Page 39 of Born Free

Neither of us says a word. Neither of us has any idea of what to expect from this meeting. There’s no plan, no expectations. And neither of us likes being at this much of a disadvantage.

We need to get Orlando to leave Chicago.

The doors open, and we step out into a luxurious penthouse. Brilliant white walls and polished marble floors. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the furniture looks too pristine to sit on.

A loud cheer fills the air, and when we step into the main living space, we find all the House members gathered around the large table, some kind of game set out in front of them.

“You cheat!” Javier yells out, though he still sounds jovial. His accusation is thrown at Orlando, a testament to his confidence in his security as Orlando’s second in command.

“Never, my friend,” Orlando says with a wicked grin as he pulls a stack of chips toward himself.

All eyes jump up to Roman and me at that moment. And the cheer that filled the space just moments ago evaporates in a second.

“Give us the room,” Orlando says simply, and every House member finds somewhere else to be. It’s still a bit of a marvel to me that with his word, no one hesitates. They just do what he says.

How must it be with King Cyrus?

Roman doesn’t wait for Orlando to give him directives, he just heads toward the sitting area, never letting go of my hand. We settle onto a sofa, his left side touching my entire right side, no bit of space between us.

Orlando’s eyes darken as they fix on Roman. Slowly, like a panther, he crosses the space. He never looks away from Roman as he sinks into a chair across from us.

“You need to get over this attitude that I have to check in with you,” Roman speaks up. His voice is level but serious, confident, and dark. “You might be acting Royal, but I’m still older, still every bit as much a Royal as you are, and I do not answer to you, little brother.”

Goosebumps wash down my skin at Roman’s words. Roman has always been confident and dangerous. But those words? I believe he is the Royal his blood claims him to be. I believe he could fit into that world of politics and manipulation and courts.

I see Andres Badillo.

“I could believe that if I were seeing Royal-level decisions being made,” Orlando says as he crosses one ankle over the opposite knee, a hand wrapping around his ankle. “First, you choose to live among common Born, and then within days of our reunion, you up and disappear.”

Roman stares at Orlando, heat and tension rising in the space. I can feel the danger rising off him, building beneath his skin. “It’s been a hell of a week. You don’t know my life. I have my own business to attend to. There were things I had to take care of. And, as I said, I do not answer to you.”

Orlando’s hand tightens around his ankle, and he runs his tongue along his upper teeth, his gaze fixed on Roman. “I’m trying not to take it personally, the fact that you don’t give a damn about being reunited with your only remaining family after twenty-four years, because I know you don’t remember anything. But you’re acting like a self-centered ass, and it’s starting tofeelpersonal.”

People do bad, terrible things when they’re offended. Pride is too often delicate and the beginning of too many villain origin stories. My hand tightens around Roman’s, warning him to proceed with caution.

“Things might be different if you were more straightforward about what you want,” Roman says, keeping it cool. “But you aren’t, and I can’t take that as anything but a threat. So, forgive me for not booking a weekend fishing trip to catch up.”

The hesitance from Orlando makes me wonder if he really doesn’t know. Does Orlando really know what he wants from Roman? Or did he simply get an alert when Roman’s picture went into the police system, and he reacted without thinking, determined to track down the brother who disappeared years ago?

“See?” Roman points out.

“You don’t belong here, you realize that?” Orlando says. “You are a descendant of Malachi, the seventh son. You haven’t run away to another respectable House. Of all places, you are hiding in the crime-riddled city under the rule of the House of Allaway, of all Houses. You have settled in a country that is not your own. You couldn’t even speak English until you were fifteen. Andres, you should come home to Spain.”

“No,” Roman responds immediately, flatly.

I see something darken in Orlando’s eyes. Little alarm bells start going off in the back of my brain. I know what it looks like when someone is getting pushed toward a ledge. I’ve been that person for most of my life.

“You have friends there,” Orlando says, his jaw clenched. “You have a legacy there. You have power and influence. And you have family there.”

“I have friends here,” Roman says, his tone firm. “I am a part of the community here. I don’t need power, and I don’t give a damn about influence. And maybe things can change, and you, as my brother, will become a factor, but for now, my family is here in Chicago. So, this is where I will stay.”

Roman brings the back of my hand to his lips, and he presses a gentle kiss there.

Family.

Roman has claimed me as family.

And that means everything.

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