Chapter 17: Isabella's Choice
Isabella learned the second half of the story
before Romeo could bring himself to tell her —
Enzo, wracked with his own decades of guilt,
had gone to her directly rather than let her hear
it secondhand or not at all.
She found Romeo on the roof of the
compound, staring out at the scattered lights
of the city, the folder still weighing down his
jacket like something he simply couldn't bring
himself to set down.
"I know what Enzo told you," she said, climbing
up beside him without waiting for permission,
settling close enough that their shoulders
touched the way they had a hundred times
now, easily, like habit. "And I know it doesn't
make any of it better. A mistake still killed your
parents. My father still has to answer for that, whatever his intentions actually were that
night."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with the
truth now that it isn't as simple as I needed it to
be," Romeo admitted, voice raw. "I built an
entire life on a very clean story. Villain. Victim.
A debt owed. And now I don't know what shape
any of it is supposed to take."
"Then don't decide tonight." She took his hand,
and this time he didn't pull away, didn't flinch,
just let her fingers fold into his like they
belonged there. "Talk to him. Not with a gun,
Romeo — with words. He owes you that
conversation more than he owes you anything
else on this earth. And I will be there. Whatever
he says, whatever you decide after hearing it —
I am not letting either of you carry this alone
for one more day."