“Agreed?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Roma stepped back. Like that, the chill crept in, swirling the front of Juliette’s dress, raising goose bumps all along her arms.
“For the vaccine,” Roma said. “Agreed.”
One more day of survival. One more day of Roma letting her off the hook without putting a gun to her head. How long could she keep this up? How long before she either caved or just let him shoot his goddamn bullet?
Juliette bobbed her head in a mock curtsy, turning to go. Only then Roma held his arm out, stopping her before she could take a single step.
“Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you jump in front of Alisa?”
Juliette’s lips parted. Because I cannot bear to see you hurt, even when I am the one hurting you the most.
She wanted to say it aloud. It was on her tongue. It burned the whole length of her throat, begging to be let out. What was the harm in another secret between them? What could they not withstand if they had already fought a monster and the stars themselves?
Then Alisa, from the other end of the alley, called, “We’ve got people incoming. Juliette, Perhaps you should go.”
Juliette heard the voices too. They were still some distance away, but keenly audible, overlapping one another in Russian. Laughing, they spoke of dead Scarlets, of her people falling to the ground with their lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.
It was that which had Juliette remembering herself. It was that which jolted the truth back to the forefront of her mind, like a slap to her face.
This wasn’t about fighting for love. This was about staying alive.
“You ask why?” Juliette said quietly. She swallowed hard—leaving nothing but lies studded in her mouth like extra teeth. “It stopped you from trying to kill me, did it not? I keep telling you, Roma—I need your cooperation.”
In an instant, the tentative readiness for peace fled from Roma’s expression. He was a fool if he thought the truth would make it easier. It would only tear them apart to think that this could end any other way: both of them consumed by the blood feud.
“Thursday,” Juliette said. The White Flower voices were getting closer. “Chenghuangmiao at the ninth hour. Don’t be late.”
Juliette walked away before the other White Flowers could happen upon the alley, before Roma saw the tears rise to her eyes, utterly, utterly frustrated that this was what they had been reduced to.
Roma breathed out, kicking his bloody jacket. It was unsalvageable, but he hardly cared.
“Roma!” one of the White Flowers exclaimed, seeing him in the alley. They looked between him and Alisa, noting the blood on Roma’s hands and his haggard appearance. There was definitely a bruise or two on his face after his fight with Juliette. “What are you doing here?”
“Leave us,” he snapped.
The White Flowers hurried away without another word. Slowly Alisa walked back to him, cocking her head to the side. Instead of hurrying to ask what had just happened, she started packing up the first-aid box.
“Dammit!” Roma hissed aloud. He had had her. Right here. He could kill however many bodies he wanted on the streets, land perfect shots upon the Scarlets that ran at him with knives. But none of that mattered if he couldn’t strike a killing blow on the heart of the Scarlet Gang. On Juliette. Revenge on disposable parts was not revenge at all, but cowardice. And maybe he was a coward. He was a coward who couldn’t stop loving a wicked thing.
“What was that all about?” Alisa asked plainly.
Roma scrubbed at his hair. A dark lock fell into his eyes, covering his whole world in black. “I should be asking you if you’re all right first.” He sighed. “Are you hurt?”
Alisa shook her head. “Why would I be?” She sat down, leaning up against the wall. “Juliette jumped in front of that knife.”
She had. And Roma could not comprehend a single reason why . . . or at least one that made sense, no matter what Juliette had said.
“So?” Alisa prompted. “Why were you trying to kill Juliette?”
Roma decided to sit too. He shuffled beside his sister like they were awaiting a bedtime story, not hiding out in an alley stained with blood.
“Well, two generations ago, her grandfather killed ours. . . .”
Alisa wasn’t buying it. “Leave the blood feud out of this. You were collaborating with her, and then suddenly you’re not. I’ve heard the rumors—the ones that seem logical and the ones that are so preposterous to be laughable. What is the truth?”