Rome’s jaw is stern as he takes in the scope of me while clutching the broom. “Don’t thank me. Be angry at me.”
I tilt my head to the side, setting my purse on the nearest counter. “I think I’ll save my anger for Nico.” I motion to the salon. “You don’t have to clean this up, you know. Nico made the mess.”
“Yes, but I answer for the family. I didn’t have Nico under control, so this happened. This is my fault.” He leans the broom against the wall and then faces me, his hands tucked behind his back, chest puffed like a man facing a firing squad.
I gnaw on my lower lip, unsure how to handle this situation. “Rome, that’s your hang-up, not mine. I don’t see things that way, but feel free to punish Nico all you like.” My shoulders sag. “He’s miserable. However well you think he’s doing, dial it back a whole heck of a lot. He’s in pain, Rome.”
“Well, he is now. I’ve seen to that.”
I don’t argue the Valentino’s way of dealing with insurrection among their own ranks, but it certainly brings me no joy.
I study the bags under Rome’s eyes and motion for him to join me on the couch in the waiting area as I sit. It’s so brazen, sitting in open with him like this, but the shades are still down on the glass windows and door, so it gets to be our little secret.
Rome leaves a healthy amount of space between us, for which I don’t blame him. I don’t know which is worse: that I told him I love him two months in, or that his brother held me at gunpoint.
The love stuff. That’s worse for sure.
“I need to end things between us right now,” Rome tells me, ripping my heart out in a single sentence. He runs his hand over his tired face. “It’s beyond complicated.”
My hammering heart aches in my chest. I feel cold all over, inside and out. Nothing feels real. His words sink into my ears and mush into a ball of nonsense.
My heart feels hollow—empty and carved out. I made a spot for him, but he doesn’t want it.
Devastation weights my bones as the shockwaves echo over my body.
I didn’t see this coming, though maybe I should have. Neither of us are meant for relationships, even if it was with someone the world would approve of. We pushed the rules too far, leaping over them as if they weren’t there for a reason.
I need a partner who can stand beside me. Even if he wasn’t a vampire and we only had to deal with the complication that I am the Last Deadblood, it would require a man be stronger and more steadfast than most.
If Rome is not that man, I guess it’s good I know now.
I point toward the back of the salon to stop myself from giving in to my urge to beg or argue. “The door is that way. If you want out, no one’s going to stop you.”
Except that I want to stop him. I want him to stay, even when it’s hard—even though it might always be hard because I am who I am and he is who he is.
Rome leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I need to end things, but I can’t. Even though I know it’s the better choice, no part of me can walk away from us.” He turns his chin toward me, taking in my poorly composed confusion.
“You need to work on your communication skills, Rome. Are you breaking up with me or telling me that you’re never going to break up with me?”
“I’m not sure,” he replies honestly. Then he shakes his head. “I’m not breaking up with you, though I know that’s the right thing to do. But I guess at the end of the day, I’m selfish, and I want what I want. I want to be with you, Coletta, even when betting on us is a poor gamble.”
I tug on my fingers while I process his words. “Then let’s take it slower.”
Rome snorts. “Slower than this? I only get to see you once a week.”
“Slow enough that you don’t throw it all away because it’s too hard.”
Please don’t throw me away.
“I’m going to ruin your life.” Rome motions around the salon. “Nico is a drop in the bucket. If anyone found out about us? It would be a statement the world isn’t ready to hear.”
“Nobody ever wants to hear what I have to say, so that’s nothing new. But I get it, Rome. I’m more than fine with keeping things secret. I thought I made that clear. It’s as much for your protection as it is mine.”
Rome lowers his chin. “I need you to forgive me.”
I take in a long breath. “I already told you, there’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t trash my salon. Nico did. And I forgive Nico. I always have. Always will.”
His hands tighten into fists and then release. “Not for that. Or not just for that. I need you to forgive me for staying. It’s selfish, and I know it. Orlando set me straight a few hours ago. I told him I would end things because you deserve better. You should be able to go out with a man who can actually take you out. You should be able to be with a human. Someone with less blood on their hands.”
I brush off his words, though they hurt me all the same. “What’s the fun in that?”
He narrows one eye at me. “Don’t do that. Don’t be glib. Not when I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“And the right thing is to make us both miserable?” I sit up straighter on the couch. “Stay or go, but don’t do either unless it’s what you want.”
He meets my gaze with genuine worry shining through. “You deserve better than me.”
I turn to him and grip his collar, bringing him close because if this is our last moment together, I want to remember the smell of his cinnamon breath. “Actually, I’m the kind of girl who deserves to have whatever I want, and I want you.”
Rome exhales, and in the next breath, his lips descend on mine to replace the foul words that tried to break us up. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He deepens the kiss, pulling me onto his lap so he can run his hand over my thigh. “I’m in. I’m all in.”
“Let’s be selfish, Rome. Let’s be selfish just this once.”
Rome moans into my mouth, his tongue twisting with mine.
