An unbidden sound of amusement escaped from Kathleen, and though she clamped down on it immediately, Roma’s expression twitched too—not entirely enough to qualify as amused, but certainly not stoic, either. Kathleen’s inappropriate levity turned to scrutiny. As they fell into a taut, waiting silence, she bit her lip, fighting the urge to speak further. This was far from the first time she had observed Roma Montagov and Juliette working together despite their multiple attempts to kill the other. And if Juliette would not say anything about why . . .
“I hope,” Kathleen said, unable to resist the temptation, “you understand that Juliette is doing you a great favor.”
Roma immediately scoffed. “There are no favors in this city. Only calculation. You heard what she said to your sister, did you not?”
Kathleen had. There is an incredible amount of difference between killing an enemy too soon and killing them when the time is right. And it seemed she was the only one who had heard the hitch in her cousin’s voice that indicated she was lying. How strange it was. Both that Roma Montagov seemed angered by Juliette’s intent to destroy him and that Kathleen could see Juliette didn’t intend to at all.
“She is saying what she thinks Rosalind wants to hear.”
Roma frowned. “I do doubt that.”
Kathleen tilted her head. “Why?”
This time Roma really did laugh. It was a disbelieving sound, like Kathleen had asked him if it were possible to breathe without air.
“Miss Lang,” he said, his voice still soaked with incredulity, “in case you forgot, Juliette and I are blood-sworn enemies. You and I, too, are blood-sworn enemies.”
Kathleen looked at her shoes. They were getting dusty, picking up the weird bits and pieces always littered about the sidewalks.
“I do not forget,” she said quietly. She bent down to wipe at the strap across her heel. “I used to think this feud could be stopped if both gangs would just understand each other. I used to draw so many plans to send to Juliette when she was in America. So many things we could say, we could propose, we could put into effect so the White Flowers would see that we were people who didn’t deserve to die.”
She straightened up. There was still no cue from Juliette. Only a dark, foreboding building, rumbling with confusion as some of the restaurant patrons wandered outside. Roma lowered his hat to avoid recognition, but he was listening.
“Only it’s not that, is it? It was never the problem of alienation. It doesn’t matter how deeply we tell the White Flowers of our pain. You know. You have always known, because you tell us of your pain too.”
Roma cleared his throat. “Isn’t that the whole point of a blood feud?” he finally asked in response. “We are equals. We do not try to colonize the other, as the foreigners have done. We do not try to control the other. It is only a game of power.”
“And isn’t that mightily tiring?” Kathleen demanded. “We destroy each other because we wish to be the only ones in this city, and we care little how much the other will hurt. How do we live like that?”
Silence. Roma’s expression was tight, like he suddenly couldn’t remember how he got pulled into this conversation. Above them, the clouds were blowing in, gathering with thickness to prepare for what would be a storm.
“I am sorry.”
Now it was Kathleen’s turn to blink. “Whatever for?”
“For not having a solution, I suppose.”
Was he really, though? How could any of them truly be sorry when they did nothing to stop it?
“It is no good to be sorry,” Kathleen said plainly. She knew clear as day that Juliette had realized this a long time ago. That was why her cousin had never put into effect any of her plans. Why her cousin had always brushed the topic away, had resisted from engaging directly, speaking of her parties and speakeasies instead in her letter replies. “So long as the Scarlet Gang and the White Flowers have hope for a future where they are the only mighty power, the blood feud lives on.”
Roma Montagov shrugged. “Then there is a solution. Destroy the gangs.”
Kathleen lurched, almost colliding with the wall that they stood alongside. “No,” she said, horrified. “That might be worse than having a blood feud.”
That would be unending grappling, rulers ousted at every turn or politicians who lied at every moment. No one would be as loyal to this city as gangsters were to it. No one.
It was then that the sound of smashing glass interrupted Kathleen’s train of thought, and her gaze whipped up to find a book falling through one of the third-floor windows. There was a shout from inside the building, then a whole series of footsteps thundering up—a voice that sounded like Tyler calling for backup.