Roman

Ithrew myself into the passenger side and slammed Mercutio's car door, my duffel dropped at my feet. Weird emotions swirled around inside me. I hated myself for walking out on Julianna the way I did, as if she had meant nothing. But I knew, if I had crossed that room to kiss her one last time the way I'd wanted to, I'd never fucking leave. And I had to leave.

I could feel Mercutio staring at me. He still hadn't pulled away from the curb. I glared at him. "What?" I snapped.

He snorted. "Hello to you, too, motherfucker. Thanks for making your excuses to everyone last night. You're the fucking best for picking me up and taking me to the airport."

I slumped into my seat. "Sorry, Merc," I said, my voice soft and genuine.

He made a grunting sound and I knew it was his way of accepting my apology. "You look like shit."

That was him telling me we were okay. "Thanks."

He pulled away from the curb and into traffic. I sat in silence. I could feel his eyes glancing over to me every few seconds. "Who was she anyway?"

I shook my head. "The girl of my dreams, Merc. The girl of my fucking dreams."

"Seriously?"

"She makes me laugh, she's so fucking easy to talk to. And the sex…"

"TMI, bro. I don't need to know."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Merc." I let out a growl. "Every woman before her and after her is going to pale in comparison."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Does this mean you're only fucking dudes from now on?"

I punched him in the arm, causing him to swerve. The car next to us beeped loudly.

Merc cursed and straightened the car. "Shit, you know I'd support you even if you did fuck dudes. Wouldn't be into it, but I'd still love you, man."

"I'm not turning gay," I muttered. "Maybe joining the fucking priesthood."

Merc laughed. Until he glanced over at me. I was furious. Furious at life for dealing me the family I had. Furious at my father for being the tyrant that he was. Furious at my brother for dying, causing the spotlight to shine firmly onto me, meaning that I had to get away from Verona, now more than ever. Most of all I was furious at myself for walking away from Julianna.

"Jesus," Merc said, "you're really cut up about this girl."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"She's really that perfect."

"More than perfect."

"And you're letting her get away?"

"I asked her to come with me. Offered her a ticket to Paris…" I gritted my teeth. That's what really fucking hurt. I was alone in feeling like our connection was worth pursuing until the wheels fell off.

"And she said no."

"She said no. Just like you. Both of you bitches. I'm not good enough for either of you to leave this piece of shit city. Even if I pay for it."

"Roman…"

I growled. "Yeah, I know. You have your fucking reasons." Mercutio may have grown up with me, but his family was not well off like mine. Mercutio had refused to get involved in the "life". He was too proud to take a handout from me. He worked a steady job in IT after taking night classes while working a menial job at a factory. He refused to let me help him out with money. He'd always said, he'd come visit me in Europe when he could afford to pay for his own damn ticket. Proud fucker. I loved him like a brother.

I stared out the window, watching the city flash past me. Verona was like an old prison, the buildings its bars, blackened with soot and mold, barely letting the light seep down to the crumbling streets. The alleyways were in a constant haze from all the white smoke puffing out of open exhausts, and the pipes webbing across the sides of buildings cracked like joints. This was a place where the rules were harsh and unwritten. Where hidden players held the dice and decent people had no idea that they were merely sheep in a valley of wolves.

The next time I came back, it'd be for my father's funeral.

Once I got to London I had to figure out what to do with myself. Maybe, get a job at the boxing gym I'd attended for the last eight years. Learn how to save and shit. I couldn't keep living off my father's allowance. Especially now.

"So…" Merc's voice broke into my thoughts, "girl of your dreams, huh? What was her name?"

"Her name's?—"

"Holy fuck." Mercutio slammed on the brakes. I jerked forward and my seatbelt caught me across the chest. A chorus of beeps blared around us. The car skidded to a halt. A black Escalade had driven across the lane to barricade the road in front of us. Another black SUV blocked the road behind us. The few cars behind us began trickling around us in the farthest lane, slowly. I could feel their eyes and curiosity peering at the blockage in the road.

My heart began thumping in my chest. Either this was a planned hit from the Veronesis or my father's men had finally found me. I don't know which one I feared more.

Of all the times to be without a fucking gun.

"Are you packing, Merc?" I opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it, finding only papers and a small black torch.

"What? Hell no."

Damn him and his no gun policy. I slammed the compartment shut. The passenger door of the front Escalade opened. A figure stepped out.

Fuck. It was Abel.

Which meant my father was here for me.

I inhaled deeply and cursed my last name. I couldn't put my father off any longer. It was better to get out of the car and see what he wanted. I was cornered now. I took a deep breath and braced myself to face the dark presence that had been waiting here to catch me.

"Stay here," I said to Merc. "They want me, not you."

"I'm coming with?—"

"Merc, it's my father. He won't hurt me." At least, I hoped not. "He probably just wants to talk to me." I hoped. I wouldn't put anything past my father.

I opened the car door and stepped out.

"Roman," Merc called.

"Yeah?"

"Call me if you need me, k?"

I nodded, patting my jeans pocket to make sure my phone was with me. Then shut the door so I could face Abel.

They say that you should never judge a book by its cover. With Abel, he was every bit the monster on the inside as on the out. He was a wiry man, a few inches shorter than my six foot two, a scar that ran down from his left ear, down to the corner of his lip, as if he had once been caught in a fish hook and torn away from it. For almost as long as I could remember, he wore black leather gloves so he'd never leave a fingerprint anywhere. It wasn't his strength or fists you ever had to worry about. It was the various knives he always had in his possession and his ability to wield them like scalpels. And the fact that he had no soul. No remorse. No conscience. He would gut his sister's baby in front of her if it suited him.

He strode towards me, hatred rolling off him. I stood my ground. If there was one thing my father taught me, never let them see you flinch. If you flinch, you're dead.

Abel sneered and his scar puckered. "Your father wants you."

A black limousine rolled up beside us and stopped, the passenger side door by my side. Abel opened the door, holding it wide open for me. "Get in."

"I have a plane to catch."

Abel pulled out a gun and cocked the weapon, pointing the black barrel at my head. I had no doubt he'd shoot given half the chance. "Get. In."