Chapter 17 Rosalie
ROSALIE
Weeks had gone by, but I still caught myself replaying the memory of Max’s kiss.
It wasn’t just the feel of his lips, soft and warm against mine—it was the taste. The smoke. It mingled with my cherry lip gloss, a taste I seemed to want more of.
The worst part? I hadn’t seen him since that kiss. Encounters with Max were always sudden, but now it felt like he was avoiding me.
I guess I could understand why. Engaged women, after all, weren’t supposed to crave smoky kisses with men they shouldn’t even be thinking about.
The guilt gnawed at me. Lucas was perfect for many women: stable, successful, with a nice smile.
We’d work together. It would feel safe, secure, and most certainly predictable.
But his eyes weren’t brown, and his beard wasn’t trimmed.
He wasn’t overly protective, and he wasn’t jealous.
He didn’t wear Armani suits, and he didn’t know my coffee order.
Frustrated with myself, I let out a sigh and leaned against the window.
“Are you all right?” Sean asked, turning to the right slightly to give me his attention.
“Yes,” I said quickly, worried he knew who I was thinking about. Sure, nothing had really happened with Max, but what we’d done still wasn’t right. I didn’t want the poor guy to die.
The thought only made my mind wander. I thought about what he’d said.
“Don’t kiss another man, Rosalie. I may not be as forgiving next time.”
Forgiving? He’d made it sound like he was the one who killed the men who kissed me. I didn’t believe he was capable of doing something like that without telling me, so I ignored the thought.
Eventually, Sean parked the car on the side of the road.
“Just wait here,” I instructed, fumbling with the door handle.
He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “Nah. I’ll come in with you.”
We walked side by side down the sidewalk until we reached the door to Margot’s studio. She wanted me to pick up something before she left for the night. I figured it was the piece my Momma had likely bought.
The chipped green paint on the door matched the description Margot had given me. I’d never set foot in the studio before this.
I reached out and pushed the door open.
Paint fumes stung my eyes, forcing me to squint as I adjusted to the light. The studio was a far cry from the sterile white galleries that showcased Margot and her daughter’s work.
“Helloooo?” I sang as I stepped further in. Canvases of all sizes leaned hazardously against the walls, some splashed with neon colors, others only half-completed.
Sean warmed my back, almost as clingy as Max.
A cough from behind the walls startled me, the sound echoing through the open space. “Hi, dear!” Margot shouted from the other side of the room. She rushed over to me, grabbed onto my hand, and took me to the back with her.
She began to ramble, of course, telling me all about her daughter’s new opportunities. She’d just got another gallery in Miami, and one in San Diego.
“And I figure Chicago would be a good next step, wouldn’t it?” I interjected, trying to get a word in. “I have a few cousins over there who might be interested.”
“Chicago’s definitely on the list, honey,” Margot confirmed. “Brooke has a couple of friends—Alex and Nina, I believe—who were actually planning on opening a collaborative art space here in the city.”
“Alex and Nina? I haven’t heard of them before.”
“Oh, some of their work is on display too, see?” She gestured to the wall with a painting hanging on it.
My eyes scanned the bottom corner, landing on the signature. It wasn’t the first name that grabbed me but the last name, written in a large cursive font.
Romano?
Panic prickled my skin. I reached out, tugging on the sleeve of Sean’s shirt where he stood right beside me, completely oblivious to what I was seeing. “Nina Romano,” I whispered to him, the name catching in my throat.
Surely, this couldn’t be right.
Had she been to the events before? Was it possible we’d interacted without either of us knowing?
Talking to a Romano was against the rules—which my father took very seriously. How would he react, knowing we could’ve been around them all this time? It wasn’t hard to believe. None of us knew what they looked like. They had inside help, most records of them falsified.
“Is the artist’s name Nina Romano?” Sean spoke up for me, asking Margot directly.
“Why, yes, of course,” she replied with a smile.
Sean’s gaze flicked back to mine, his brow furrowed.
If the Romanos were this close to us, that probably meant Sean and I needed to get the hell out of here.
“You mentioned having a painting for me,” I blurted out, the need to leave overshadowing everything else.
A wide grin split Margot’s face. “Absolutely!” she chirped, already weaving her way down the hall. She stopped before a canvas that was covered in a blanket. She took it off slowly and carefully. “This one is yours,” she declared.
Mine? I wanted to laugh. “I’m sure my mother will love it,” I said with forced enthusiasm. I couldn’t mask the envy gnawing at me.
“Your mother?” she asked. “No, sweetheart. Make no mistake, this one is yours.”
My face turned red. I knew my mother hadn’t bought this for me. This was the one I really liked, and it also happened to be the most expensive.
