Chapter 8 Romeo #2
I should understand that more than anything. But she broke something loose inside of me the first day that I saw her, and now it feels like I’d burn anything down to keep feeling it. To not lose her.
"And what about what you want? What about your dreams, your career, your life?"
She swallows hard, looking back down at her papers. "My life is with Thad. That's what I chose."
"Did you? Or did your father choose for you?"
She stands abruptly, gathering her things with shaking hands. "I need to go."
I’ve pushed her too far. "Savannah—"
"Please." She looks at me, and there are tears in her eyes. "Please just leave me alone. I can't—I can't do this. Whatever this is, I can't."
She leaves, and I let her go this time. But I don't leave the library. Instead, I sit there for a long time, thinking about the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her voice.
She's not afraid of me. She's afraid of what I represent. The possibility of choice. The idea that she could want something different.
She’s afraid of how much she wants me, too, and what it would take to have what we both want.
That evening, I call Vince. Vince Santini is one of my father's people—a private investigator who specializes in finding information that people want to keep hidden. He's discreet, thorough, and expensive. But money is no object to me, especially when it comes to this.
"I need you to look into someone," I tell him. "Thaddeus Whitmore III. Charleston, South Carolina. He works for Edgar Beauregard. I’ve got someone on it, but I need someone to go deeper. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, anyway.”
"What am I looking for?"
"Everything. Financials, shady trading, if he has so much as a traffic ticket. But especially anything involving women. Past relationships, complaints, incidents that might have been covered up."
There's a pause. "This is personal."
"Yes."
"Your father knows about this?"
"No. And he doesn't need to."
Another pause. "It'll take a few days. Maybe a week. And if you want me to keep it quiet, I’ll need a bonus."
My jaw tightens. "I need it faster."
"Romeo—"
"I'll pay double your usual rate. Just get me the information."
He sighs. "I'll see what I can do."
While I wait for Vince's report, I don't stay away from Savannah.
I can't. The next morning, I'm at the coffee shop again.
Same table, same two cups. She sees me when she walks in, and I watch her consider turning around and leaving.
But she doesn't. She comes to the table, and this time she sits down without being asked.
"You're persistent," she says. There’s no smile on her face, but she doesn’t look angry, either.
I give her my most charming smile. "I prefer 'dedicated.'"
She almost smiles in return. Almost. "This has to stop, Romeo. Thad is—he's getting suspicious. He's asking questions about you. About how much time we spend together."
"Let him ask."
"You don't understand. He's—" She stops, and there's something in her expression that makes my blood run cold. "He's not a good person to have as an enemy."
"Neither am I."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to figure out what I mean by that—trying to reconcile the polite, intellectual classmate with whatever she's sensing beneath the surface.
"I should go," she says finally, but she doesn't move.
"Drink your coffee first. I made sure they got it exactly right."
She picks up the cup, and her hands are shaking slightly. "Why are you doing this?"
"I told you. I care about you."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough." I lean forward, keeping my voice low.
"I know you're brilliant. I know you light up when you talk about your research.
I know you have dreams that terrify you because they're so different from what you're supposed to want.
I know you feel trapped in a life that was chosen for you. I know—"
"Stop." But her voice is barely a whisper. "Please stop."
"Why? Because it's true? Because hearing it out loud makes it real?"
Her throat moves, and I see her jaw clench. "I'm engaged. I'm going to marry Thad. That's what's supposed to happen."
"Supposed to. But is it what you want?"
She doesn't answer. She just stands, leaving the coffee untouched again, and walks out.
But this time, she looks back.
—
Vince calls me two days later. "I found something," he says without preamble. "About Whitmore. You're not going to like it. Or hell, depending on what you’re doing with the info, maybe you will."
I sit up straighter on my couch. "Tell me."
"There was a girl. Emma Hartwell. She was a sophomore at USC when Whitmore was a senior. They dated for about three months."
"And?"
"And she dropped out suddenly in the middle of the spring semester.
Transferred to a school in California, as far from South Carolina as she could get.
No official complaint was ever filed, but there were rumors.
Whispers about an incident at a party, about Whitmore getting violent when she tried to break up with him. "
My hand tightens around the phone. "How violent?"
