Forbidden Kiss (16 page)

She noticed he didn’t say
we
or
us
when describing the ceremony. Out of respect for her?

“Were you happy?”

His expression was inscrutable as he met her stare.

“
But come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her sight.
”

Jule couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away. For the briefest of moments, she caught a glimpse of the poet, the dreamer, the lover.

But in a blink of an eye, he was gone. Replaced by the hardened man sitting across from her.

“I was excited to marry because it meant I could sleep with her. You know, the priorities of youth.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy.

Okay. Moving on.

Jule recalled the image of Rom in the fourth painting housed in the former museum. Dressed for battle, dressed for war.

She had a feeling she knew what it meant, especially after their conversation last night, but Jule wanted to hear it from him.

“After I left Verona, I fought. I hired myself out to whoever paid and waged war. I guess I wanted to test fate and see if it was true.”

His hands lay flat against his legs, but Jule saw the tension there. The effort not to curl his fingers into fists and pound something.

“That what? You couldn’t die?”

He glanced at her. “Seems logical doesn’t it? If I couldn’t have death, I would bring it to others.”

“You lived like that? How long?”

“A long time,” he told her quietly.

Maybe if they kept talking, Rom might be able to talk out some of the burden he’d carried so long. Jule couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors he’d seen, the grief he carried.

No one should have to go through that.

Rom stroked her cheek, the calluses on his fingers causing her to lean into the gesture with greedy enjoyment.

“Forbidden or not, it’s a love worthy of waiting six hundred years until I found you.”

“And what do you intend to do with me now that you have me?” she asked.

“Never let you go.”

She wanted nothing more than to be loved so completely. So utterly.

She spoke with her eyes, letting the emotion shine through.

Rom cleared his throat. “Right. I suppose Lawrence was trying to tell me I would wander far and wide, to be cliché, before I found you. The modern you.

“If I’d stuck around, listened to the man for Christ’s sake, I might have figured this out so much sooner. Found you a long time ago.”

“But it wouldn’t have been me. Not this me. Not Jule Casale.” Jule sat up straight in her chair, an idea occurring to her. “Maybe what Lawrence meant was that Juliet had to go through all of these transformations before you found her. That I had to be born as me before this whole thing would work out.”

He let a long breath loose. “Possibly.”

“Okay. So let’s talk about the last one.”

“The dagger and the chalice.” Rom nodded.

She wondered if he knew the significance of those two objects in Renaissance art. The masculine and the feminine? Procreation? Rebirth? Life.

She hoped it meant their rebirth and not the birth of an unexpected child. As in they’d had unprotected sex. And Jule was at the perfect place in her cycle.

“The dagger I know. Obviously. But what’s the chalice?”

“The cup from which I drank the elixir,” he said.

“Ohhhh.”

And the dagger Juliet used to kill herself. Jule subconsciously rubbed the scar under her breast. She looked up to find Rom watching her and immediately lowered her hand.

“We have the dagger. What about the cup?”

Rom was quiet for a while. “I don’t know. I don’t have it.”

“But you think we need it?”

“If he went to the trouble to paint us with the dagger and the cup, I’d say it’s a sure bet.”

“Any idea where to look?”

“I have an idea.”

Jule would do some searching on her own. Go back to the palazzo museum and see if they’d overlooked anything. Which wouldn’t be surprising considering they had been looking during the dead of night – and had been shot at before they finished.

From the corner of her eye she caught movement through a side street. A flash of black as someone stood behind a parked car. The city was full of these tiny streets where nobody could see anything until you stood in the middle and looked down the shadowy row of buildings.

Rom saw it before she did, because he was already turning to confront the threat.

Just as his back was turned, Jule spotted two more guys emerging from behind a city bus heading straight for them.

“Rom,” she started to yell, but was yanked back off her feet, hard into someone’s chest.

Jule saw Rom turn and take in her attacker in one swift movement before meeting the guy in the alley head on. He slammed the guy against the parked car, sounds of crunching metal echoing between the buildings.

She was being dragged away. Jule intensified her struggle, but the guy holding her applied more pressure to her windpipe, cutting off any hope of air.

She watched Rom slam the man’s back onto the hood of the car. The guy’s legs went limp and he slid to the street where he lay half hidden behind the car.

