Updated Oct 1, 2025 • ~9 min read
The man stepped from the shadows, and Juliette’s breath caught.
He was young—mid-twenties maybe—with cold eyes and a scar running through his left eyebrow. He wore expensive clothes that didn’t match the threat radiating off him like heat.
“Who are you?” Juliette managed, her back pressed against the elevator door.
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is you listen very carefully.” He moved closer, invading her space. “Your husband made a deal with my boss. Stalemate, mutually assured destruction, all that dramatic bullshit. But here’s the thing about deals—they only work when both parties have something to lose.”
“Roman left. He’s gone.” Her voice shook. “Whatever you want from him—”
“We know he left. Watched him pack his shit and disappear like the coward he is.” The man smiled, and it was reptilian. “Which means the deal’s off. He abandoned his protection. Which means you’re fair game.”
Terror flooded her system. “The street rules—wives are supposed to be—”
“Off-limits when the husband’s around to enforce it. But Carver ran. Probably on a bus to nowhere right now. Which means nobody’s coming to save you, Mrs. Carver.” He pulled out a phone, started typing. “My boss wants to talk. You’re going to come with me quietly, or this gets messy. Your choice.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Wrong answer.” He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising. “Let’s try this again—”
The stairwell door exploded open.
Roman came through it like a hurricane—fury and violence and barely controlled rage. He slammed into the man with enough force to send them both crashing into the wall. The phone skittered across the floor.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife,” Roman snarled.
The man swung wild, catching Roman’s injured shoulder. Roman grunted but didn’t let go, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.
“Run,” Roman barked at Juliette. “Get out of here. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Juliette, RUN!”
But she couldn’t. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could only watch as the two men fought with brutal efficiency—fists and elbows and the ugly practicality of street violence.
The man got his hand to his waistband. Pulled a knife.
“Roman!” Juliette screamed.
Roman saw it, twisted, but not fast enough. The blade opened a line across his ribs—not deep, but enough to draw blood. He responded by slamming the man’s head into the wall once, twice, until he went limp and slid to the floor.
Roman stood over him, breathing hard, blood seeping through his shirt. When he looked up at Juliette, his eyes were wild.
“Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”
“I’m fine. But you’re—you’re bleeding—”
“Doesn’t matter.” He kicked the knife away, pulled out his phone. “We need to move. More will be coming.”
“You came back.” The words tumbled out. “You left and you came back.”
“Of course I came back. You think I’d actually leave you?” He crossed to her in three strides, framing her face with shaking hands. “I got halfway to the bus station and realized—I don’t care if you meant what you said. I don’t care if this is a mistake. I’m not letting anyone hurt you. Not Nico, not his men, not God himself. You’re my wife and I protect what’s mine.”
“Roman, I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I was scared and I panicked and I said terrible things—”
“Later. We’ll talk later.” He pulled her toward the stairs. “Right now we need to disappear.”
They ran.
Down the stairs, through the back exit, into the alley behind the building. Roman’s car—a beat-up sedan he’d bought for cash two weeks ago—was parked illegally at the corner. He shoved Juliette into the passenger seat and peeled out before she had her seatbelt on.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.” He was driving like a man possessed, weaving through traffic, checking mirrors constantly. “Somewhere they can’t find us.”
“Roman, you’re bleeding. We need to—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine! You got stabbed!”
“It’s a scratch.” But his hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his breathing shallow. “I’ve had worse.”
“That doesn’t make it okay!” She was crying now, fear and relief and adrenaline mixing into hysteria. “You shouldn’t have come back. You should have stayed gone, stayed safe—”
“There is no safe without you.” He jerked the wheel, taking a corner too fast. “Don’t you get it, Juliette? I spent eight years in a cage dreaming about freedom. But the only freedom that matters is the kind where you’re in my life. Everything else is just another prison.”
“Even if it gets you killed?”
“Even then.” He glanced at her, and his eyes were fierce. “I’d rather die protecting you than live a hundred years without you. That’s not negotiable.”
They drove for twenty minutes, Roman taking random turns, doubling back, making sure they weren’t followed. Finally, he pulled into a parking garage downtown, killed the engine in a dark corner, and slumped forward against the steering wheel.
“Roman?” Juliette’s heart seized. “Roman, talk to me—”
“Just need a second.” His voice was strained. “Shoulder’s screaming. Ribs hurt. Might’ve reopened some stitches.”
“We’re going to a hospital.”
