Julianna

Three months later…

We returned from Paris under the cloak of night. I spotted my father standing at the airport arrivals gate, a few plainclothes policemen at his side.

I threw myself into his arms. "Missed you, Julu," he said, his voice tight with emotion.

"Me too."

We pulled back. Roman stood beside me, our few bags at his feet. He cleared his voice. "Sir." He nodded respectfully to my father and stuck out his hand.

I held my breath. For a few moments it looked like my father was going to reject Roman's handshake.

My father grabbed Roman and pulled him in for a hug, slapping his back. Roman stared at me over my father's shoulder, the surprise in his eyes reflecting mine.

"Welcome home…son," I heard my father say.

"T-Thank you, sir."

My father pulled back and gave Roman a solemn nod. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother, Marco."

"Thank you. Colombia is a dangerous place. He had some very dangerous enemies." Roman didn't glance at me but I saw the dark flash in his eyes, sending a thrill up my spine. I knew who this dangerous enemy was.

My father and his armed guard escorted us to a hotel, where we were checked in under false names for the duration of the trials. After the tape in the barn was revealed, all of the Tyrell associates were scrambling over each other to make deals and turn each other in. There was very little left of the Tyrell empire.

Roman was on standby. He wouldn't be called up to testify unless the prosecutor felt they needed his testimony in order to secure a win. Thankfully, the evidence spoke for itself.

Until Abel's murder trial for the death of Roman's mother.

Giovanni had admitted on tape to ordering the murder of his wife. But the prosecutor needed Roman's testimony of what had happened on the night of his mother's murder, specifically, his testimony that his mother managed to injure her assailant with a cigarette lighter, leaving a scar exactly like the one that Abel had on the back of his right hand.

"You're going to be fine," I said to Roman, my hands picking invisible pieces of lint off his shoulders.

We stood in a witness waiting room down the corridor from the courtroom where Abel was being tried. I could feel the hardness of the bulletproof vest he wore under his suit. I hated that it was so dangerous that he had to wear one. I was glad that he didn't argue when my father entered the room earlier with a police-issued vest in his hand and demanded he wear it. Just in case.

"Mr. Tyrell?" the bailiff said from the doorway. "They're almost ready for you."

"Be brave," I said, echoing what he once told me.

"I am because you'll be there." Roman leaned in for a soft kiss, then left with the bailiff.

I slipped into one of the public benches in the courtroom. Abel sat at the defense table, a cruel smile on his face. His defense attorney, a weasely looking man in a navy pinstriped suit, sat beside him.

Mr. Snow, the state prosecutor, stood up. He was an older man with a face like Father Christmas but a reputation as a bulldog. He had worked alongside my mother when she had been alive, so he had a personal stake in this trial. He wasn't allowed to try the case against Abel for my mother's murder because he had been friends with her, but he was allowed to try Abel for Maria Tyrell's. "The prosecution would like to call one last witness to the stand."

"Objection," the defense attorney called as he rose to his feet. "There are no more witnesses on the witness list."

"It's a last-minute inclusion to the witness list. I'm sure once you hear who it is, you'll understand why we couldn't advise the court any earlier."

"That's hardly fair," the defense attorney argued. "I haven't had the time to prepare my cross-examination."

The judge eyed the two attorneys. "I'll allow it, Mr. Snow, but we will break for the day once you've finished your initial questioning. The defense can commence his cross-examination first thing tomorrow morning. I'm sure that's enough time to prepare, Mr. Frisk?"

My stomach churned as the defense attorney nodded and took his seat. Here it goes.

Mr. Snow cleared his throat. "The prosecution calls to the stand…Roman Giovanni Tyrell."

The courtroom erupted as everyone began talking at once. It was big news in Verona when Roman Tyrell "died" in the barn shootout. His being alive would no longer be a secret now.

"What the fuck?" Abel burst from his seat as Roman walked calmly into the courtroom following the bailiff. "You fucking rat. I'll fucking get you." Abel scrambled over the table at Roman. I leapt to my feet, preparing to shove my way through the crowd. To Roman's credit, he didn't flinch. The court security guards were on Abel in seconds, holding him back.

"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.