Rom spun, searching for her. She tried to call out, but couldn’t.

Rom crossed the street toward them at a dead run, but the other two men met him halfway, brandishing guns. It didn’t slow Rom. He kept advancing. A fifth man appeared and Jule saw him force a stun gun to Rom’s unprotected back.

Next thing she knew, she was being dragged into darkness and cuffed to some sort of bar welded inside a van.

Castelvecchio disappeared out the front windshield as the driver squealed the van’s tires and fled.

Leaving Rom.

Chapter Nineteen

The stun gun took him down, but it didn’t put him out. “Pray that you’re gone by the time I get up, because I will kill you,” he told the men loading him into the back of a windowless van. A van just like the one that had sped away with his Jule.

The grim faced Italian carrying his feet smiled and dropped Rom to the bare metal floor inside. Then he climbed in and kicked Rom, hard, in the stomach.

“Go ahead,” Rom ground between clenched teeth. “I’m still going to beat the shit out of you until you tell me where Mascaro is and then, after that, I’m going to rip your head from your shoulders.”

The guy laughed again, but this time it wasn’t as convincing as before. Although the kick to his ribs delivered the same message.

He rode in silence for several minutes as the four men in the van, two up front in the only seats and two in back, one sitting on his back, the other pointing a gun at his head, talked about the drop off.

The overriding physical urge to go after Jule had his body pulsing with pent up energy. He couldn’t afford to dwell on her safety, the helplessness of his situation building anger and fear by the moment. An explosion was eminent.

The stupid bastards either didn’t know he spoke fluent Italian or they didn’t give a shit. Either way, Rom was regaining some feeling in his arms, which hurt like a son of a bitch in his current position with sluggo crushing them with his ass.

They were taking him to an estate outside of town, near the airport. Someplace quiet and far removed from Jule. That fact seemed to be of supreme importance to the man who’d hired them to do the job.

Where had he heard those words before?

Mascaro. The evil bastard had her.

…

Jule woke to unfamiliar surroundings. High lavender walls met a colorful frescoed ceiling where nymphs, cherubs, and nearly nude women with plump faces frolicked.

She sooo wasn’t in the mood for it.

She sat up and a velvety comforter slid down her stomach. To rest on a king sized canopied bed with matching hangings. In a room furnished like the height of the Renaissance.

Now she was really creeped out. She climbed out of the bed and padded across the room to the shuttered windows stretching from floor to ceiling.

Throwing them open to gaze out at the view beyond told her diddly. It was night, but she recognized the Erbe tower in the distance and the duomo dome, but it didn’t tell her where she was. Or more specifically at who’s pleasure she now served.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Pio. Jule kept gazing out the window, pretending she really was on vacation and not trapped in some horrific nightmare.

“I trust you rested?”

Nope. Wasn’t going to work.

“How could I not since your goons drugged me?” she said, turning to find Pio setting a tray with two teacups on an exquisite sixteenth century writing desk.

“Come now,” he said, smiling. “It’s all behind us.”

He moved further into the room, opening the other three shuttered windows to let the moon’s light spill in.

“What do you think of your room?” Pio seemed happier than she’d seem him, well, ever. And he looked good. Damn it, she hated admitting that, but he somehow seemed made over. Maybe it was the clothes. They were new and Italian.

“Where am I?” she said by way of an answer.

He threw a log on the red coals in the marble fireplace, humming to himself while he played domestic.

“Our house. I bought it this week as a gift for you. It’s the museum palazzo, but of course no longer a museum. A private, very private, residence now.”

Pio grinned, waiting for her to smile, too. When she didn’t, he advanced on her. “While it hasn’t seen family for years, we’ll change all that, Jule. I know it’s a little sudden, but I can’t see waiting around. Just as soon as the contractors finish the renovations, we can start our nursery.”

What? “We’re not having any children.”

Pio stopped in his tracks, jerked out of his planning either by her tone or her words, Jule didn’t know which.

“No children, Pio. No marriage. And no playing house.”

“But Jule, darling. I’m not playing. You’re here, in our new house. Where we will live together as husband and wife in every sense of the obligation. We’re not going back to Chicago. Ever.”

