Not Juliet by Ella Medler Page B

bring about a positive lead to Anziano.
She’d find him, talk to him, and then spend the rest of her day
playing Juliet to her Romeo, letting him kiss her in every square
mile – or inch – in Rome, or Italy, or the world. Nothing would
make her happier.
    The cab stopped
at the end of a badly maintained road bordered by rough wasteland.
He pointed to the entrance of the campsite, about half a mile away,
eyeing her dubiously, but he took his money with a grunt of thanks,
then peeled out leaving Riella standing on the side of the road,
feeling a little more uncomfortable, and more uncertain, than she’d
felt five minutes earlier.
    All the way to
the camp’s entrance, she chewed on her cheek, thinking of the best
way of approach. Romanies were suspicious of any interference from
strangers, and she had to remind herself that, to them, she was a
stranger.
    Her coloring
wasn’t helping either. While her skin had inherited the usual
darker olive tone from her father, it was slightly lighter than
most, as was her caramel-color hair, which she got from her mother.
She spoke Romany, so that had helped a bit – obviously not enough
to get her that meeting with Anziano she so badly needed.
    The first elder
she spoke to shrugged his shoulders and looked over her head, at
nothing in particular. The second did the same. Another turned away
and entered his trailer, slamming his door behind him. On and on
Riella walked, asking everyone who cared to listen. After a while,
she realized she had collected a cloud of onlookers who were
following her everywhere. Mostly kids, though some were definitely
old enough to be worth keeping a wary eye on.
    One of the
smaller boys’ hand touched her hair. She drew away, disturbed but
trying to act cool. Then another pulled the ties of her backpack. A
little girl tugged the skirt of her dress and yet another grabbed
her hand. Riella gasped and backed away wildly, a gesture which was
basically body language for ‘I’m scared shitless’. She knew she
shouldn’t have done it at the same time they started laughing. The
bigger kids egged the younger ones on, hands stretching, fingers
pointing, insolent smirks on their faces twisting, mocking her,
driving her mad.
    She was ready
to turn around and run away, all the way back to her hotel if
necessary – not that she had any idea where that was – just to get
away from there. Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the cackles
and the kids scattered like a flock of sparrows that spotted a
circling hawk.
    Riella searched
for her savior to thank him, and her eyes alighted on Zamir’s cocky
grin. One of his shoulders seemed bigger than the other, plumper,
as if it had been bandaged underneath his t-shirt.
    “Zamir! What
are you doing here?”
    “Same thing as
you, princess. Same thing as you.” He glanced over his shoulder at
the retreating children.
    “What happened
to your shoulder? Are you hurt?”
    “Nothing to
worry about. Just a drunken scrap.”
    “Does my father
know you’re here?”
    His expression
turned scornful. “Whaddaya think?”
    She knew it.
The king’s advisers only left him at his specific instruction,
especially when he so badly needed their support. Why had Zamir
disregarded the rules?
    “Yesterday, in
Florence…”
    “I got your
back. Don’t worry. I got you.”
    Riella nodded.
That meant he must have been there, in the alley, saving her life
from the rogue shooter. As he was helping her now. She forced
herself to focus on the task in hand.
    “Listen, I’ve
been trying to get to Cosimo Anziano so I can explain what’s going
on and buy my father a bit of time. Do you have any idea where he
is?”
    “He’s not the
guy you need. Cosimo Anziano retired and left his son in charge.
I’m pretty sure he’s on site right now. You want me to go and find
him?”
    “I’ll come with
you.”
    “No.” Zamir’s
voice was sharp and forceful, leaving no room for quarrel. “You
know what men can be like, Romany and Italian men in