Chapter 15 Romeo
ROMEO
Iwake up alone in my penthouse the next morning, and I know I have to do something.
I fucked up. I let myself act on impulse, on the desperate need to possess Savannah, to keep her with me, and instead, all I did was make her think I’m no better than her fucking piece-of-shit fiancé.
Now she’s in Charleston with her father, and with him, and the thought makes me feel like I’m going fucking insane.
I have to prove to her that I’ll do anything to keep her, that I’ll do things that help her, not harm her. Tying her to me with a baby isn’t the answer. She might already be pregnant, but if she’s not…
I can’t focus on that. I have to focus on what I can handle that doesn’t involve making her feel controlled. Because she’s right. She’s mine, but she’s also her own. I can’t control her choices when it comes to her body and her future, even if it would mean I could keep her.
The man who manipulates and coerces to get what he wants, the man who is so effective for my father’s needs, isn’t going to help when it comes to her. She makes me feel different, so I have to be different. I have to think about what’s best for her.
The problem is Whitmore.
As long as he exists in her life, she'll feel guilty. She'll feel trapped between duty and desire. She'll keep trying to do the "right thing" even though the right thing is slowly killing her.
But if Whitmore were gone—not just out of the picture, but completely destroyed—then there would be no conflict. No engagement to break. No guilt to carry. No father's expectations to fulfill.
She'd be free. And when she's free, she'll choose me. I know she will. Because what we have is real. What she has with him is an obligation.
I just need to remove the obligation.
I get dressed and call Luca. "We need to meet," I say when he answers. "Today. Now."
"Romeo, it's seven in the morning—"
"I don't care what time it is. I need to see you. The usual place. One hour."
There's a pause. Then he says, in a long-suffering voice, "This is about her, isn't it?"
"One hour, Luca."
I hang up before he can argue. And then I spend the next forty-five minutes pulling together everything I have on Thaddeus Whitmore.
It's more than even I realized I'd been accumulating. There are financial records showing suspicious transfers from Edgar’s company accounts, emails discussing deals that skirt the edge of legality. Evidence of embezzlement—small amounts at first, then larger. Proof that he's been using his position to funnel money into offshore accounts. He’s using Savannah’s father to enrich himself and pay off his debts, and he’s going to use everything he gets from marrying her to do the same.
It's exactly what I need.
I compile it all into a single dossier, evidence that could destroy a man's reputation, his career, his business. Evidence that would make Edgar Beauregard call off the wedding immediately. No matter how much he values the family ties with the Whitmores or whatever social credit comes with this, he’s not going to allow himself to be stolen from.
This is the solution. This is how I free her. I'm not controlling her, I'm removing the obstacle that's been controlling her all along.
She'll understand eventually. She'll see that I did this for her. For us. And she’ll thank me.
Luca meets me at the same Italian restaurant, which isn’t open at this hour, but is for us. He has a cannoli and coffee in front of him, undoubtedly wheedled out of the owner with his charm and good looks. Older Italian ladies can’t get enough of him—he’s the ultimate charmer.
The look on his face tells me he knows this conversation isn't going to go well. "You look like shit," he says as I sit down.
I frown at him. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You haven't been fine since you met her." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "What happened?"
“We argued. I fucked up.” I don’t really want to tell him the details. I pull out the dossier and slide it across the table. "I need your help with this."
Luca doesn't touch it. "What is it?"
"Everything you got me on Whitmore. Financial crimes. Embezzlement. Fraud. Enough to destroy him completely."
"And you want to—what? Leak it? Send it to the authorities?"
"I want to send it to Savannah’s father. Let him see what kind of man his daughter is engaged to. Let him call off the wedding himself."
"Jesus Christ." Luca runs a hand over his face. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious. This is the solution, Luca.
Don't you see? As long as Whitmore exists, Savannah feels trapped.
She feels guilty. She thinks she has to choose between duty and desire.
But if Whitmore is gone—if the engagement is broken—then there's no conflict.
She's free to choose me without any guilt. "
"That's not how this works."
"Yes, it is. That's exactly how it works."
"No, Romeo. What you're describing is manipulation. You're trying to engineer her life. You're trying to remove her choices."
