Forbidden Kiss (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Rom had fresh coffee brewing as Jule walked into the kitchen the next morning. She didn’t look as rested as he would have liked, but the shadows under her eyes had lessened.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“God, yes,” she replied and pulled out a chair at the table.

Rom set a cup in front of her. “Sorry, no cream.”

“I don’t care at this point,” she said, immediately moving the cup to her lips. After several sips, she breathed deep and leaned her head back against the chair.

“Thank you.” Her eyes closed and the sun streamed through the window, falling on her features.

He could see Juliet in her. Juliet grown up, about ten years older. The same full lips that could produce a pout to make a man like him beg. The strong dark brows framing her brilliant blue eyes and the nose that turned up slightly at the end.

“Where do you want to start today?” she asked, watching him through lowered lashes. Rom cleared his throat and refilled his cup.

“We need to take inventory of what we saw last night. Go over what we know and what we suspect is missing.”

“I’ll take notes. You’ll have to fill in the blanks because I haven’t a clue what could be missing.”

“In another couple of days, we need to check out the Capuchin monastery where I last saw Lawrence. He may have left other clues.”

Jule nodded, taking another sip. She set her cup on the table and stretched, drawing Rom’s eye to her breasts.

She wore the same clothes from yesterday, but in the early morning sunlight, they didn’t seem to be as concealing as they’d been last night.

“We’ll need to contact Rossi and see if he’s made any headway with the nonprofit guys. And we need to get back into that chapel, but I’d prefer if we had permission this time.”

Rom watched her arms return to her side, but her sweater stayed hitched up outlining taut nipples. Jesus, he could drive himself insane this way.

“No. Probably not a good idea.” He turned his back and busied himself putting away the coffee beans.

He heard the chair push back as Jule stood. He smelled her skin before he felt her body heat behind him.

“Why not? He’s been a good contact so far.”

Rom was going to have to face her, now and for the next several days. How the hell was he supposed to keep his hands off her when all he wanted to do was wrap them in her mane of midnight hair and pull her head back for a tonsil searing kiss?

“How do you suppose Pio knew where to find us?” he gritted from between clenched teeth.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” She studied the tiled floor. “But Rossi knew about Pio. That Pio was looking for me and that I didn’t want to be found.”

Goddamnit.
“How long have you known he was in Verona?”

“Three days.”

“And you didn’t stop to think he might be dangerous?”

Jule stepped back into the crook of the L-shaped counter. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“You’ve been running from him.”

She took it for the statement it was and not a question.

“What am I supposed to do? He paid my father money. They’ve already filed the marriage license and transferred property, for God’s sake. I can’t go home, Rom. I’ve got nothing left to go home to. This is it,” she said gesturing to the empty air.

“You’ve got me.”

“If you are who you say, then you’ve lived almost ten lifetimes. How could I ever get to know all of that?”

“Believe me, it’s not important.”

“How can you say that? Of course it’s important. You are what your experiences make you and I want to know…I want to know…”

Jule brushed hair back from her shoulder and looked out the window.

“You want to know, what?”

“How your shoulder is doing.” She smiled brightly, covering her slip as she set her mug on the counter. “Let me have a look.”

Rom agreed, aware of what lay ahead.

He lifted his shirt over his head and sat in the chair Jule had vacated moments ago.

She washed her hands in the sink and came up beside him smelling of woman and soap. Her breasts were on level with his mouth and Rom remembered the feel of her silky skin under his tongue.

“Sorry if this stings,” she said, tearing the bandage tape loose.

Rom felt the slight sting and then her cool hands on his back.

“It’s healed. Only a little redness left.” Disbelief rang in her voice. She’d never believed him. Faced with the physical proof now, she wouldn’t have a choice.

Rom turned, pulling Jule by the waist until she stood between his open legs. “Jule. I am immortal. I cannot die. I can feel pain—sometimes extreme—but I heal.”

She ran a hand down his face, cupping his cheek.

“How?”

