Page 40 of Born Chaos

“So surprised,” he says with a shake of his head and a huff of a laugh. “Never saw it coming.”

I smile and watch as Roman reaches into his pocket. He withdraws the necklace, glowing red, containing my mother’s gift. He hands it to me, and I take it with reverent gratitude. But I can’t. I can’t get into the depths of what this means to me, so instead, I look out into the sparkling lights of the city and move on. “I like your people. I mean, I know I didn’t meet everyone, but sometimes you can just tell. They’re good people.”

“They are,” Roman agrees with a nod. “We’re careful about the people we hire. Positions don’t open up often.”

And I’m now realizing that it probably has everything to do with the man sitting next to me. “You’re like two different people. When you’re out in the world, when you’re working, you’re definitely an asshole. But here? It’s a little easier to see why people like you.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered by that?” he asks, with just a hint of a chuckle.

“Take it or leave it,” I answer, unable to hold back my own smile. The moment sobers, and both of us look out over the quiet city. “You don’t like working with the Night Council, do you?”

I glance over at him. The expression on his face is… complex. Torn.

“It’s not as simple as that,” he explains. “When I came to this city, things were chaotic. The Godfreys’ dad had a vision for what he wanted this place to be. But it wasn’t particularly safe. So, we worked together to set up rules, security. And then when I realized Warren could create a barrier around the city, and that Sigrid had the ability to track her son’s blood…”

He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I never set out to be any kind of leader.”

“But it came naturally,” I fill in.

He doesn’t acknowledge that. He looks out at the darkness, able to see every single detail, despite the lack of light, just as I can. “The sense of duty is a strange thing. I wish I could shut it off. My life would be a lot simpler if I could, a lot quieter.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called love,” I point out, my eyebrows raising slightly.

He just shrugs.

“You aren’t from Chicago,” I note, considering he said he came to this city. “Where were you living before?”

Roman glances over at me, and there’s this uncomfortable look in his eyes. He looks away again, and now it deliberately feels like he won’t look back. “You’re obviously pretty damn good at keeping secrets, so I think I can trust you with this.” He looks back at me, and my heartrate picks up. “No one else knows what I’m about to tell you, Juliet.”

For months I was terrified by the fact that Roman knew my most dangerous secret, the secret that I’m cursed to be unable to die. Our relationship was so strained I expected him to use it against me every chance he got.

And here he is, ready to share secrets of his own.

“It will stay with me, I swear.” And I mean every damn word.

“I don’t remember anything about my life before I Resurrected.”

The words land with a heaviness that grounds me down to the center of the Earth.

“I woke up in a landfill in Mississippi,” he continues. “From the state of my clothes and the blood that was dried onto my skin, it seems like I met a very violent end.”

Goosebumps flash across my arms. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I try to picture what Roman is saying. But even with all of the terrible things I’ve endured, I can’t dredge this kind of imagery up in my head.

“There was a passport tucked into the inner pocket of the jacket I was wearing, so whoever killed me must not have been that smart or that concerned about being caught,” he continues. “But it said my name was Roman De Luca, and according to it, I did a lot of traveling back and forth from the States to Spain and Italy.”

What does it mean? The possibilities race through my brain, but I can’t grasp onto any of them.

“As I dug into it, I found that the name was a fake,” Roman says, his tone growing dark. “Roman De Luca, with the date of birth listed, didn’t exist. The passport was a forgery. A good one. Good enough it allowed me to buy into the identity I use today. Because it’s the only one I have any tie to.”

“There’s nothing?” I ask, utterly hooked by Roman’s completely unexpected story. “No glimpses? No familiar faces? No dreams that might be from before, even?”

Roman shakes his head. “Nothing. I can speak three languages. I’m just as fluent in Italian or Spanish as I am in English. But I don’t even have a memory of what my favorite food must have been.”

Roman doesn’t even know his real name. He’s just taken one because it was on some papers he had on him.

I blink hard, my mouth slightly agape as I stare out into the dark. “It must have been some kind of blunt force trauma before you were killed. And it must have happened long enough before you died your Resurrection couldn’t heal it. I mean, I didn’t Resurrect with a stab wound in my gut. Whoever attacked you must have caused some kind of damage to your memory. Amnesia or something. And it stuck long enough that your Resurrection couldn’t override it.”

Roman shrugs. “It’s almost like you know what the hell you’re talking about.”

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