She would not freak out. She’d keep it together. There was no way he could keep her there indefinitely. Rom would eventually find her. That she knew.

He poured tea, adding the exact amount of sugar and cream she preferred. How had she never noticed his attention to detail?

He brought her a cup and when she didn’t take it, set it on a nightstand. “You feel it, yes?”

Jule narrowed her eyes. “Feel what?”

“This house. It’s alive with memories. It called to me that night I found you here.”

Now that he’d mentioned it… “How did you know we would be there that night?”

“Details, Jule. Past details. Not important now.”

Okay. He wanted to get right down to what was important? “Where’s Rom?”

Pio sipped his tea and sauntered over to the cheery fire. “Oh, I don’t know at the moment. I imagine some place where he will pay for centuries of mercenary behavior. Like Hell.” His smug smile made her stomach heave.

Jule swallowed the scream of alarm building in her throat. Pio could and would attempt to kill Rom.

He shrugged. “All in the past, as I said.” He dipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved a key. He set it on the mantle, beside the tea. “This is a key to your new wardrobe.” He pointed to a towering maple cabinet along a wall. “I took the opportunity of having your other things from your hotel brought here. Once I had your size, I made some small purchases for you.”

Jule didn’t move, although he so obviously wanted her to run to the wardrobe and sift through the clothes like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I expect you to dress for dinner, which,” he glanced down at his watch, “will be served in an hour.”

“So I’m a prisoner here?”

Pio retrieved his tea, took a final sip and returned it to the silver tray. “Don’t be silly. This is your house now. You’re free to come and go inside as you please.”

He crossed to her, stopping only as their toes bumped. “You will not, however, leave the house without my permission.”

Jule fought down the urge to swallow. “And if I do?”

“Consequences, dear girl, that you would rather not think about. Trust me.”

And he left as quietly as he came in.

Jule allowed herself to swallow. Fine fix she found herself in.

She seized the key off the mantle and opened the wardrobe. She saw her backpack immediately, lying on the raised floor underneath something satiny white.

Oh, no, no, no. A wedding dress. Jesus, she had to get out of here.

An hour later, she was still a prisoner, but one being led to dinner. She paid attention to her surroundings and oriented herself in the museum amid Pio’s massive restoration effort. She wasn’t as good as Rom by a long shot, but she managed to figure out the layout of the place.

If anything was left from the museum group, she suspected it would either be on the lowest level, not under construction, or in the trash.

The halls were deserted for the most part, but men were stationed at every exit. Armed men.

“Ah, here you are.” Pio said, standing and extending a hand as she came into the formal dining room. “Lovely.” He admired the tight fitting white halter dress he’d bought and left out for her to wear.

Jule ignored his hand and stood at the end of the table as another man entered from the opposite side of the room to whisper in Pio’s ear.

Pio smiled, nodding. The other man left and Pio turned his satisfied grin on her. “Montgomery has been taken care of. You don’t need to worry about him anymore and can now focus on your future.”

Jule’s heart ceased to beat for an instant. In that moment, the world was reduced to a small dark hole with only Pio at the end. But then she realized better men than Pio had attempted to kill Rom. And failed.

He lived yet. She knew it.

Pio continued to watch her closely, so Jule didn’t provide him an opportunity to gloat. Or see her rattled, despite the fact her world had just crashed around her feet. “Where do I sit?”

He gestured at the chair flanking his. When they were seated, a server appeared and poured wine.

“Everything has been arranged. We will marry tomorrow in the chapel.”

“Are you going to gag and bind me? Because that’s the only way you’re getting me in there. And even then I won’t say the words.”

“I’m not averse to killing you, Jule. I’ve done it before and my dear girl, I’ll do it again.”

Now he’d rattled her. But she wouldn’t falter. Despite the fact all could be lost, her family, her reputation, Rom, Jule wouldn’t give up.

She watched him drink his wine.

So, she was living under a death threat. Jule tried to remember everything she could about Shakespeare’s play. Juliet had been engaged to County Paris and under force from her parents she had agreed to wed. And then what happened? She killed herself to escape Paris.

Jule had to get out of here. Pronto.

As if Pio read her mind, he focused on her next step. Getting the hell out of there.