"I'm removing an obstacle."
Luca pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're deciding what's best for her. You're deciding who she should be with. You're deciding what her life should look like. You’re just doing a different version of what everyone else does to her.”
My jaw clenches. "It's not the same as what Whitmore does."
"Isn't it? He controls her through obligation and family pressure. You're trying to control her through manipulation and sabotage. The methods are different, but the result is the same—you're both trying to take away her ability to make her own choices."
I stare at him, feeling anger rising in my chest. "You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly. You're in love with her.
You're obsessed with her. And you've convinced yourself that anything you do in the name of that love is justified.
But it's not, Romeo. It's not justified.
It's dangerous. You’re going to reignite a cold feud between families, and people are going to get hurt. Savannah might be one of them."
I shake my head fiercely. "I'm trying to help her. She wants me. I know she does. She's just—she's trapped. She's trapped by her father's expectations and Whitmore's control and—"
"And you think the solution is to trap her in a different way? To manipulate her circumstances so she has no choice but to come to you?"
"That's not what I'm doing."
"That's exactly what you're doing. If you release this, Whitmore is finished. His career, his reputation, his engagement—all of it, gone."
"Good."
"And Savannah will know you did it."
The words stop me. "What?"
"She's not stupid, Romeo. If this information suddenly appears right after the two of you fight and she tells you she’s done, she'll suspect where it came from. She'll know you did this. And she'll hate you for it."
"She'll understand—"
"If you go through with this—if you destroy Whitmore to clear the path to her—you'll be proving that you're exactly what she accused you of being. You'll be proving that you're no different from him."
I want to argue. I want to tell him he's wrong, that he doesn't understand, that this is different.
But the words won't come. Because somewhere, in a part of my mind I don't want to acknowledge, I know he's right.
"I can't lose her," I say finally. "I can't."
"Then you need to let her make her own choices, even if those choices break your heart."
I throw up my hands, my teeth gritting together. "I don't know how to do that. My entire fucking life has been about clearing a path to whatever my father wants, whatever I want. I’ve been taught that’s what to fucking do."
"Then learn. Because if you don't—if you keep going down this path—you're going to destroy her, and yourself, and everything you claim to love about her."
We sit in silence for a long moment. The dossier sits between us on the table, a physical representation of everything I've been planning, everything I've been willing to do.
"Don't do this," Luca says quietly.
I pick up the dossier, feeling the weight of it in my hands. "I need to think.”
"Promise me you won't do anything until you've thought this through.” He taps his fingers against the table. “Don’t be reckless, Romeo.”
I let out a heavy sigh. "I promise."
He looks at me, and I think we both know that I’m not going to be able to let this go.
I can’t just let Whitmore take her, and hurt her, and have her. What is all this power and influence for, if I can’t use it to save the woman I love?
If I can’t use it to give us both what I know we both want?
Halfway back to my apartment, my phone rings. I glance down and see that it’s my father calling me.
Unfortunately, that’s not a call I can ignore, no matter how not in the mood to have a conversation I am.
"Hello?" I try not to sound as irritable as I feel when I answer, but it’s difficult.
"My office. Now." His voice is sharp and angry, and my jaw clenches.
"I'm in the middle of—"
"Now, Romeo."
The line goes dead, and my mind races. When was the last time I spoke to Dante? A week ago? Two weeks? I've been so focused on Savannah that I've barely thought about family business.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe he's calling me in because I've been neglecting my responsibilities. Maybe this is about the shipment that came in last week, or the deal with the Russians, or—
I don't know, and I feel a twist of concern in my gut. I might have fucked up all the way around. I drive to the compound, my hands tight on the steering wheel, trying to prepare myself for whatever's coming, that knot of anxiety winding tighter.
—
My father is sitting behind his desk when I enter, and he doesn't look up. "Close the door," he says.
I do.
"Sit."
I sit.
He still doesn't look at me, scanning the file in front of him. For a long moment, the only sound is the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Then he looks up, and the expression on his face makes my stomach drop.
"Do you know what this is?" He gestures to the papers.
I shake my head. "No."