the Scarlet Gang and heir to the White Flowers, the children of feuding families born into a bloody war, defying everything to end the cycle and be together.” Yulun uttered each word with intention. As if he had heard those lines from elsewhere long ago and was reciting them from memory. “I had hoped that, of all people, you would understand.”
The portrait sketches were uncannily accurate. Juliette picked up the newspaper clipping and held it to the afternoon light, looking for some sort of plausible deniability.
She found none. These were their faces, no doubt about it. Roma, however, didn’t even glance at the portraits.
“You must be mistaken,” he said. “I have never even heard the name Roma Montagov before. City gossip doesn’t make its way to Zhouzhuang.”
“What?” Yulun exclaimed, taken aback. “But you werejustspeaking Russian.”
“Was I? I can’t remember.”
Yulun turned to Juliette next, his mouth opening and closing in incredulity. He pointed behind her. “You have a painting back there of Shanghai’s wàitan.”
Juliette craned over her shoulder, squinting at the frame and actinglike she had never realized what it contained. Her cousin, Celia, bought it for her after Juliette admitted she was starting to forget the Bund—the ocean salt smell, the creaking boardwalk under her feet. Shanghai was a coastal city, an open port that pulsated with constant activity, ships arriving without pause and movement tearing through its streets at such speed that the city delivered its highest highs in the same breath as its lowest lows. Zhouzhuang was the exact opposite. It held the promise of haven in its stillness, protective layers formed in every direction with the leisurely speed at which its waters flowed.
“What a neat coincidence,” she said, playing along with the bluff that Roma had started. “We hail from Harbin, though, not Shanghai.”
Slowly Juliette pushed the newspaper clipping back toward Yulun. He didn’t look like he believed her, but how could he possibly prove that they were lying, short of accusing them outright?
“If I’m reading this correctly, these people are long dead,” she said gently. “Here.” Pitying the boy, Juliette grabbed a pen from the counter behind her and quickly wrote a number on the paper edge: the communal telephone line in the township. “Give us a call for proper business when you have the means. But we’re not the ones you’re looking for. I’m sorry.”
