Updated Oct 1, 2025 • ~11 min read
Juliette woke wrapped around Roman like he was a lifeline.
Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting golden stripes across tangled sheets and bare skin. Roman’s arm was around her waist, holding her against his chest, his breathing deep and even. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked peaceful. No nightmares. No tension. Just sleep.
Last night had been… God, last night had been everything.
Heat flooded her cheeks as memories flickered through her mind. Roman’s hands on her skin. His mouth everywhere. The way he’d said her name like a prayer, like she was something sacred. The way he’d been gentle and demanding all at once, reading her body like he’d been studying for it his whole life.
She’d never felt like that before. Never known intimacy could be so consuming, so overwhelming, so right.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Roman mumbled against her hair, his voice sleep-rough and sexy. “I can feel your brain working from here.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m not complaining.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another to the curve of her neck. “Waking up with you in my arms? Best morning of my life.”
“Even better than freedom?”
“Freedom doesn’t keep me warm. Doesn’t smell like vanilla and make sounds that drive me out of my mind.” He rolled her onto her back, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. His dark eyes were soft, tender in a way that made her chest ache. “You’re beautiful in the morning. All rumpled and soft.”
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re perfect.” He traced her collarbone with gentle fingers. “And you’re mine. How did I get this lucky?”
“You paid seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Roman’s expression went serious. “That bought me a piece of paper. Last night? That was a choice. You chose me, Juliette. Knowing everything—the past, the danger, the mess. You chose me anyway.”
“Yeah.” She reached up, cupping his face. “I did.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, and she felt herself melting into it. Into him. Into the terrifying idea that this man—this complicated, dangerous, beautiful man—might actually be hers.
When he pulled back, his expression had shifted to something darker. “I have to go tonight. To that meeting.”
Reality crashed back in like ice water. Juliette’s stomach dropped. “Roman—”
“I know. I know you hate it. But I need to end this. Need to make sure you’re safe before—” He stopped himself.
“Before what?”
He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working. Then: “There’s something you need to see. Something I should have shown you before, but I was afraid it would scare you off.”
“What is it?”
Roman rolled out of bed, unselfconscious in his nakedness, and retrieved his phone from the dresser. He pulled up something and handed it to her, his expression carefully blank.
It was a news article, dated nine years ago.
BRUTAL DOUBLE HOMICIDE ROCKS RIVER NORTH NIGHTCLUB SCENE
Juliette’s blood ran cold. She kept reading.
Two men found dead behind Apex, a popular nightclub owned by Roman Carver, 24. Police say the victims—identified as Julian Torres, 31, and Andre Calder, 29—were known associates of the Vitelli crime family. Sources indicate the killings may be gang-related. Carver, son of alleged enforcer Victor Carver, has been brought in for questioning but not charged…
She looked up at Roman, who’d pulled on jeans and was watching her with guarded eyes.
“A year before Marcus Beaumont,” he said quietly. “Double homicide behind my club. They questioned me for hours. Had nothing to tie me to it except proximity and my last name. But the rumors started then. That I was my father’s son. That I’d ordered the hit. That I was making moves to take over territory.”
“Did you?”
“No.” The word was flat, absolute. “Those men were killed as a message. To my father, to me, to everyone in that world. Stay in line or end up in a body bag. I didn’t order it. Didn’t even know it happened until the police showed up.”
“Then who did kill them?”
“Whoever wanted to frame me for it. Same person who killed Marcus Beaumont a year later. Someone who needed me out of the way.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “The first time, they couldn’t make it stick. Not enough evidence. But the second time, they got it right. Made sure my prints were on the gun. Made sure witnesses would testify. Made sure I’d go down.”
Juliette’s mind raced, pieces clicking together. “Someone systematic. Someone with resources.”
“Someone in the family. Someone my father trusted, probably.” Roman’s hands fisted on his thighs. “He died while I was in prison. Heart attack, they said. But I’ve always wondered if it was something else. If whoever came after me came after him too.”
“Roman.” She moved to him, wrapping the sheet around herself, kneeling beside him on the bed. “Who do you think it was?”
He was quiet for a long time. Then: “Nico Vitelli.”
The name hung in the air like a curse.
“His family ran the South Side for decades,” Roman continued, his voice hollow. “My father worked for them, but we were never made. Never official. Just muscle. Expendable. When I opened the club, started making real money, Nico saw an opportunity. Wanted to bring me in fully, make me his lieutenant. I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d seen what that life did to my father. The paranoia, the violence, the way he looked over his shoulder every second of every day. I wanted out. Wanted clean money, a legitimate business, a future that didn’t end in prison or a grave.” His laugh was bitter. “Ironic, right? Spent eight years in a cage anyway.”
“So Nico framed you. Because you wouldn’t join him.”
“That’s my theory. He eliminated his own men—Torres and Calder were his lieutenants—to consolidate power. Framed me for it. When that didn’t work, he tried again with Beaumont. That time, it stuck.” Roman turned to look at her, and his eyes were haunted. “Juliette, if I’m right, if Nico did this—he’s not going to stop. Not until I’m dead or back in prison. The meeting tonight? It’s with him.”