“My mother bought this?” I pressed, skepticism lacing my tone. “I think there might be a mistake.”
Margot waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, it was that handsome fellow who got it for you.”
“Lucas?” I questioned with a smile. He would never buy this for me. The very notion was ludicrous.
“No, no,” she said with another wave. “Nina’s brother. Max, I think his name was.”
The smile that had bloomed on my face evaporated as quickly as it appeared. My heart, which had been hammering erratically, plunged deep into my stomach. “Max?” I asked, feeling a cold sweat on my forehead. “Max Romano?” I repeated, hoping I’d misheard her.
This had to be a cruel joke. A nightmare. Please.
“Yes,” she said, still smiling. She didn’t notice the horror on my face. She didn’t understand the meaning behind that name.
The name. It didn’t sound right. He wouldn’t do that to me. Max wouldn’t betray me like that.
But it all made sense. I couldn’t deny it.
“Are you okay, dear?” she asked as I tried to focus on my breathing.
“Sorry.” I excused myself.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think.
“I think we’ll find another time to get that painting. Have a good one, Margot,” I heard Sean say as he held open the door for me. He knew how to remain calm and not draw attention, but I didn’t.
The thumping in my chest made me feel lightheaded. I felt a sharp pain. “Sean,” I said. It was all I could possibly come up with. “He—!” I cried. “Max—!”
Sean didn’t interrupt but gave me a small, reassuring nod. The betrayal didn’t hit nearly as deeply for him as it did for me. “Take a deep breath. Slow and steady.” He placed a hand on my stomach, mimicking the slow rise and fall with his own breath.
Hesitantly, I copied him.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Too many things added up.
I’d been so oblivious to it.
So na?ve.
So stupid.
How could I not have seen it? How could he have done this to me? How could he have played with my feelings? Used me? Deceived me?
Easy. He was a Romano. He’d found the sharpest knife he could, and he’d stabbed it in my back.
My father was right. The Romanos were awful. Liars, cheaters, and thieves. They didn’t care about us at all; they just wanted their power and their money. Max must’ve been after my father. He’d used me to get close to my father, gaining my trust to learn all my family’s secrets.
“What’re we going to do?” I worried.
“We’ll need to go to your father. Now.”
Sean was already calling my father, desperately trying to get a hold of him. His efforts seemed useless.
“Rose, if you don’t mind my asking, were you and Max . . .?”
Shame burned in my gut. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Shit,” he muttered, the single word heavy with understanding.
“What’s going to happen?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. He didn’t just betray one oath—he betrayed two. It’ll depend entirely on whether your father wants him behind bars or dead. We’ve heard stories of the Romano son and what he’s capable of. Staying as far away from him as possible is the ultimate goal.”
Then it registered with me. My father would likely have him implicated. Max would be gone. I hated that I’d fallen for a man who’d been deceiving me for years. For as long as I’d known him.
“But I once heard you say it was impossible to leave the Romanos’ web of lies.”
He nodded slowly. “It is. Especially with Max. If he wants something, he gets it. The only thing that can stop him is death.”
My heart dropped. “You’re going to kill him?”
“No. That would cause a war with the Italians and the Russians. We can incriminate him, but it’s unlikely he’ll stay in jail. He has too many connections.”
“Oh gosh.” I panicked. “Do we need to run?”
He shook his head slowly. “If your father is smart, he’ll lay a grave with your name on it. Max won’t come back if he can’t get what he wants.”
A deep part of me wanted everything to stay the same. To ask Sean to act as if he’d never heard the truth, so we could all continue on as before.
Could I even do something like that to Max? Not only would I be sending him to jail, but I’d be telling the biggest lie I’d ever told. He’d believe I was dead.
But I couldn’t forget what he’d done to me and my family. He’d deceived us all. He was just as twisted as they said he was.
His chilling threat echoed in my mind: “Don’t kiss another man, Rosalie. I may not be as forgiving next time.”
He wasn’t bluffing.
My blood boiled.
It felt as if a thousand suns had taken up residence behind my eyeballs, threatening to incinerate everything they saw, especially Max.
I was going to kill him.
I could already see the headlines: “World’s Most Jealous Man Killed by Angry Woman.” The image took over my mind. I could see the flashing cameras, yellow police tape, reporters shoving microphones in everyone’s faces.
And it would all be because of Max. It was him the entire time.
Derik and Simon . . .
There was no curse, there was no woman in the Bayou with a voodoo doll, and there was no bad luck.
It was Max, and I was going to make him pay for his lies. Not with blood, for that would be too easy, too quick.
He’d pay with the one thing he clearly craved: my time, my attention, my very life. I would deny him all of it, leaving him nothing but the bitter ashes of his own deceit.