My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance
My Dark Romeo: Chapter 11

Karma must be on a lunch break, because a full twenty-five minutes had elapsed since I wished my fiancé would drop dead, yet he remained very much alive.

So did my anger as I dragged my luggage to the doorsteps myself, waited for Romeo to finish a sudden business call, and debated whether to smash down his door with the shovel I’d spotted resting against the greenhouse.

In the end, I eavesdropped on the man I would soon share a home with.

I sat on the top step and observed Romeo, elbow on my knee, chin clasped in my palm. The sun cracked through a marshmallow-white cloud, pouring the first rays of sunshine as dawn crawled up the sky.

The light haloed around my fiancé.

For a moment, he appeared angelic.

Then he opened his mouth.

“The shipment requires extra security. I don’t have to tell you activity among armed rebels has spiked in recent months.”

Pause.

“Or do I?”

Weapons.

They were talking about weapons.

The imported snacks I’d eaten on the plane churned in my gut.

“Mess this up and I assure you, your next job will require an apron and extensive knowledge of operating an industrial fryer.”

Romeo killed the call and turned to me, again jarred and annoyed by my existence. “Hettie is in the kitchen, should you require food. If anything needs fixing, Vernon can be reached on the intercom. I understand it’ll be difficult for you, but refrain from wreaking havoc on my property. In the city, actually.”

“Yeah, because I’m the destructive one between us.” I rose, dusting off my sleeping gown. “Bro, you sell death for a living. Who are you trying to fool?”

“Next time you bro me, I will confiscate your phone, TV, and snacks. You will handle yourself in accordance with your pedigree.”

“I’m a person, not a golden retriever.” Then, before I forgot, I added, “Bro.”

A muscle in his jaw threatened to jump out of his skin. “Have you finished, Miss Townsend?”

“I haven’t started.” I clutched my suitcase handle. “You sell weapons to the highest bidder—”

“That is factually incorrect. It’s not always the highest bidder.” Already, he appeared bored with this conversation. “Unfortunately. Patriotism is the root of most geopolitical disputes and is too dichotomous for full-rounded individuals.”

That wasn’t even in English, so I refused to speak to his point.

“You provide armies with the means to kill people,” I explained, as though he was a toddler. “And you do it for the sake of money.”

“It’s not for money.”

“If not money, then what?”

He didn’t answer, advancing to the front door and entering the code. “4-8-1-0-4-3-2-4-1-5. The code rotates once a week.”

“You expect me to remember that?”

At this point, I needed to build an ark to save myself from drowning in his bull-crap.

“There’s a cot in the shed, should you forget.”

I didn’t budge, refusing to step through the doors without regaining at least some of my dignity. “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal requires each party to possess leverage. I know what I have. I also know what you do not. What could you possibly exchange?”

His utterly unmoved glare raked down my body, from my head to my bare feet.

I resisted the urge to cover myself, slamming the door shut to busy my hands. “Not that. My body is a temple.”

“And you litter this temple with three tons of sugar-laced, artificial-flavored junk food every third hour.”

Judging by his glowing review of me, I suspected that he wanted me to be more refined.

I refused.

If you had to change yourself to be accepted, you didn’t need that person in your life in the first place. Because it wasn’t you they wanted to be with. It was their version of you.

There would be no universe in which I caved to Romeo Costa’s expectations.

Harsh laughter fizzed up my chest. “You believe you hold the power in this relationship, don’t you? Well, hubs, you’re wrong. We’re equals.”

A feral grin hiked up his cheeks. “Equals? From a woman with no life goals. No dreams to speak of.”

“I do have dreams.”

A baby.

Well, babies.

Plural.

Somehow, I knew he’d replace that unworthy.

And he’d be wrong.

Every dream is worthy. Even if it is tiny and insignificant to one person, it may be impossible to another.

Romeo waited for me to elaborate.

I didn’t.

He filled the silence with, predictably, more bull-crap. “It is unwise to anger the man who holds your fate in his palm, Miss Townsend. Consider this advice my second gift to you.”

“Second?”

“The first was when I spared you a lifetime of mockery. Dallas Licht sounds like the name of an STD clinic.”

Did he think this was about Madison?

It wasn’t.

I didn’t even like Madison. Not really.

I just didn’t want Romeo, either.

“Fine. Wanna know what my wish is?” I advanced on him, poking his chest dead in the center. “For you to quit your job.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Because what you do disgusts me.”

“What I do will finance your existence. At least until your trust fund kicks in.” Romeo punched in the door code again. “And you can continue your life as you always have. Without responsibilities. Without a purpose.”

The adrenaline in my body crashed, burning my energy with it.

I pivoted, realizing I wouldn’t win this argument. “Is Zach single?”

“Irrelevant. He wouldn’t touch you with a gun aimed at his head.”

“That’s all right. Weapons have never been my kink.” I licked my lips, grinning. “He’s hot.”

“He’s incapable of any emotion that isn’t boredom.”

“At least he is cordial about it. He’d still be an upgrade from you.”

He ignored my barb, pushing the door open. “Get inside and replace a room to lodge in. Anything other than the master. That one is mine.”

“Aww. So territorial. Why don’t you piss on the carpet, just to mark your ground?”

“The only pissing happening is you pissing me off. I suggest you work on your likability skills during the time I’m gone.”

“Wait. Where are you going?”

It was hard to keep up with what was happening. I tried gathering my wits like they were scattered marbles on a sleek floor.

“It’s called work.” He turned, descending the steps back to the car, which he’d left running. “You wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”

“It’s five in the morning.”

“War never stops. It rages all hours of the day.”

My mouth hung open. “You can’t be serious.”

“I can be nothing but serious, Shortbread. I forgot to mention—I do not have a sense of humor.”

In that moment, hungry, frozen, and confused, I truly wished to die.

“You’re just leaving me here?” I didn’t know why I’d asked. I already knew the answer.

Without a single backward glance, Romeo slammed the door to his Maybach.

His answer came in the form of exhaust smoke and a faint trail of dark laughter.