Her Romeo by Quinn Marlowe

Author:Quinn Marlowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quinn Marlowe

“Joseph Rossi,” a man said as I walked into the office to which I’d been directed. “I didn’t expect to meet you in person.”

I stared into the shadows in the corner of the room, where a large desk sat diagonally, a chair behind it and several in front of it. The man sitting behind the desk was too deep in the shadows for me to get a good look at him. Too hidden for me to be able to figure out who I was talking to. I had a vague idea that he was smaller than me and wearing a suit, but both impressions could have been wrong.

The power coming off him, though, was unmistakable. This was a man who was used to getting his way, regardless of the mission. This wasn’t a man who took failure—or betrayal—lightly.

I swallowed heavily, cursing my father for a million different things, and stepped into the room. Cool, calm, and collected. Mask on, Joseph. Put your temper away.

“Given that it was my job to make sure she got to your keeping safely, I thought it best to make the trip with her,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Besides, I didn’t want to pass up the chance to meet the famous Reno.”

“That’s Johnny Reno to you,” he said, his voice slick as an eel and just as emotionless.

The man sounded like he didn’t have a single feeling—or care—in the world. And I knew immediately that I couldn’t trust him.

“Johnny,” I repeated. “My apologies. Where I come from, everyone calls you Reno.”

“Only my friends call me Johnny,” he noted, suddenly leaning forward into the pool of light on his desk. “And I’d like to think we’re going to be friends.”

I had to physically force myself to keep moving toward the man. His face was scarred, stripes running diagonally across his cheekbones and cutting through his lips. He looked like pieces of different people, each of them put together without the edges meeting up.

And the eyes. They were gray, like Sloane’s, but hers were alight with mischief and amusement. Silver at the best of times, stormy when she was angry at you.

His were the eyes of a corpse. Dead. Frozen.

The feeling that I couldn’t trust him increased a hundredfold, but I kept walking forward, step after step, like I hadn’t seen anything that bothered me.

I slid into one of the elaborate chairs in front of his desk and met his eyes. “I’d like to call you a friend as well,” I lied. “What can we do to make that happen?”

A twitch of the lips might have counted for the start of a smile, but was gone nearly as quickly as I saw it. “Friends we are, then. And as a friend, I have to tell you, Joseph Rossi, that I don’t tolerate rebels, and I don’t tolerate heroes. So if you think you might slip into either of those roles, you’re better off turning around and leaving right now.” He leaned back into the darkness, his features disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared.

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