I love the taste of him even more than I am allured by the scandal of all we are and all we can never be. I want more.
So I take it.
Rome’s mouth is ripe for the plundering. The rest of him might belong to Mayfield, but his lips are mine alone. They are soft yet firm, commanding yet letting me take when my need grows too great to tame.
Rome’s fingers trill up my thigh. “I was stupid to think I could end this. Let the world come for us. I don’t care.” He kisses me again, his forehead pressed to mine while we let our hearts find the same rhythm, so we are not so alone in this world.
Rome kisses me for the next half hour, christening the couch until we are both breathless and bereft of reason. No matter how it all implodes, I will never bring myself to regret taking this chance.
“You. I want to be with you, Coletta.”
“Only you, Rome. Only you.”
And I know that my promise is true. Whether he stays or goes, I cannot fathom my heart without him tucked inside. For me, there will always only be him.
Even if the world hates us.
Even if they come for us…
…which they most certainly will.
I hold Rome close, trusting the thrum of my heart, even if it is determined to lead me down a path from which I can never return.
I can’t go back. Not after this.
So I kiss him again, hoping the world doesn’t tear us apart.
* * *
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26
The Broken City
Enjoy a free preview of “The Broken City”, book two in the Last Deadblood series
The Vampire and the Deadblood
* * *
It’s hard to keep my nerves at bay when Rome and my father have their scheduled meetings.
Though our relationship is new and predictably rocky, we have struck a deal. Rome agreed not to bring up my embarrassing “I love you” slip I made a few days ago on the phone while I was at the movie theater, and I agreed not to m
ention him almost breaking up with me because things are most certainly going to be complicated going forward.
It’s going as well as one might expect the very first vampire-human pairing in history to unfold.
If anyone found out that the head of the Valentino family was calling me—the Last Deadblood—every night, they wouldn’t believe it.
Of course, no one would believe Rome has a poetic soul in the first place. They assume just because he inherited the mess of the West End from his father, that he doesn’t appreciate the finer things.
But the man makes me raspberry cannoli from scratch. He reads me poetry on the phone at night.
He kisses like a filthy, filthy dream.
We have fallen into our rhythm of clandestine phone calls and precious flirts, as well as a once-a-week Wednesday date. Though I wish we could have a normal relationship, I’ve always known that was not in the cards for me, no matter which man is at my side. Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t received any threats from the revolution, claiming they will abduct me if I don’t give them my blood voluntarily.
Of course they want my blood; it’s the one thing that can kill vampires without fail. People fear what they don’t understand.
They certainly don’t understand Rome, or the entire race of people who were given a raw deal. The vampires are too beaten down to demand better.
Or perhaps the humans have stopped listening.
That’s what these meetings between my father and Rome are supposed to be. The sheriff is supposed to listen and be helpful (imagine that), while Rome makes an attempt at trust.
It’s a stretch for them both, but it happens twice a month outside my salon, and I love it every time. I want people to walk by my salon and see progress. I want them to see my sign that reads Vampires and Humans Welcome and feel a sense of peace about the world.
I really wish other businesses would follow suit. Midtown is a neutral space between the East and West sides of Mayfield. Still, my salon is one of the very few businesses that will actually cater to both races.
One step at a time, even if that step is tiny and feels like it is getting us nowhere.
The salon is busy, which makes me happy. But when the two show up for their biweekly chat, it’s like a cloud comes over the lighthearted atmosphere. People inch away from the window but keep their eyes on the two heads of the rival families who used to be close.
Instead of lighting up like a giant Christmas tree at the sight of Rome entering my salon, I let Rachel greet him because she is tending to the front desk for this hour. Rome hands her a sealed envelope and tells her it’s for the owner without meeting my eyes. Usually it’s an effort to pretend I am uncomfortable with him in my business, but not such an effort today, given that he tried to break up with me the last time I saw him.
Rome is stunning, even from a distance. His obsidian hair highlights the brightness of his ice blue eyes. His angular jaw is strong and casts emotion so well that he rarely has need for a smile. He is tall and leonine, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. I never cared much about the uniform the Valentino men all wear—white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, black fitted trousers and a silver belt buckle—but on Rome, it is perfection.
Then my father enters a minute later.
Now I’m sweating.
The sheriff doesn’t know I am dating a vampire. He couldn’t possibly, I tell myself. I’m being perfectly normal.
My father and I exchange a few words to convince each other that we have absolutely no bad blood between us, which is a constant dance we do. We don’t talk about the fact that he sent me away when I was sick. We don’t talk about him letting us all down by alienating the West End and doing a bad job at law enforcement for so long. Because of his bigoted negligence, there is precious little hope we will be able to dig Mayfield out of the hole in which it is mired.
No, we don’t talk about any of it. I’m a good daughter.
Mostly.
“I’ll be out there with the Valentinos. You still okay with us meeting here?” my father asks, his chin lowered as if he actually cares about my response.
