These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

“They say”—Juliette leaned in—“that you know why there is madness sweeping through Shanghai.”

For a long moment Mr. Zhang said nothing. Then he blinked rapidly and replied, “Miss Cai, I haven’t a clue why you would think that.”

“No?” Juliette said lightly. “You didn’t scheme up a madness to spread through the city? No plans at all to cause enough death until the gangsters are weak and the workers are frightened, until the factories have ripened into the ideal conditions for the Communists to swoop in and incite revolution?”

She digested his surprise, his astonishment at being confronted. Roma must not have asked him about the madness directly—he must have approached it in a more roundabout way, treading the waters to gather his conclusions instead of coming right out and saying it. That was to be expected. The direct approach was more of Juliette’s arena.

“Miss Cai,” Zhang Gutai said sternly. “That is absurd.”

Juliette wasn’t getting anywhere like this. She straightened in her chair and dropped her smile, her hands gripping the armrests. Now the easy flapper girl was gone. In her place sat the heiress of the most brutal gang in Shanghai.

“I will find the truth one way or another,” Juliette said. “So speak now if you wish to be offered mercy. Else I will tear the answer from you limb by limb—”

“Miss Cai, I truly have no clue what you are speaking of,” Mr. Zhang interrupted. “Please leave now. This is a place of work, and I won’t have your ridiculous accusations taking up my time.”

Juliette considered her options. Zhang Gutai’s words were convincing, but he was uneasy. Unless he was a very, very good actor, he was no liar, but he kept glancing to the door, he kept tapping his hand against the flat of his desk. Why? What did he know that she didn’t? Even if he did not scheme the madness, what was his involvement?

Juliette leaned back in her seat, relaxing her spine again into a false ease.

“And what if I have questions on the Communist Party?” she asked. “You are the Secretary-General, are you not?”

“You are welcome to attend our meetings if you wish to know about the Party,” Mr. Zhang answered stiffly. “Otherwise, Miss Cai, please leave.”

Juliette stood, taking her sweet time to stretch and work out the cricks in her neck. Then, bobbing a deep and exaggerated curtsy, she simpered, “Thank you for your gracious time,” and left the office.

What now? she thought, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. She started to walk. If he won’t—

“Oof!” Juliette staggered back, her head spinning as she rounded the corner and immediately collided hard with someone. The moment she looked up to see who the hell was in her path, she could only see red.

Roma caught her wrist before her hand could come down on him. He held her midmotion, their arms crossed like they were exchanging sword blows.

“Careful,” Roma said quietly. His voice was too soft for the violence brewing under Juliette’s skin. It was trickery. He was trying to divert her attention to his lips and breath and calm instead of whatever was going on here, with his harsh grip carving grooves into her wrist, and it was working. Juliette wanted to kill him for that alone.

Roma gave a mocking smile, like he knew what she was thinking. “Wouldn’t want to make a scene in a Communist stronghold, would you?”

Juliette tried to tug her arm back, but Roma held firm. If he didn’t let go in three seconds, she was drawing her gun. One, two—

Roma let go.

Juliette rubbed her wrist, smoothing a palm over her raging pulse and grumbling something inaudible under her breath. When Roma simply stood there, she demanded, “Why are you still here?”

Innocently, Roma pointed over to the chairs. “I left my hat behind.”

“You weren’t even wearing a hat before.” But indeed, on the chair where he had originally been sitting, a hat was lying on its side. Roma, shrugging, merely went to pick it up. Juliette pivoted on her heel and left as fast as she could, hurrying from the building.

It wasn’t until she was halfway down the road, pulling her coat tightly around her, that she stopped in her tracks, swearing.

“He better not have…” She plunged her hand into her pocket and came out with only one slip of paper. But when she unfolded it, she saw that the monster was still staring back at her, lines hazy with folding and refolding.

Juliette snorted. Roma had taken the masquerade invitation instead.

“Fool,” she muttered.

* * *

When Juliette returned home, she found Kathleen already lounging on one of the couches in the living room. She went to join her cousin, complaining under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked absently, flipping the pages of her magazine.