“Can’t. Too many questions. And Nico has people at every ER in Chicago.” He straightened with visible effort, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling in a favor. Someone who can help.”
“The clinic woman?”
“Someone better.” He dialed, waited. “Theo? It’s Roman. Yeah, I know. Listen, I need your help. Both of us. Somewhere safe for a few days.” Pause. “She’s my wife. She’s in danger. Please, man. I’m calling in eight years of favors.” Another pause. “Thank you. Text me the address. We’ll be there in twenty.”
He hung up, met Juliette’s eyes. “Theo Ashford. Childhood friend. Went straight when I went down—got out of the life, became a legitimate businessman. He’s got a place in the suburbs. Safe house, basically. We can hide there while I figure out what to do next.”
“What to do next? Roman, we can’t keep running—”
“We’re not running. We’re regrouping.” He cupped her face, thumb brushing away her tears. “I’m ending this. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long it takes. But first, I need to make sure you’re somewhere Nico can’t reach you.”
“And then what? You go after him alone?”
“If I have to.”
“No.” She grabbed his jacket, holding tight. “We’re doing this together. No more protecting me by pushing me away. No more making decisions alone. We’re partners, Roman. Equals. That’s the deal.”
“The deal was you married me for money—”
“The deal changed.” She kissed him, hard and desperate. “I love you. Not because of the money. Not because I’m trapped or scared or suffering from Stockholm syndrome. I love you because you’re brave and broken and you fight for the people you care about. Because you wrote me a hundred letters you were too afraid to send. Because you came back even when I told you to leave.”
“Juliette—”
“I choose you. Danger and all. Mob bosses and threats and whatever else comes. I choose you.” She rested her forehead against his. “So stop trying to be the hero who sacrifices himself. Be my husband instead. The one who stays.”
Roman’s breath shuddered out. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You keep saying that. I keep not caring.” She pulled back to meet his eyes. “Now take me to this safe house. Let’s get you patched up. And then we’re going to figure out how to end this together.”
“Together,” he echoed, like the word was salvation.
They drove to Mateo’s address—a gated community in Oak Park, all manicured lawns and security gates. Mateo met them at the door of a sprawling Colonial, his eyes widening when he saw the blood.
“Jesus, Rome. You look like hell.”
“Feel worse.” Roman stumbled, and Juliette caught him. “Mateo, this is Juliette. My wife.”
“The one from the news.” Mateo’s gaze sharpened with interest, but he stepped aside immediately. “Get inside. I’ve got a first aid kit. Maybe some whiskey for the pain.”
They made it to a guest room where Theo laid out supplies with the efficiency of someone who’d done this before. Juliette helped Roman out of his shirt, revealing the knife wound across his ribs—shallow but ugly, still bleeding sluggishly.
“Gonna need stitches,” Theo said grimly. “I can do it, but it’ll hurt like a bitch.”
“Just do it.”
What followed was another exercise in horror that made Juliette’s stomach turn. Theo cleaned and stitched while Roman bit down on a leather belt and Juliette held his hand so tight she thought her bones might break. When it was done, Roman was sheet-white, soaked with sweat.
“Shower, then sleep,” Theo ordered. “Both of you. We’ll figure out the Nico problem in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Juliette said quietly. “For helping us.”
“Roman and I go way back. He took a beating for me once, back when we were kids. Some guys from a rival crew cornered me, would’ve killed me. Rome stepped in, took the punishment instead.” Theo looked at his friend with something like reverence. “I owe him my life. This? This is just paying interest.”
After Mateo left, Juliette helped Roman to the bathroom, supported him through a shower that turned the water pink with blood. She washed him carefully, avoiding his injuries, trying not to cry at the new scars adding to the collection already mapped across his skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his back. “For what I said. For trying to leave. For—”
“Stop apologizing.” He turned in her arms, water streaming between them. “You were scared. You had every right to be.”
“But I hurt you. Said you were a mistake—”
“You were protecting yourself. I get it.” He cupped her face. “But Juliette? You could stab me in the heart and I’d still come back. That’s how much I love you. That’s how much I’ll always love you.”
She kissed him then, tasting water and desperation and the promise of survival. When they finally made it to bed, Roman pulled her against his chest—careful of his injuries but needing her close.
“We’re going to get through this,” he murmured into her hair. “All of it. Nico, the threats, whatever comes next. We’re going to survive.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Blood darkened his knuckles as he growled, “Do you trust me now?”
And despite everything—the violence, the danger, the impossible odds—Juliette found herself believing him.
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