Romeo

"You know the rules." Hugh tosses a thinner-than-usual wad of cash onto his desk and leans back in his chair. "You lost money, but I lost even more. What crawled up your ass out there?"

My jaw works. Damn it. Juliet achieved her goal—I forfeit my first fight because of rushing to her rescue like a loser, and fucking Richie used my lack of focus to beat me for the first time ever in my next fight. Rage had distracted me from the pain, but now it's strong enough to make me wince as I reach for the money.

"Dixon got you, good, huh?" Hugh chuckles darkly, running a palm over his bald head. "People might bet on him next time."

In his fucking dreams. I take a slow breath, trying to calm down—I don't want Hugh to see how mad I am.

And all because of Juliet.

Why did she come to the fight in that fucking dress, and how dare she bring Lawton with her? If I didn't know he's gay, I would've thought he had it bad for her.

Hugh arches his pierced brow, and I snap out of it. "Nobody's gonna bet on him. He was lucky."

"So were you. His punches were vicious. I didn't expect you to get up."

"I need to go." I shove the bills in my pocket. "See you..."

Fuck. The gala I need to attend is next Sunday, and the Miltons will be there. I can't bail, but after losing one of the fights, telling Hugh not to count on me next week is even less appealing.

"What?" He crosses his arms over his chest. "You'll be here next Sunday, right?"

"I can't."

Hugh groans. "I should've known once a woman was in the picture, you'd lose your mojo."

A woman? More like a thousand problems wrapped in a tight dress. What a fucking headache.

"I lost nothing," I say. "I just have something on Sunday I can't skip. I've never missed a fight."

"Fine." Hugh pushes to stand with a deep sigh. "It's gonna be Richie's lucky day. Without you, most will place their bets on him."

I ball my hands into fists at the reminder. This mess has just gotten bigger, and I have Juliet to thank for all of it. She shouldn't have come here, and she sure as hell shouldn't have told Lawton about the fights. I don't trust her, but I trust him even less. Nothing stops him from running his mouth. One word to the wrong person, and I'll be exposed.

I need to do something to make sure both of them keep quiet.

"Later, The Masked One." Hugh slaps my shoulder on his way out. I follow him into the already deserted warehouse, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my torso each movement brings.

As I step outside, a lighter clicks. Amber flame flickers, and Richie's snicker breaks the quiet as he emerges from the shadows, bringing a lit cigarette to his mouth.

"Nice limp." He takes a drag and throws his head back, releasing a stream of smoke before facing me. "Will Juliet kiss your boo-boos? She'd make one sexy nurse."

"Get lost, Dixon."

My words earn me a bout of derisive laughter. "It's good to see you lose. I hope your little distraction comes to the next fight."

He's goading me, trying to make me lose it so he can confirm he's gotten under my skin. Despite knowing his intentions, irritation boils my blood, warming my face beneath the mask.

"Where'd she come from?" he goes on. "She's not one of the regular spectators, and she looked uncomfortable."

He rubs his chin as if trying to piece together fragments of evidence.

I can't let him wonder. If he figures out Juliet's identity, he'll figure out mine, and it'll be an even bigger mess.

"She was here because of me," I say. "Stay away from her, or you'll be the one limping. Permanently."

Richie shrugs, tossing his cigarette onto the ground. He stubs it out with his boot, smirking. "Good night, The Masked One. Say hi to your girlfriend for me. Oh, and tell her not all tiger snakes have stripes. But those without them aren't any less dangerous."

What the hell? Unease grips me as Richie walks away and disappears around the corner.

Once I'm sure he's gone, I call Derek.

His expression is even more concerned this morning. I feel bad for disturbing his sleep, but going home in a cab would attract more unwanted attention. The last thing I need is for my parents to see me—I'd rather not answer their questions.

As I yank off the mask, Derek sighs at the sight of my reflection in the mirror. "Your face doesn't look good, Mr. Carrington."