He could see the start of some change, a shift in Jule’s perception. It moved in her eyes like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

“I don’t know. Magic. Chemistry. A strong will and a need for retribution. Only the higher powers know and they haven’t seen fit to share the information with me.”

Jule traced his cheekbone and then slid a fingertip down his nose and over his mouth.

“And you think I’m Juliet because of the painting?”

“No. That was only confirmation. I’ve suspected, but was too guarded to see the truth.”

Rom took the dagger from his back and laid it on the table next to them. The polished hilt glimmered in the twinkling sun, sending snatches of reflected light across their bodies.

He watched Jule closely for signs of concern, but she held tight, not moving.

“This dagger is the one Juliet killed herself with. I’ve carried it with me every day since that night, never allowing myself to forgive or forget.”

Jule touched the blade hesitantly, gaining confidence the longer she made contact. After several seconds she picked it up and held it, point down towards the table.

Unexpectedly, she pulled back from Rom and raised the blade to her chest, aiming the point straight at her breast.

Her eyes met his over the knife and Rom saw the realization swimming there.

“I’m not immortal, so what am I?”

“Reincarnated.”

Carefully, Rom slipped the knife free from her fingers and put it back in the sheath on the table.

“I don’t have the answers, but I think I know where to find them,” he said quietly.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Certainty that you’re fiancé isn’t going to put a bullet through your heart.”

Jule pushed away and picked up her mug again, cradling it in her palms. She gazed into the cup instead of at him.

“I don’t think he’d do that.” She didn’t sound certain.

“Not good enough,” he said, rising and swiping his shirt off the table. He pulled it over his head and checked his pockets for keys.

“Where are we going?” Jule asked.

“
We
aren’t going anywhere. I’m heading back into the city to find that bastard Mascaro and see what he’s up to. You,” he said, pointing a finger at Jule, “are staying here with the dog.”

“Max?” Jule asked.

“You’ve named him?”

She shrugged. “He seems like a Max.”

The subject of the conversation wagged his tail ecstatically at the sound of his name.

Jule set her cup down quickly, sloshing coffee on the counter. “But I am not waiting here, Montgomery, like some meek little girl. If you’re going, I’m going too.”

He headed for the door and slipped his jacket off the coat tree. “You’re not meek, Jule, not by a long shot. But I need to see some people and it would be better if you weren’t there.”

Let her think whatever she wanted. That he needed to contact some shady underworld types, or buy information from two-timing cops. It didn’t matter as long as she remained safe.

Rom thought of her at the villa alone and had a thought. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

Jule narrowed her eyes, still mad over being left. “No.”

“Then I’m leaving the dagger.” He nodded to the knife still lying sheathed on the table. “Take good care of it, will you?”

He didn’t expect a response and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get one. It was time Jule Casale got used to the idea of where she came from.

“I’ll be back before dark. Stick close to the villa and for Christ’s sake, be careful.”

His last image of her before closing the door was her back as she poured another cup of coffee.

Rom made it back into Verona before noon and parked his rental on the other side town before walking to one of the oldest residences in the city.

He had a favor to call in.

The three-story house had undergone some changes since he’d last walked through its arched front door, but Rom recognized the palazzo of one of the wealthiest merchant families in Verona. Its stone and marble façade rose stoically to greet the dull winter sky and statues stood guard over the street from the roof.

He’d talked to some neighbors and nearby shopkeepers to discover the current owner’s name. Still in the Orti family, thankfully. If the man of the house, Luigi, were made from the same stuff he knew previous Orti’s to be, Rom would be in business.

“Rom Montgomery to see Luigi Orti,” he announced to the man answering the door. He provided a card and after careful scrutiny, the man let him in. He showed Rom into a high ceilinged, frescoed foyer with an ascending staircase and then into a side room. The formal parlor.

It was still the same place he’d visited before leaving Verona all those years ago.

Laughter filtered down the stairs from the floor above. Happy Saturday morning children’s laughter that said life was grand on a weekend out of school and with family.

“
Aspettare un secondo
,” said a voice descending the stairs. Wait just a second.

