Page 83 of From Rome, With Hate

My heart is pounding, and this sudden thrill rushes through my veins. I feel the same I did when we used to meet in secret all those years ago.

Laying down, he turns on his side to face me, tucking his hand under his pillow. We stare at one another for a few heartbeats. There’s a small tilt to his mouth as his eyes roam over my face, making my mind flood with memories.

Stolen kisses, gut-wrenching laughter, earth-shattering orgasms. I remember it all.

I’m overwhelmed by the memories, so I decide to turn over. Maybe if I stare at the wall long enough, all of this between us will start to make sense.

“Lark…”

I reach behind me for his hand, and scoot back until my back hits his chest, and his hand is spread over my stomach. It used to be the only way either of us were able to fall asleep when we stayed here years ago.

We lie in silence now, but I’m hyperaware of how close he is, that this is the first time we’ve been in bed together since before our entire world fell apart.

I close my eyes and listen to our synchronized breaths until…

“My dad is in prison because of me.”

His confession has my eyes snapping open. “What?” I rasp. “What do you mean?”

“I was the one who turned him in.”

“Rome.” My voice cracks as fresh tears spring to my eyes. “I?—”

I try to turn around and face him but stop when he holds me close, pressing his fingers firmly against me. He’s using me as an anchor, and I let him.

“I need to get this out, Lark,” he whispers into my hair, breathing me in. “Please.”

In the kitchen earlier, I called Rome out for being a hypocrite. He kept me in the dark about his life just as much as I have with him, and here he is, proving to me he isn’t the same man he was ten years ago.

“Okay,” I whisper back, preparing for what he’s about to share.

“It had been three days since we agreed to separate,” he begins, his voice cracking. “I’d spent the night getting drunk and high, convinced I’d lost you forever, even though we agreed to stay married. Realizing that our marriage barely had a chance to survive. I thought about our daughter and how I’d never get to hold her again. Those thoughts only fueled my need to disappear into oblivion. I’d been in the main house when I ventured out to the pool house, looking for the stash of cocaine I knew my father hid behind a painting in the wall. That’s when I found her…” He trails off, and my heart shatters imagining what it must have been like to see his mother in that state. My pillow and face are quickly soaked with tears.

“She was lying on top of the pool table, with her arms spread and her legs hanging over the edge. Her skirt was pulled up over her hips, her shirt torn straight down the middle of her chest. I can still hear the blood dripping off the sides of the pool table, onto the floor. I can still see her pale skin. I’d never seen her eyes so empty and void of… life.”

I squeeze Rome’s hand. He’s reciting it as if he’s been reliving it every day since.

I’d never been fortunate enough to officially meet with Elena Montgomery, considering she hated me by sheer name only, but I always knew from the way Rome talked about her that she was loving and kind in her own way. Despite her stern exterior, she was a mother who loved her son.

“When I realized there was no saving her, that she’d been there for several hours, I raced out of the house to find my father. He was in his study, casually puffing a cigar. I told him what happened, and he called the police. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so calm, especially after telling him something so devastating.” He blows out a weighted breath. “After the paramedics took her and the police left, I realized how strange he’d been acting. I was heading for bed when I overheard him talking to his men, congratulating them on getting the job done successfully. He was proud of them for carrying out his revenge on her for what he felt was betrayal.” His voice is laced with bitterness and anger. “I turned right around and headed straight for the police station to turn him in.”

Silent tears stream down my face as I choke back a sob. I sniff and manage to say, “I didn’t know, Rome. I’m so sorry.”

I’d completely cut off Rome in the initial days and weeks after our separation. Guilt eats away at me for not checking in with him after I heard the news of his mother’s murder. He lost a child, his wife, then his mother, all in one week.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, hoping he knows how much I mean it.

“I asked the police to keep me anonymous,” he continues, still caught in the memory. “I didn’t want to testify at trial, but they didn’t need me to. They’d discovered enough evidence to convict. Sperm containing seven DNA profiles were found on her, all tracing back to men who worked for our family. Even then, though, my father’s suspicion never waned. He always suspected it was me who’d turned him in, and he was right. I wanted to leave that world, and he knew it. In the months after, I had this feeling I was being tracked. You don’t take down the head of the Italian mafia without reaping the consequences. I didn’t know what to do. So, when he approached me with an offer, I couldn’t refuse.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Who? What offer?”

I feel him swallow thickly behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. “Rhys O’Connell approached me and offered me a deal in exchange for protection.”

He doesn’t elaborate on who Rhys is. He doesn’t need to. I already know.

Rhys O’Connell, head of the Irish mafia. The one London’s ex-husband got tangled up with last year and faked his own death to hide from. Rome Montgomery not only betrayed his family in his father’s eyes by turning him in, but he’s also been working with the Irish for years.

“What was the deal?”