Last Violent Call

by Chloe Gong

Two knocks meant “all clear,” and three knocks meant “dorogaya, for the love of God, I’m holding something in my hands.”

He had started speaking long before he saw the scene in front of him, because Roma Montagov knew that Juliette could isolate the sound of his steps, and she wouldn’t take kindly to the ones that were not his.

“I’m Mrs. Mai.” Mai. The easiest combination of “Cai” and “Montagov,” perhaps the least original method of creating an alias in the history of starting anew.

Science could tell him that the ground was below his feet and the sky was above his head and the early light of day was upon his back. Roma wouldn’t listen. To him, Juliette was the sun.

She was made for him, and he for her; his inhales were finished by her exhales, their motions anticipated by the other even if it was something as mundane as Roma lifting his hand for the dishcloth and Juliette sliding it his way before he had spoken aloud.

REALLY, ROMA?! THIS IS THE LAST AND FINAL TIME ANYONE DOES THIS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?! GET YOUR WIFE ON THE LINE, I HAVE SOME WORDS FOR HER, TOO—that

“I’m sorry,” Roma replied dryly. He lifted his arm, and Juliette ducked under, pressing close while they walked. “Personally, I think I drive quite well for someone who had chauffeurs all his life.” “Oooh, he had chauffeurs.” “Dorogaya, I know you are not making fun of me right now.”

If he didn’t love Juliette so much, he would really spend every waking moment in fear of what went on in that mind of hers. But because he loved her, and he was clearly out of his mind too, he only turned and steered her back into the house.

“It’s Juliette Montagova.” She lifted her hand and waved her fingers, flashing her gold wedding ring while she continued onward and exited the living room. “I’m a married woman. Roma, come help me get the knives, would you?” In that moment, as Roma pushed off the wall and followed her obediently, he fell in love all over again.

She and Roma could have torn a city apart if they chose to, used their hands to crack at the cement and then dig gold from the ground, and they had turned away from it.

“My knees have been creaking since I was fifteen.” “It’s all that lying you did. Aged you prematurely.” “All right, Saint Juliette. Enough about my past crimes before I start airing yours, too.”

“You didn’t watch what was going on in enemy territory?” She dropped to a crouch, scanning the thick logbooks stacked up on the shelf. “I watched yours.” “I watched you. I didn’t care about what nonsense your territory was getting up to.”

“You won’t ever lose me,” he repeated, sounding so serious even with the jest in their actions. “And I love you, to have and to hold as my unlawfully wedded wife, until the universe itself goes poof.”

“That was a mild disagreement and some cajoling on my end at best.” He craned his head back, giving her a short kiss. “But I will let you say so if it pleases you.” Roma hurried off. “Stop pleasing me so much!” Juliette yelled after him. “I can’t help it, you’re the love of my life!” Roma shouted back.

Marshall Seo was fundamentally a temperamental person: a fast driver, a reckless fighter, prone to taking leaps off of three-story buildings instead of finding the stairs. But Benedikt grounded him. Benedikt Montagov moved through the world with such intricate care—his steps calculated, his thought process tunneling miles deep—that Marshall would stick around for ten lifetimes trying to figure him out.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Mars.” Yet even when the rest of the world was fooled, Benedikt took him seriously. The last star could burn out and the oceans could dry to nothing, but Benedikt would be there, letting Marshall protest and fuss and grouse until his true face came out. “I am only thinking,” Marshall said. “About you.” “Good thoughts, I hope.” “Dirty ones, actually.”