My skin is tender, and a bruise is forming on my right cheek. Shit. I sag against the seat. "Don't worry. I'll ice it at home."

Derek's mouth parts, but then he shakes his head as if whatever he wants to tell me isn't a good idea. It only makes me want to hear it more.

"What?" I ask.

"Some sacrifices are noble," he says as the Mercedes merges with the traffic. "But you shouldn't keep putting yourself in danger."

I rub my tired eyes with the heels of my palms. "It's only my face."

Derek curls both hands around the steering wheel, focusing his gaze on the road.

"Thank God it was only that, Mr. Carrington. But luck doesn't last forever."

***

After a few restless hours of sleep and a bunch of boring lectures during which I don't see Juliet, I come up with a way to put her in her place.

My plan's a bit of a gamble, but what isn't? She should know coming to the fight would be a colossal mistake. I was too generous with her, but not anymore.

I'll need Derek's help because I can't count on anyone else. The request sits on the tip of my tongue, ready to be voiced as Derek drives up to my house, but Vincent's car catches my eye, and I let out a reluctant groan.

"Looks like Mr. Ashby is here," Derek says under his breath. His work ethic would never let him admit it, but I know he can't stand Addison's father.

Makes two of us.

"Yeah," I say, getting out of the car. "He's definitely here."

I'd rather not run into him, but as soon as I enter the foyer, my grandfather appears, holding a newspaper. "Romeo. We're having lunch. Would you join us?"

I want to tell him I already ate, but his question isn't a request. He looks at me the way he does when he wants something and gestures to the dining room with his free hand. As I turn to go there, he wraps his hand around my bicep, halting me.

His dark, still youthful eyes slide over my face, making me want to vanish.

"Holy shit." He touches my cheek with surprising gentleness. "Who did this?"

"Some guys tried to mug me last night," I blurt. I've told so many lies over the last few months I don't even blink.

My grandfather snorts. His reaction makes shivers of awareness spread over my skin. There's no way for him to know. Derek would never rat me out, and he's the only one who knows about the fights.

"I wasn't born yesterday." Grandpa pats my forearm. "But it's best if you tell that version to your parents. And Vincent."

He motions for me to go to the dining room first and follows me there, his steps confident and energetic.

I step into the room mid-conversation, but the moment my parents, Uncle Eli, and Vincent see me, they fall quiet.

My mother's gasp breaks the silence. "Oh my God, Romeo! What happened to your face?"

"Hi, Mom," I say, sitting. "It's nothing—some guys tried to mug me last night."

"Did you call the police?" my father asks, bringing his glass of wine to his lips. Everyone's plates are already empty. I'm not hungry, but I sure as fuck could use a drink.

"What for? It was just some kids. They ran away."

"Kids?" Mom arches her brow. "A kid wouldn't hit you like that."

Shit. I wish she'd just drop it. "I was outnumbered."

"Where did it happen?" My eyes dart to Vincent, whose smirk is smug under his thick mustache. Apparently, he wasn't born yesterday, either. "And what did they look like?"

"What does it matter?" I pour some water into a glass, knowing my parents don't like it when I drink in front of their asshat of a friend. "They didn't take anything, and I'm fine."

"That's irresponsible of someone who's going to—"

"Vincent," Uncle Eli interrupts him. "Let the youth be young. Nobody's giving Romeo the reins of the company yet. Let him be careless for a while longer."

My grandpa chuckles, leafing through the paper. "Well said. He should enjoy his free time while he still can."

"When did getting hit become enjoyable?" Mom scoffs. "We let too many things slide, and Vincent isn't wrong. It's our family's reputation. People won't think Romeo was mugged; they'll assume the worst like they always do. Besides, how will you explain the bruise at the gala next Sunday, Romeo?"

"He'll wear... what's it called." Grandpa looks at me over the rim of his gold-framed reading glasses. "Concealer. I'm sure you have some, Melissa."

"Addison does, too." Vincent rumples a linen napkin in his fist and tosses it onto the table next to his empty plate. "She'll be upset."