“No!” came the reply.

Then childish giggles and someone, from the sound of it a young boy under the age of five, collapsed on the stairs and declared he’d wait for his father to return.

Seconds later, a tall and lanky well-dressed man walked through the high double doors and into the parlor.

“Luigi Orti.”

His handshake was firm and commanding, but genial. Rom liked him immediately.

“Rom Montecchi.”

Orti’s chin lifted a degree at hearing the Montecchi name. An old name, as old as Orti.

“How may I help you, Mr. Montecchi?” Orti asked as he gestured for them to sit.

Once seated in facing chairs next to a floor to ceiling French window, Rom met Orti’s stare and bluntly asked for the stranger’s help.

“Our families were close long ago, our fathers, brothers, and compatriots against the tide of unfavorable changes in the city.”

Orti nodded. Rom didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t already textbook material for school children.

“The Montecchis helped the Ortis when help was needed most. Romeo,” Rom paused briefly. Speaking of himself in third person was always disconcerting. “Did a great service for your family and restored your patriarch, Alberto, during a time of crisis.

I’m here to call in that favor.”

To Orti’s credit, he didn’t flinch. He laughed, making his dark eyes twinkle.

“You really are Montecchi, aren’t you?” His merriment wound down, but the twinkle remained. “Only someone with Montecchi pallas, eh, balls, would come in here unannounced and ask to call in a six hundred year old favor.”

Rom merely watched him, undecided how to take the man’s reaction.

“We thought you were all dead. Where have you been hiding yourself, friend?”

“America,” Rom replied.

“Si,” Orti said, nodding sympathetically. “What do you want? An introduction back into Veronese society? It’s not as difficult as it once was.”

Rom shook his head.

“Oh. Well. I hope you don’t plan to try to blackmail me, my friend, because as you surely recall, Orti’s don’t stand for such cowardly behavior.”

Orti no longer smiled and the twinkle in his eyes turned hard like black glass.

“I wouldn’t think of treating an old friend that way,” Rom said casually. “What I need is information. And as I recall, that’s what the Ortis were good at. Am I still correct in my assumption?”

Guarded now, Orti nodded.

“Good. I need to find out about another American in Verona. Pio Mascaro. He followed an associate of mine here and is proving to be a problem. I want to find out what he’s up to.”

“You think he’s calling in favors as well?”

Rom shrugged. “He’s very wealthy and a lawyer. He’s also dangerous.”

Orti pursed his lips and stared out the window. Rom heard noise on the stairs signaling the end of the child’s patience.

“We’ll find out what we can. And then the debt will be paid in full, I think.”

Orti stood just as a dark headed five-year-old ran into the room, hurtling himself into his papa’s arms.

The child was a miniature of his father. Rom felt a block of ice crack and break away from his heart. Father and son. An image he had once pictured himself in, but put away like so many others.

“I behaved and now it’s time to play,” he boy said proudly.

“Indeed,” said his father, looking at Rom over the top of his son’s head.

“I’ll be in touch in twenty-four hours,” Rom said as they walked to the foyer.

“Yes. And then we’ll talk. Perhaps start a modern day Orti-Montecchi association, no?” His smile was back, but subtler, hinting at a core of strength beneath the happy family man.

“Or Montecchi-Orti association?”

Orti laughed out loud and his son, tickled by his papa’s mirth, laughed too.

…

“You did what?” Natala’s loud shout over the phone made Jule smile. Thank God she could count on Natala to put things into perspective.

“Broke the longest standing abstinence record in history,” Jule teased, a little embarrassed to be talking about her and Rom with anybody else besides him.

“And?” Natala prompted.

“Natala, I thought I’d died and gone on a multi-million dollar shopping spree on the Miracle Mile.”

Natala burst out laughing, shouting so loud Jule had to pull the phone away from her ear.

“You did not! Stop teasing.”

“I did too.”

“God, Jule. I told you. I knew he was the one.”

Jule stilled, Natala’s remark hitting a little too close to home.