“I trust you received a tour on your way down to dinner?”

Jule left her wine untouched. She didn’t want to die of poison. “No. Perhaps you would do me the honor?” God, did she actually say that? She sounded sincere.

“Oh, no. Discovery is half the fun. I’ll let you have a look after dinner and then tomorrow after the wedding, I’ll tell you all about what I have planned for this palazzo.”

…

Rom was lost. He couldn’t keep track of the roadways once they were outside Verona. Too much had changed in the countryside over the last 600 years for him to feel confident about the direction the van headed. Now, if they’d remained in the old city, he’d know without a doubt where the hell they were going.

But as it was, he’d have to play catch up as soon as he made his way out of the goddamn van. He had, thank God, been counting the minutes, so he knew the distance from Verona, just not the direction. Although he suspected west and from their discussion earlier, he knew it was probably close to the airport.

The effects of the stun gun had at last worn off. In a strange way, it was interesting to note how many zaps from the bloody thing it took to bring him down. More than he would have suspected.

He replayed the ambush in his head. Who had known they were headed for Rossi’s? No one, unless Rossi had given them up to Pio and his guys had simply staked out the area in the hopes Rom and Jule would show back up. But he hadn’t gotten that I’ll-stab-you-in-the-back vibe from Rossi when he’d met with him yesterday.

The feeling Rom had had in the chapel returned. The one about Pio being Paris. Rom wondered if Pio was even aware that the palazzo museum was once Paris’s house?

Hell, if Juliet had been reincarnated, why not Paris? Lawrence had said Paris’s curse was the one that screwed everything up, changed the course of history. Would it make sense that Paris was back?

Nothing about this made sense.

And then suddenly, it all fell into place. The palazzo museum. The new investor. Pio’s unexpected appearance inside the chapel. Lawrence’s altar.

Lawrence had known. It all came down to Pio. Return to the beginning. But where were the missing paintings? What was Rom supposed to do to reverse the curse?

Kill Pio? That hadn’t worked so well the last time. Turn Jule over to him? No way in hell.

The van finally came to a stop.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” the asshole closest to him said.

“I prefer breakfast in bed.” Rom said.

Rom got a kick for his trouble, but in the awkward confines of the van, it landed on his shoulder instead of his already bruised ribs.

“Not exactly the morning after conversation I was looking for,” Rom said through gritted teeth.

Asshole No. 1 pulled his foot back for another blow, but the driver intervened.

“Enough! Gag him if you don’t want to listen to it.”

They dragged Rom out of the van and onto the cracked asphalt of a deserted parking lot. He quickly scanned the area to discover it was open, empty, and far the hell away from everything. Not the easiest place for a quick escape.

But then he had immortality on his side. He just needed to reduce the damage done to his body. While it wouldn’t kill him, it hurt like hell and slowed him down. And speed was something he needed.

“Untie his feet. I don’t want to carry the heavy bastard,” the driver said.

Thank you, Rom said silently.

Asshole No.1 got to do the job. Rom was going to enjoy doing some kicking of his own.

As he lowered his gaze to watch the man cut his bonds, Rom caught a quick flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze without moving his head and glimpsed a familiar face emerging from a side entrance to the warehouse.

Luigi Orti.

Rom almost laughed. Seems he had cashed in on an alliance that was of the forever kind. Orti cut his eyes to the left and Rom followed. Three more stout Italians were taking the corner of the building, machine guns gripped and ready to open fire.

Hallelujah.

The asshole from the van bent down with a knife as Rom stood in the open door. The driver, although he had a gun out and trained on Rom, turned away to watch the other men open the roll door of the warehouse.

Rom played nice and waited for Asshole to cut his feet loose. Just as he looked up at Rom and started to rise, Rom drove a knee into his exposed throat, clacking the man’s teeth together, hard. He fell back onto the pavement with his eyes rolling somewhere north.

The driver’s attention flew to the downed man first and Rom second, which provided Rom the opportunity to gain enough room for a roundhouse kick that sent the driver careening back into the van’s side mirror.

With his hands behind his back, Rom couldn’t follow through with a descending blow to the back of the head, and he knew the others would appear around the van’s side any second to help their fallen comrades. But Orti was close by. And he had bigger guns.