by Sienna Blake
“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 from 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 sp
ine. 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.”
“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.
“Order!” The judge smacked his gavel. “Order in the court. Bailiff, make sure that Mr. Montero is cuffed to his seat for the rest of the trial.”
With the court settled and Abel restrained, Roman took the stand. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God…”
Roman’s eyes found mine. I smiled and he straightened, lifting his chin.
I clutched at my skirt as Roman began to tell his story, publicly for the first time, of how he watched his mother die. I was crying quietly into a handkerchief by the end of it. There was not a dry eye on the jury either. I could see something loosen from inside Roman now that he had told the truth he’d kept inside for so long. Hopefully, it would be enough.
At the end of the trial, I stood with Roman at the back of the courtroom, our hands twisted together, as the judge brought the jury back in. The foreman stood, a piece of paper in his shaking hands, ready to read out their verdict.
“Whatever happens…” I said. I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.
“Whatever happens,” Roman said, his voice low and menacing, “my mother will get justice.”
Our eyes met. I nodded.
“We the jury find the defendant, Abel Montero…”
I squeezed his hand. He squeezed mine in return.
“…guilty of murder in the first degree.”
The courtroom erupted. I let out a cry, tears forming as a palpable wave of relief crashed over me. Roman slid down onto the bench, his eyes unfocused, his Adam’s apple working.
It was over. It was finally over.
40
____________
Julianna
Later that night, we were back in our hotel room. Roman had been quiet all evening. I knew he was thinking of his mother and what his father said in his confession about her leaving their family.
Nora had just been to visit earlier. She brought with her a small box which I asked her to find among my things stored in her spare room.
Roman sat in a chair by the window, staring out over the city lights. The sky was an inky black. Not even the moon was out tonight. I slid my hand on Roman’s shoulder, getting his attention. He lifted his face up to me; his eyes were darkened underneath and weary.
“I need you to listen to something.” I slid the USB into the tablet, found the file I wanted and pressed play.
A crackling came over the speakers before the voice of my mother came on.
Abigail: “You don’t have to tell me your name. Let’s call you…Joan. After Joan of Arc. She was a strong woman, just like you.”
Maria: “I’m scared.”
Roman sat up, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath. His eyes found mine, wide with question, raw with emotion. Is this her? Is this my mother speaking?
I nodded, because I feared that nothing would come out if I tried to speak.
Abigail: “I know. I’d be scared too. Just take a deep breath. Remember why you want to do this.”
Maria: “Are you a mother?”
Abigail: “I am. I have a beautiful little girl. She’s eight. I would do anything for her. Anything. Be strong for your children, Joan. Be strong for them.”
Maria: “Okay…”
We listened to the whole recording. I stood at Roman’s side, a hand on his shoulder, ready to be there if he needed me.
Maria: “My husband…he didn’t always used to be a bad man. He didn’t used to… My boys…my poor boys. He’s going to turn them into monsters.”
Maria began to cry. Roman flinched as her pain crackled through the air.
Abigail: “I promise you, I will get you out of there. I will.”
Maria: “I won’t leave them behind. I won’t.”
Abigail: “We’ll get them out. We’ll ensure their safety.”
Maria: “If anything happens to me, you’ll look after them. You’ll make sure they’re happy. That they’re loved. That they grow up to be good men.”
Abigail: “Nothing will happen to you.”
Maria: “Promise me!”
Abigail: “Joan, I promise.”
When the audio recording stopped, I felt Roman trembling under my palm, the silence growing thick and heavy.
“Your father was lying,” I said, emotion coating my throat so my voice came out strained. �
�Your mother wasn’t going to leave you. She was going to take you with her. She turned against your father because she could see what he was becoming. She didn’t want that for you boys. She loved you so much she was willing to risk her life to get you away from him.”
Roman said nothing. I slid my hand off him and turned away to give him some space. He grabbed me before I could walk a single step. He pulled me into his lap so I straddled him. He buried his face in my neck and wrapped his thick, strong arms around me like a vice. I just held him, while inside, pieces of him stitched together. We sat like that until he stopped shaking. Until his breathing returned to a steady pace.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Epilogue
____________
Julianna
One year later…
Sixteen years. Sixteen years and I’d finally gotten justice for my mother.
She could finally rest in peace. Giovanni was dead. Abel had been sentenced to life in prison for her murder. The Tyrell empire was no more.
I stood at the foot of my mother’s grave, a bunch of fresh peonies in my hands. I couldn’t believe it had been two years since I stood here on her birthday. I’d met Roman that day and it changed everything. It had been gray, if I recalled correctly. Today the sun was out.
“Do you remember I told you about The Innocence Project?” I said. The Innocence Project had been a scheme that Roman and I had dreamed up during our yearlong exile in France. It would be a cause that reviewed and investigated old criminal cases to find the real truth. It would give hope to sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, husbands and wives of victims of unsolved cases.