"Violent enough that she ended up in the hospital.
But the official story was that she fell down some stairs while drunk.
Whitmore's father made sure of that, seems like—paid off the right people, made sure no charges were filed.
The whole thing was swept under the rug as a 'boys being boys' incident. "
"Where is she now?"
"Still in California. Married, different last name. She's not going to talk, Romeo. I tried reaching out through intermediaries, and she made it very clear she wants nothing to do with anything related to Whitmore."
I nod, blowing out a sharp breath. "What else?"
"There were other incidents. Nothing as serious, but a pattern. Girls who dated him briefly and then cut off all contact. A harassment complaint that was withdrawn. Rumors of controlling behavior, possessiveness, anger issues. Nothing that stuck, nothing that could be proven, but—"
I suck at my teeth briefly, that familiar rage coiling in my gut. "But enough to paint a picture."
"Yeah. This guy is bad news. And his family has enough money and connections to make sure nothing ever comes back on him."
I'm silent for a moment, processing this. The rage building in my chest feels cold and focused, almost comforting in how familiar it is. This is what I know. Everything with Savannah feels unfamiliar and chaotic, but this… this is where I shine.
"I want him followed," I say. "Twenty-four seven. I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to, and everything he does. I want to know if he so much as looks at Savannah the wrong way. I want documentation of everything. Photos, recordings, whatever you can get."
"That's going to be expensive. And risky. If he finds out—"
"I don't care. Just do it." I hang up and immediately call Luca. "I need to talk to you. Now."
We meet at a café in Brooklyn, far enough from our usual haunts that we likely won’t run into anyone that we know. I tell him everything about Whitmore's past.
"I want to kill him," I say flatly. "I want to put a bullet in his head and dump his body in the Hudson."
"Romeo—"
"I'm serious. He hurt that girl, and probably more of them. He's going to hurt Savannah. I can't—" I stop, running my hand through my hair. "I can't let that happen."
Luca is quiet for a long moment. Then he says carefully, "You can't kill him."
"Why not?"
“If you kill him, and she figures out it’s you, she’s going to run. I get that you want her to love you exactly as you are, or whatever, Romeo—but this girl isn’t mafia-born. She’s not going to easily swallow that you killed her fiancé, even if it gets her out of a bad situation.”
I blow a sharp breath out. “She doesn’t have to know it was me.”
“She's not stupid, Romeo. She knows there's something different about you. Something dangerous. And if you kill her fiancé—no matter how much of an asshole he is—she'll never forgive you. She'll never trust you. You'll lose her forever."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he's wrong, that Savannah would understand, that she'd be grateful to be free of Whitmore.
But he could be right.
"So what do I do?" I ask. I hate how helpless I sound.
"You do what you're already doing. You show her that there's another option. You be patient. You let her come to her own conclusions about Whitmore. And you make sure she knows that when she's ready to leave him, you'll be there."
"And if he hurts her before then?"
"Then you deal with it. But not by killing him. Not unless you want to lose her forever."
I'm silent, my jaw clenched.
"Have him followed," Luca says. "Document everything. Build a case. If he does anything—anything—that crosses a line, you'll have evidence. You can use it to protect her without having to resort to violence."
I press my lips together in a flat line. "And if that's not enough?"
"Then we'll figure something else out. But Romeo—" He leans forward, his expression serious.
"You need to be smart about this. Dante is already suspicious.
He knows something's going on with you. And if he finds out you're this obsessed with a Beauregard, if he thinks you're putting the family at risk—"
"I don't care about Dante."
"You should. Because if he decides you're a liability, he won't hesitate to remove you. And then who's going to protect Savannah?"
The logic is sound, even if I hate it. I nod slowly.
"Good." Luca sits back. "Now tell me—what's your plan? How are you going to win her over?"
"I don't know." I tap my fingers against the table, looking away. "She's avoiding me. She won't respond to my texts. Every time I try to talk to her, she runs away."
"So stop chasing her. Start courting her."
"What?"
"You heard me. Court her. Date her. Like a normal person. Bring her flowers. Leave her little gifts. Show her that you can be the kind of man she deserves."
I frown at him. "I don't know how to do that."