Terror seized her chest. “You can’t. Roman, you can’t go meet the man who destroyed your life—”
“I have to. It’s the only way to end this.” He gripped her shoulders. “But I need you to promise me something. If I don’t come back—”
“Don’t say that—”
“If I don’t come back, you take the money and you run. New city, new name, new life. Mr. Albright has instructions. He’ll help you disappear.”
“I’m not running without you.”
“You are if it keeps you alive.” His voice went hard. “Juliette, I love you. I’m in love with you. And that means I need you safe more than I need you with me. Promise me. Promise me you’ll run if this goes wrong.”
Tears burned her eyes. “I can’t promise that.”
“You have to.”
“No.” She pulled away, anger and fear tangling together. “You don’t get to do this. Don’t get to make me love you and then ask me to walk away if things get hard. That’s not how marriage works, Roman. That’s not how this works.”
“I’m trying to protect you!”
“I don’t want to be protected! I want to be your partner!” She was yelling now, her voice breaking. “You want me to be your wife? Really? Then treat me like one! Let me stand beside you, not behind you!”
“I can’t lose you.” His voice cracked. “I can’t, Juliette. I’ve lost everything else. My freedom, my father, eight years of my life. If I lose you too, I’m done. There’s nothing left.”
“Then don’t go. Don’t meet with him. We’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way.” He stood, pacing, running his hands through his hair. “He’s made threats. Sent messages. He’s watching us, watching you. The only way to end it is to face him. Figure out what he wants. Give it to him if I can, or—”
“Or what? Fight him? You’re one man, Roman. He has an entire organization.”
“I have leverage.” He went to his jacket, pulled out a USB drive from the inner pocket. “Eight years in prison, I had nothing but time. Time to think, to piece things together, to remember details I’d missed. I had friends on the outside—people who owed me favors—dig into Nico’s operations. This?” He held up the drive. “This is every illegal transaction, every bribe, every murder he’s ordered for the past decade. Enough to put him away for life.”
Juliette’s blood ran cold. “That’s your leverage? Evidence that could destroy him? Roman, that makes you a bigger threat, not a smaller one!”
“Which is why I need to meet him. Show him I have it. Make it clear that if anything happens to me, this goes straight to the FBI. Mutually assured destruction. It’s the only language he understands.”
“Or he kills you and takes it.”
“He doesn’t know where the copies are. I’ve got backups in three different locations. He kills me, they get released automatically.” Roman crossed back to her, kneeling so they were eye to eye. “Juliette, this is the play. It’s the only play. And it’ll work. I’ll make sure it works.”
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him.
But she’d read enough crime novels, watched enough movies, to know how these things ended. The hero going to confront the villain alone. The dramatic showdown. The tragedy.
“Let me come with you,” she tried one more time. “Please. Let me be there.”
“No.” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. “You stay here. Door locked. Phone on. If you don’t hear from me by midnight, you call Mr. Albright. He knows what to do.”
“Roman—”
“I love you.” He said it fierce and desperate. “I love you, and I’m going to come back to you. I promise.”
Promises made in desperation were the ones most likely to break.
But Juliette nodded anyway, because what choice did she have?
Roman left at eight PM, dressed in dark clothes, the USB drive tucked in his jacket pocket. He kissed her like he was memorizing the taste of her, held her like he wasn’t sure he’d get to again.
Then he was gone.
Juliette sat in the silent apartment, staring at her phone, watching the minutes tick by. Eight-fifteen. Eight-thirty. Nine.
She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t just sit here waiting.
At nine-thirty, she made a decision.
She called Mr. Albright.
“Mrs. Carver,” he answered on the first ring. “Is everything all right?”
“Where’s the meeting? Where did Roman go?”
Silence. Then: “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both. Mrs. Carver, Roman gave explicit instructions—”
“I don’t care about his instructions. I’m his wife and I need to know where he is. Now.”
More silence. Then, carefully: “The old Apex building. Where his club used to be. It’s abandoned now, condemned. He’s meeting Nico Vitelli there at ten.”
Juliette’s hands shook. “Thank you.”
“Mrs. Carver, don’t—”
She hung up.
She grabbed her jacket, her keys, her phone. She didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what she was going to do when she got there. But she knew with bone-deep certainty that she couldn’t let Roman face this alone.
If he was walking into danger, she was walking in with him.
Together. That’s what they’d promised.
And Juliette Sinclair—Juliette Carver—didn’t break her promises.
The abandoned building loomed in the darkness, all broken windows and graffiti. She parked a block away and approached on foot, her heart hammering so hard she could barely breathe.
A blood-smeared photo bore his name in bold—the image from that old news article, Roman young and furious and afraid.
She was about to walk into that same darkness.
And God help her, she wasn’t sure either of them would walk back out.
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