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.”
&nb
sp; 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.
He dropped to his knees, right on top of the driver’s throat with enough force to crush the man’s larynx, vocal cords, and anything else vital in the general vicinity.
The man’s eyes bugged out immediately and he clawed at Rom’s knee with his free hand. His other hand was trapped under Rom’s right knee.
Quite the pickle for Pio’s guys. Rom just hoped Asshole stayed down long enough for Orti to get around the van.
“Here’s how this is going to play out,” he said as the other two rounded the corner into sight. “You guys are going to finish untying me, give me the keys to the van, and lock yourselves in the warehouse.”
Nobody said anything for three seconds.
“Or what?” one of the other men sneered.
“My friends will sever your body parts with machine gun bullets and we’ll leave you here to bleed out.”
“What fr—” The man didn’t get to finish his sentence as the barrel of a semi-automatic found a vulnerable spot at the base of his spine.
Rom looked behind him to see Orti with a gun trained on his special friend. “Now. You can untie me immediately or I put my full 200 pounds on this guy’s throat and crush any singing career he might have been planning.” He looked between the two startled heavies. “Do either of you know how to perform a tracheotomy? Because he’ll probably need one once his airway collapses.”
The driver began to struggle in earnest now as Rom leveraged more weight on the man’s neck. He let him get a sense of what 200 pounds felt like bearing down, before he pulled back.
“What do you want to say to your boys?” He asked the driver.
“Do what he says,” came the raspy order as Rom allowed him enough air to talk.
Rom watched the options roll through the two, like cartoon thought bubbles over their heads. But in the end, they were hired goons. Hired by the guy under Rom’s knee, who was hired by another, and so on and so on until it all came back to Pio Mascaro.
The bastard would have more luck if he simply tried to kill Montgomery himself instead of sending imbeciles to do the job.
Nobody moved. Except Asshole on the asphalt behind him. He groaned, but didn’t get up.
He let a little more weight bear down on the driver’s throat.
“Keys…front, right pocket,” he breathed.
“Thanks. But I don’t feel like feeling you up in front of an audience,” Rom said. He couldn’t get the keys if he wanted. His hands were still tied.
“Why don’t you tell one of your boys there to cut me loose. And they better be real careful because if they do anything to upset me, my knee might slip and…well, you know, kill you.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
The driver gurgled a strangled, “Do it.”
Thirty seconds later, Rom’s hands were free and he helped the driver to his feet after he lifted his gun.
“See, this works.”
As soon as he had the keys, he helped Orti force the entire goofball gang into the warehouse, where they locked themselves in.
“I think we’re even now, yes?” Orti asked Rom, smiling.
Rom clasped his outstretched hand. Why had he ever doubted the benefit of the buddy-buddy team? “Yes. But how did you know I was here?”
“I had Mascaro followed. It was not difficult. The man is very arrogant and careless. When it was obvious he planned to set you up, I waited and followed you.”
Rom nodded, glad at last to be so wrong about someone and have it turn out good. “Do you know where they took the woman?”
Orti’s eyes were back to twinkling. “Of course. She is yours?”
“In every sense of the word,” Rom said.
“Well, then my friend. Let’s retrieve her, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty
Pio never said she couldn’t use the phone.
Jule dialed Rom’s cell phone number praying like she’d never done before that he would pick up. Midnight had come and gone. Following dinner and a drink, Pio had retired. To what, she didn’t know. Or care.
“Montgomery,” he answered.
“You answered,” was all she could think to say.
“I hope that’s a good thing,” Rom said.
“You have no idea. Where are you?” she asked.
“The better question would be, where are you?”
“You’re not going to believe this, I’m at the—”
“Palazzo museum,” he finished for her.
“With Pio. How’d you know?”
“A hunch. Are you okay?”
She wanted to shout “no, come and get me.” “Fine. Well fed, pampered with clothes and jewelry and at the beck and call of a goddamn lunatic. Rom, he won’t let me out of here. And he’s freaking me out.”
“Where is he now?” Rom asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe somewhere downstairs. We, ah, parted company after dinner and that was an hour ago.” She didn’t want to tell him Pio had demanded she strip in front of him to model her wedding dress. Which he had zipped up the back, all the while planting kisses from her tailbone to her neck.
After he had dismissed her, Jule ran all the way to her room where she’d showered and found the nearest phone in a back hall to call Rom.
She’d wanted to call the police, but thought better of it after realizing the precarious position a police interrogation would put Rom in.
“Where is your room?”
“Third floor, corner room on the east side.”
“I’m on my way now, but it will take over an hour.”
“Okay,” she said. “So we’ve got some time.”
“For what?”
“I found where the missing paintings are.”
Her pronouncement met silence.
“Come again,” Rom said.
“I know where they are.”
“Where?”
Jule took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Here.”
S
he could almost hear Rom thinking across the miles. They’d been through the chapel and seen the altar. Had they missed them?
“So I missed them.”
“No. You didn’t miss them. Pio didn’t move them here until after he started the takeover.”
“Mascaro has the paintings?”
“Yes. And I’ve seen them.” Although inadvertently as she wandered the house on the pretense of taking household inventory. They were in his office on easels, displayed for anyone who happened by.
It had been too easy, like Pio wanted her to find them.
“Well, that’s good news then.”
Jule didn’t know how to say it, so she just blurted it. “The seventh painting is of Pio.”
Rom breathed hard on the other end.
“What is he doing in the scene?”
“Besides looking mean and lethal?”
“Yeah,” Rom said.
“Fighting. Killing. Chasing me.”
“When you say killing, who is he killing exactly?”
“Well, not me. At least not in that painting.”
“Jule. You’re scaring me. Tell me about the other two.”
“The eighth panel is a fight to the death outside the lover’s tomb. And the final one is like the third. Inside the tomb. Juliet—me—is lying on an altar of light and Romeo is standing next to her, lowering his head for a kiss. He has the chalice in his hand.”
“What are you leaving out?” He asked after a minute of heavy silence.
“Pio stabs me in the eighth panel. And you kill him.”
Silence.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked, on the verge of a panic attack. “He’s seen the paintings, Rom. Studied them. He knows you’re coming to kill him.”
“Go back to your room, Jule. Lock the door.”
“You’re not hearing me. He knows. And he has a key to my room, anyway. He can kill me anytime. It’s you he wants.”
“Drive faster,” he said to someone else in the car.
Jule heard a creak somewhere down the hall. She pulled the phone away and listened to the house as it settled in the night. Rom asked a question she didn’t quite hear and Jule pressed the receiver back to her ear, looking into the dark, but not seeing anything.
Forbidden Kiss Page 16