by Sienna Blake
“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.
“Well,” I told my mother, pride growing in my chest, “we did it. The Innocence Project has officially started. We got ourselves a brand new office, hired our first staff member and we got our first client. Roman was just with him.”
I let out a long breath when I thought over the last few years. I couldn’t believe we were here. “Can you imagine…a man everyone assumed was a criminal is now the one putting them away? I’m so proud of him. He is the man I always knew he was. And we finally found a way to turn that blood money into something good.”
After Roman announced he was alive, it came out that Giovanni had left a considerable amount of money for him. When I say “considerable”, I really mean he could have bought a small damn country with the money his father left him. While he’d been alive, Giovanni had managed to separate this sum of money away from the Tyrell empire just in case his empire ever fell. For months Roman refused to touch it. It sat in an account in his name until I had the brainwave to use it to fund The Innocence Project. The money allowed us to charge only what our clients could afford.
Roman would work the legal side. I would work the investigative side. Together we were a team. I had quit the police department and needed a job. I couldn’t work for the police force anymore. I needed to get out from my father’s footsteps and make my own path. The Innocence Project was perfect.
Anyway…happy birthday, Mom.” I stepped forward and placed her favorite flowers on her resting place.
Roman stepped out from between two gravestones like he had over two years ago, causing me to suck in a breath. He still knocked the wind out of me. He looked just like he did that first time, suave and powerful in his Armani suit, his dark hair swept back off his chiseled features. Perfect lips pulled in a smile just for me.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He strode up to me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me, his tongue finding mine, holding me like I was the most precious jewel in the world. My body rushed with heat like it did every time he touched me, and I curled my fingers into his shirt.
A thrill went through me. Mrs. Tyrell. I loved hearing him say those words. And I was proud to call myself that. I chuckled, wondering how long it would take for me to get used to that name.
We had walked into Waverley Cathedral together hand in hand a few months ago and were married by Father Laurence in front of my father, Nora and Nonna. All the people who mattered.
“Am I late?” he asked.
I grinned. “No, you’re just in time.” Like he always was.
He slid his hand onto my round belly and bent down so he could mumble against my bulge. When the doctor told us that I must have gotten pregnant on our honeymoon, in Paris of course, just after I stopped taking the pill, Roman practically beat his chest like a caveman. “And hello to you too, little Mercutio Espinoza Tyrell. I missed you and your beautiful mommy today.”
I rolled my eyes. “What if she’s a girl?”
“My beautiful Abigail Maria Tyrell, I hope you have Mommy’s looks.” He winked at me.
My grin widened.
“Have you been talking to your mother about me?” He straightened and pulled me back into his arms.
I rolled my eyes. “Not everything I say is about you.”
“Of course not. Sometimes it’s about what you think of me.”
I poked his firm chest. He pretended to bite my finger.
“Sorry I’m late, Julu,” a voice called out. My father appeared on one of the paths through the gravestones. “I had to stop for some pesky freeloaders.” He rolled his eyes but he was grinning.
“Really, Monty.” Nora appeared behind him, arm in arm with Nonna. Nora had taken to calling my father Monty. Only she could get away with that. “Anyone would think you don’t like us. When it was you who insisted on coming to pick us both up.”
Lately, I suspected that Nora and my father were getting really close. I caught their stolen looks when they thought I wasn’t looking. I think they hadn’t told me because they were afraid of my disapproval, but I was thrilled for them. I was going to let them sweat it out a little longer before I put them out of their misery and told them that I knew and that it made me happier than anything.
I grinned as my family, our family, walked toward us to celebrate my mother’s birthday with my husband, our growing baby and me.
My father gave me a hug, shook Roman’s hand and placed a small white cake box next to my peonies on Mama’s grave. “Pancakes,” he said as he winked at me.
I smiled even through a pang of sadness. Mama got her birthday pancakes after all.
“I hope you two weren’t making out in a cemetery,” Nora said, giving me a wicked look.
“No!” Roman said in horror. He flushed. I laughed.
I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. My mother would have loved Nora if they had ever met.
Nora wiggled her finger at Roman and whispered, “Freaky deaky,” before giving us both a wink.
“Good Lord, girl, you’re about to pop!” Nonna said as she enveloped me in a warm hug that smelled like apple pie. We were all going to Nonna’s place after this for dinner. I bet I knew what was for dessert. Roman’s favorite. “Roman, you’re not making this poor girl work all day, are you?”
“Er, she wants to work.”
“Roman,” Nonna said, sounding horrified. “You should be waiting on her hand and foot at home at this stage.”
