These Violent Delights

“It would hurt you more than death, but at least you would be alive.”

“How are you this bad?” Juliette asked in disbelief. “I thought you were Russian.”

“I am Russian, not an alcoholic,” Roma muttered.

“Why not?”

A hard laugh. Roma shook his head. “Must you ask? I loved you.”

Roma leaned down to Dimitri, close enough so Dimitri could not mishear his words over the roar of the crowd.

“Don’t you forget who I am.”

Benedikt walked to Marshall. Appearing utterly, utterly devoid of anything, anything—he put his hand to Marshall’s throat and kept it there, waiting.
A terrible noise tore forward from his cousin. Roma would hear that sound in his head forever.

Roma shook his head. He said gently, like a caress, “It was a Scarlet hit, dorogaya.”

Shanghai knows. It has always known.
This whole damn place is about to fall apart.

“Forgive me,” he breathed when they broke apart. “Forgive me, Juliette.”

“Do you not listen to me when I speak?” he answered shakily, his lip quirking up. “I love you. I have always loved you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Roma said. “Don’t you dare fall apart now, dorogaya.”