His hair is thinner these days, his skin dry and sagging. Even his thick neck is wrinkled. Though he is only in his sixties, he looks far more weathered. I’m not sure if it’s the job or if something deeper is going on. If not for his dismissive attitude toward the things that matter, I might think him an older relative of the man who sent me away when I was only fifteen. That man was scary to argue with. This man—the aged one standing before me—still inspires fear in my soul, but there is a weariness to him that makes me think new ideas might actually have a fighting chance.
I wave my hand to dismiss his words. “It’s fine. Don’t shoot up the place when you two bulls disagree over which one of you knits the prettiest tea cozy.”
The sheriff snorts an airy laugh at my quip before exiting.
Huh. My father hasn’t been coming in to greet me before his meetings with Rome. He did once when I cut his hair, but never since. We do a pleasant “you don’t exist if I don’t look at you” sort of dance, which has served us both well.
My steps are measured as I retrieve the sealed envelope from my mailbox slot and slip into my office. My door locks and I rush to my desk, tearing open the envelope to find…
What am I looking at? Ledger sheets?
A small note from Rome slips out. “I know Martin’s Dry Cleaners is involved in the drug game that’s killing the West End. Stayed up late trying to find the hole in their books. Stayed up later thinking of you. Maybe you can be my second pair of eyes.”
A girlish smile takes over my features as an exhale rocks my body. He’s not going to call me out on my embarrassing “I love you” slip, nor is he breaking up with me in a letter.
Thank goodness. We can pretend neither of those things ever happened.
Memories of our most recent dip in the lake flood my mind, bringing my gaze to my wrist.
The white gold diamond bracelet is far too dressy for work, but I can’t help myself. He clasped it around my wrist the last time we went to our beach. I was in cutoffs and a sweatshirt, my hood on to fend off the brunt of the chilly autumn weather. We’d been laughing together and making out under our favorite tree when he fixed it on my wrist.
We get one date a week, and we spend it on a stretch of beach no one frequents this time of year. We wanted to be so far away that no one from Mayfield would see us.
When I gaped at the luxury, he held up a hand to stave off my spluttering. “For the record, this is me holding myself back. I put back the necklace I wanted to buy you last week, and I walked away from the bulletproof windows I wanted your car outfitted with two weeks ago.”
I’d stared at the bracelet, much like I am doing now, wondering how my life took such a dramatic turn. Rome’s affection is lavish and loud, even when we have to be silent about it.
Rome is a constant puzzle. He is committed to us completely, but whenever he realizes the danger to me that might come because of our relationship, he gets this altruistic streak that tells him to break things off for my safety.
I do my best to enjoy our relationship while it’s here. While the world will still leave us alone.
Though I have an appointment in ten minutes, I comb over the copy of the ledger from Martin’s Dry Cleaners. At first glance, things appear in order, but I know better than to brush off Rome’s gut. If he thinks this business has something to do with the dreaded and highly addictive halluci-blend coming into Mayfield, then this is the place to look.
Some of the products they are buying I am not educated on, so I look up every single one, making a note of each business they’ve bought from so I can investigate their dealings, too.
This is turning into a longer project than I had anticipated. The spreadsheet I am putting together on my laptop is practically groaning at the amount of data that might actually lead to nothing important.
When I am interrupted by a knock, I cringe at the time. I am five
minutes late for my client, which is not acceptable.
Victor pops his head in with a smile. “I shampooed your one o’clock. You want me to cut her, too?” He adjusts the brunette bun atop his head.
There’s not a drop of judgment or anything passive aggressive in his question. Victor is being a team player, which is a truly good feeling. I love that I have surrounded myself with such solid people.
However, I despise that I am the one for which they are picking up slack. That’s not me. “I’ve got it. Thank you, Victor. Count on taking my tip from this one, okay? Sorry. I got caught up.”
Victor high-fives me and then runs a finger over his eyebrows to straighten them. “Don’t sweat it. I’ve got your back, Boss.”
To make up for my tardiness, I am extra chatty and on the ball while I tend to my client. When the next one comes in after I finish up with her, I notice that Rome is still at the table with my father.
They are usually done by now.
Orlando stands behind his cousin like a sentry, silent but visible enough to enforce respect. I hate that my father needs the visual reminder to be a decent person.
Orlando looks much like Rome, only taller and with a more intimidating musculature.
Also, I’ve seen Rome smile, but Orlando doesn’t bother with levity, as it doesn’t get the job done.
Usually, their meetings don’t last more than half an hour, but the two are glaring at each other with an intensity that twists my stomach.
I grumble at the two under my breath, even though I know they cannot hear me. “Nice attempt at peace, guys. I’m sure everyone in Mayfield is convinced.”
I don’t hold my father in the high esteem many girls do their fathers, but part of me does wish he could take a shine to Rome. I also don’t care if my eldest brother, Fintan, gets along with Rome, but it would be nice. Fintan doesn’t really like me all that much, so I can’t expect him to like my boyfriend.
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