No, asshole. Your daughter won't give a fuck.

I'd be amused at how clueless Vincent is about my and Addison's relationship if my annoyance with him wasn't so strong.

"Speaking of Addie." A smile lights up Mom's face as she looks toward the doorway. "Welcome, sweetheart."

"Sorry for the delay." Addison makes her way to the table. "The traffic was awful. People will never learn to drive in this city."

"You shouldn't drive." Vincent tugs at the sleeve of her blue dress so she'd bend and kiss his cheek. "We've got chauffeurs for a reason."

Addison rolls her eyes. "I didn't get a license for nothing."

After greeting her father, she settles in a chair beside mine.

"Hi," she whispers, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of my bruise.

"Romeo was mugged," Vincent says, keeping his contemptuous gaze glued to my face as if he's waiting for me to give myself away somehow. "And he didn't call the police."

Addison shrugs. "New York is too big. Lots of people get robbed every day." She smiles at me, and gratitude fills me. Somebody needed to make Vincent cut the bullshit.

Her father downs his wine in one gulp. "Other people aren't under the media's scrutiny; we are. One can never be too careful. The Miltons' girl has never been caught in a scandal, and Romeo is the star of the tabloids."

How ironic. I'd kill to see his face if he learned about Juliet at the fights. He hates her family with a passion, just like my parents, although unlike them, he doesn't have a reason.

"Juliet seems like a good girl," Grandpa says. "I bet Benjamin will hand her the company sooner rather than later since his daughter chose a different path."

To say everyone is stunned is an understatement. Mom snorts, twirling her glass, and Dad and Uncle Eli stare at Grandpa as if he's lost his mind.

"A good girl? No Milton is good." Vincent narrows his eyes at Grandpa. "Besides, what nonsense. Nobody in their right mind would let an inexperienced woman run a billion-dollar company."

"I'm a woman, too," Addison whispers beside me. "Just as inexperienced as Juliet Milton."

Vincent chuckles, reaching for her across the table. "You're not ambitious like that." He pats her hand. "And you know better."

Something like disappointment twists Addison's features. She faces away from her father, looking toward the window, and the uncharacteristic display of weakness catches me off guard. We've been friends for a long time, and she's never told me she hoped to run her father's malls. I also assumed she didn't, but it looks like I was wrong.

"Will you excuse us?" I ask. "We'll be in my room."

I touch Addison's shoulder. She shoots me a grateful smile and trails after me as I go to my bedroom.

"Thanks for the save." She plops on my bed. "My father needs to learn when to keep quiet. Your bruise looks bad, though. Were you really mugged?"

"I was," I lie. It's bad enough that Juliet knows the truth. I'd rather Addison didn't—she can't accidentally tell Vincent what she doesn't know.

"You can tell me the truth, you know?" she says. "You're my friend."

As I take a step to sit beside her, her expression changes. She giggles, and before I can react, she picks up Juliet's ladybug from the nightstand. "How cute! Whose is it?"

Panic floods me. Shit. She can't see Juliet's name on the toy. I can explain almost everything, but not that.

"I need to give it back," I say, snatching the ladybug from Addison's grip. "It's a friend's little sister's."

Thankfully, Addison doesn't press further.

Unlike her father, she knows when to stop.

***

It's evening by the time everyone leaves. I pick up the last picture from the printer, shove it in an envelope, and seal it.

Derek is waiting for me by the Mercedes.

"Thanks for agreeing to help," I say, handing him the letter.

"I'm sure nobody will recognize me there, Mr. Carrington." He smiles, shoving the envelope in the interior pocket of his jacket. "I'll deliver your love letter safely."

Love letter? Couldn't be farther from the truth. Love is the last thing on my mind when I think about the thousand ways Juliet Milton has complicated my life since she appeared at the fight.

I hope to complicate hers just as much. Ladybug should brace herself. If she wants to involve other people in our deal, so can I.

She won't like what's in the envelope.