“Of course, Nonna,” he said, sounding chastised. “But she’s never been very good at being told what to do.” He shot me a cheeky look over Nonna’s shoulder. I hid my blush. He’s always been very good at telling me what to do.
“Who are we missing?” Nora asked.
“Sorry, I’m here,” Father Laurence called as he jogged up the path towards us, his robe swishing around his ankles. There were more hugs all round as he joined us. He kissed my cheek and beamed at my belly. “Have you been taking those herbs I gave you?” he asked.
I almost laughed at the shocked look on both Roman and my father’s faces.
I nodded at the Father. “The morning sickness is all gone.”
“Well,” my father said, his chest deflating with relief. “We’re all here. Shall we begin?”
The six of us stood in a close huddle and sang “Happy Birthday” to the woman who birthed me, who loved me, and who, in a way, was the reason we were all standing here today. Even as the air was tinged with sadness for the ones who could not be here with us in person, I had never felt so happy.
It turns out that I was right all those years ago. Paris would never last. Paris was just a dream, a lovely dream. But this life, our real life, was so, so much better.
The End
Dedication
For someone who expresses her deepest thoughts and feelings publicly through her novels, I let few people into my inner circle. This small group is cultivated. But once you’re in, you’re in. I will love you and never judge you.
Never.
That’s my friendship promise to you, if you deserve it.
If you cheat on your partner, I’m standing by you.
If you join a hippie commune and never wear clothes again, I’ll support that.
If you reveal that your idea of fun is three men, hot candles and a hamster… I’m totally high-fiveing that shit.
Roman and Julianna’s love came from a conversation I had with a few friends about whether we could still love someone close to us who had killed another human being. I was adamant that I would. I would need to understand why it happened, but I would. Because that’s what I think love is.
So, this series is dedicated to my closest friends, you beautiful, imperfect beings. I love you and I’ll stand by through anything.
(Even visit you in prison.)
Please, post a review for Hanging in the Stars on Amazon!
This is absolutely the bestest, kindest, most awesome thing you can do for me! Seriously. Even if it’s just one sentence. One word. An emoji!
Thank you.
xoxo Sienna
Bound by Lies
Bound #1
Sienna Blake
Please enjoy your BONUS book!
xoxo Sienna
He contacts me only through notes − unpredictable and untraceable. When we meet, he can touch me, but I’m not allowed to touch him. When we make love, it’s only after I have been bound and blindfolded. It’s the only time I truly feel alive. Which is why I play along with it. For now.
I could never have imagined that pulling at his tangled web of secrets would cause my own dark past to come back to try and reclaim me.
Will we survive? Will our love?
Bound by Lies (Bound #1): a novel / by Sienna Blake. – 3rd Ed.
First Digital Edition: January 2014
Published by SB Publishing
Copyright 2014 Sienna Blake
Cover art copyright 2013 SB Publishing. All Rights Reserved Sienna Blake. Stock images: shutterstock
Editing services by Proof Positive: http://proofpositivepro.com.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
“You won’t realize how strong you are until you are given no other choice.”
~ kitten
This book is for the strong in all of us.
1
Bound is a loud, moralless pit hole slunk in the shadows of the warehouse district of this city, gritty exposed-brick walls, exposed ceilings and rusted pipes
, and medieval furniture made of thick wood and black iron. The staff is costumed in structured leather, whalebone and PVC. Some of them wear masks to protect their day-time identities. Others wear their faces open and proud with painted red lips. Some adorn themselves with spiked collars or jewels on chains strung across from various body piercings like Christmas decorations.
The music is so wild it almost sounds like it has no beat. Just a furious epileptic noise that bangs through the bodies on the dance floor, a perfect soundtrack to the carnal stills of thrusting hips and flicking hair given up by the flickering strobe lights. It is a perfect place to meet like-minded people who have something to forget…
I lean my elbows against the bar, stirring my straw through my vodka and tonic, trying to pay attention to the guy on my left who bought me this drink. My mind is too scattered. This itchy, uncomfortable feeling clenches me like too-tight skin, and my unwanted memories are like a buoy. They keep bobbing up to the surface no matter how much I keep pushing them back under.
“You’re hurting me…”
God, I need a distraction.
I watch Barry or Bozo, or whatever this clown’s name is, waving his fingers around as he talks. I nod my head like I give a shit and wonder how long decorum dictates that I wait to suggest that he pay for a private booth. His brown hair is conservatively cut and combed to one side; he reminds me of a Ken doll. Especially when he flashes that expensively purchased smile of his. He wears a tailored pinstriped suit with a red silk folded handkerchief in his jacket pocket. Who the hell wears a frickin’ handkerchief in their pocket to a club? Corporate-douchebag-Ken does.