“So what is this supposed to be?” Juliette asked outright. Overhead, a rusty pipe dripped a bead of water onto her neck.
“My father sprang it on me as well,” Roma answered, sounding like he was speaking through shards of glass in his throat. “This whole thing was Dimitri’s idea. I’m supposed to win back your trust and siphon information.”
Juliette bit down on the inside of her cheeks. Her guess was right. It was an attempt to finish what they had started five years ago, only Lord Montagov didn’t know that Juliette had already finished it.
“Does he know about—”
“The hospital?” Roma interrupted. “No. It hasn’t gotten back to them. They know about the . . .” He paused. Swallowed hard. “The confrontation, but as far as your role in it goes . . . your cousin kept the information contained.”
Which meant the White Flowers knew that Tyler had ambushed Alisa, that Juliette had killed Marshall, but they did not know why. They did not know that Tyler had accused Juliette of being a traitor, because as far as Tyler knew, he was wrong, and he did not want to be made a fool.
“Win back my trust and siphon information,” Juliette repeated softly. “Except I beat you to that game.”
The alley narrowed. Instinctively, Juliette swerved to avoid a rubbish bag, losing her careful distance with Roma as her fingers brushed up against his. The contact was brief, barely an event in the hubbub of the city, entirely infinitesimal when it came to a measurable length of time. All the same, her whole arm flexed like she had been shocked by an electric line. In her periphery, she caught Roma jolt, his expression hardening.
Neither of them said anything. They let the sound of distant tram lines and yelling paperboys ebb and flow around them. They let the silence run, because Juliette could hardly think when Roma was so close, and Roma didn’t seem too eager to loosen the anger in his eyes.
“It is clear why my father put me up to this,” he managed eventually. They turned into a wider alley. “But why did yours agree?”
Juliette pulled at one of the beads on her dress. It wasn’t a real question. She could hear it in his tone.
“You have a spy,” Roma went on when she remained unspeaking. “One of ours has infiltrated your inner circle. And whoever it is has talked your father into this.”
“I know,” she said, though she hadn’t been certain. Better to sound confident than have Roma think he was offering her new information. “Call them off if you’re so concerned.”
Roma snorted. The sound was uncharacteristic enough that Juliette glanced over sharply, catching him just as he ran a hand through his hair. It messed up the style, but he did not need to fix it to look perfect. It was something about the tilt of his chin, the blankness in his stare. He had changed more in these few months than he had in those years while she was away.
“I have nothing to do with it,” Roma replied sharply. “I suspect Dimitri sent them in. He’s planning something—something to hurt you and overthrow me at the same time.” There was a pause as he hopped in his step, avoiding a muddy puddle. “I think it’ll serve both of us to be wary of this situation. Let us not invite more plotting by defying this arrangement.”
He was right. That was logical. But God—was everything she had done for nothing? She had faked Marshall Seo’s death to remove Roma from her side, to quash any chance that she would cave and draw him back, and now they were to work together anyway? How unfeeling was she expected to be? There was only so much strength she could summon.
“If we are to collaborate,” Juliette said, “it must be public information. The White Flowers must agree that this is not a secret.”
Roma frowned. He had caught the tightness in her voice. “Of course. Why would it be?”
“I am only checking. Not a worry.” It was a colossal worry. If they were spotted together once more and suspected of being lovers, Tyler would destroy them—and then climb to the top and rule the Scarlets himself. Juliette could not let that happen.
She would rather die.
Juliette slowed her pace. They were fast approaching the restaurant again, having circled the buildings once over. “How does a week to collect our sources sound? Then we merge right into the French Concession.”
“Sounds fair,” Roma said, just as dryly. He came to an abrupt halt. Clearly he had no interest in accompanying her back to the restaurant, nor walking any farther when their conversation was finished.
With a shaky exhale, Juliette stopped too, smoothing her expression down until it was blank. She turned to face Roma, a polite goodbye poised on her tongue.
“But don’t be mistaken, Juliette.”
His eyes swiveled to her slowly. That once-familiar stare was now fathomless, and Juliette’s breath caught in her throat, stilling like a creature in the headlights. She was ready. She knew what he would say. But it still tore into her, it still stung as mightily as razor wire wrapped around her heart, both ends pulled until it could wrap no tighter.
“When this is over, I will have my revenge. You will answer to me for what you did.”
Juliette swallowed. She said nothing. She waited lest he had more to say, but when there was silence, she simply turned on her heel and walked away, her shoes clicking on the hard gravel.
Lord Cai was already in the car by the time Juliette returned to the alley behind the restaurant. She slapped her hands onto the hood of the car, huffing so vigorously into the cold that her breath was visible in a shroud around her.
“It’s not too late,” she said. “We can call an ambush. Lord Montagov remains yet in the vicinity.”
By now Roma had to have long left. An opportunity was an opportunity.
“Darling daughter”—Lord Cai pinched the bridge of his nose—“get in the car please.”
“Father,” Juliette shot back, “I crave violence.”
“Get in the car. Now.”
Juliette huffed again, then pushed off the car hood. “They are the enemy,” she snapped when she slammed the passenger door after herself. A loose bit of hair blew into her eyes, and she yanked it back. “If they have suggested a seemingly great idea, it is obviously with an ulterior motive, so why are we playing along—”
“The blood feud is a thoughtless notion, Juliette,” Lord Cai cut in, adjusting the rearview mirrors. “What have I taught you?”
Juliette drummed her fingers against her knee. She wished he wouldn’t make some lesson out of this now, when the boundaries were evidently black and white. Once, she would have been rather pleased to see a lessened hatred for the White Flowers, but at present it didn’t seem like her father was ignoring the blood feud. It seemed like . . . like he didn’t care. Like something else was more important.
“We hate those who harm us,” Juliette said, an echo of the words her father had given her long ago. “We do not hate senselessly.” She shook her head. “It is a pretty idea, but the White Flowers do want to hurt us.”
“Needs and desires change as fast as the breeze.” Lord Cai rolled down a window, and the cold flooded in. She was starting to think he had gotten too accustomed to the biting temperatures of his office. “So long as we do not lose face, if the leadership of the White Flowers requests a quiet cooperation so that both gangs survive a second monster reckoning, what is the issue?”