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longclawislightbringer · 2 years

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Chapter Eight: Justice is Served

Rating: T

Relationships: Rosaline Capulet/Benvolio Montague, Helena/Princess Isabella, Livia Capulet/Count Paris, Rosaline Capulet/Prince Escalus (past)

Characters: Rosaline Capulet, Benvolio Montague, Prince Escalus, Livia Capulet, Count Paris, Princess Isabella, Helena, Stella

Summary: Rosaline and Benvolio race to Paris' mansion in the suburbs to find evidence.

Hello lovely readers, Today’s the day! I’m so excited to finally share the final chapter of Save the Date with you all. It’s been a long time coming, but I’m glad to experience it all with you. I want to take a second to thank a few people. First, thank you to unwrittenmusings, who created the Valentines in Verona event in February 2019. Thanks for such fun prompts, without which I wouldn’t have come up with this story. Second, a huge thank you to Ry for looking over all the chapters. You are the best! You can find Ry on Tumblr and AO3. Third, thanks to all of you readers for sticking with me for so long. I know it’s been a long time, and I’m grateful that you are still reading after all these years. Thank you for your comments and kudos; they mean a lot to me. Lastly, your eyes are not deceiving you: Save the Date is now part of a series. This story may be over, but there will be a spin-off featuring the CSI Techs John and Hero. Rosaline, Benvolio, and maybe Livia will make appearances, and Dr. Beatrice Duke-Hobbes from Chapter Three and her husband may also appear. If you’re interested, subscribe to the series and follow my blog for updates because, once again, I am the world’s slowest writer, and I don’t know when I will finish it. Without further ado, Chapter Eight. I hope you like it!

Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight.

Read on AO3.

Rosaline sighed, letting the phone drop to her lap as she resumed her vigil at the car window, gazing out at the dreary evening sky. Budding trees, silhouetted in the sunset, passed by the window as the car crossed the city limits proper and into the affluent suburbs. Salty air from the nearby ocean wafted in through the cracked windows. Streetlamps zoomed past, the light glimmering in the puddles on the still-wet pavement from that morning’s torrential downpour.

“Still no answer from Livia?” Benvolio asked, eyes on the road.

“No,” Rosaline answered, resting her head on her fist. “I’ve called her almost twenty times in the last three hours.”

Benvolio followed the flashing lights of the Captain’s car as they turned off the main road into the Della Scala Gated Community.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” He squeezed her hand. “As soon as we’re done here, we can look for her if she hasn’t called yet.”

“Thanks.” Rosaline gave him a faint smile and picked up her water.

He kissed her hand and then turned back to the road with a devilish grin.

“It’s no problem. I can’t have my future sister-in-law go missing on my watch.”

Rosaline spat out her water.

“We just started dating today, and you’re already talking about marriage?” She wiped her wet hand on her trousers.

“Didn’t you hear Isabella at the rehearsal dinner? According to her, our wedding is inevitable at this point; it would be pointless to fight our destiny.”

Rosaline laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

Benvolio shook his head, “Not now, obviously. But maybe someday.”

“You really are something.”

“It got you to laugh, didn’t it?” Benvolio winked.

“I suppose.”

Ahead of them, the chief turned onto the long drive toward one of the newer mansions. Over the rise of the expansive green lawn, the beige and brick Tudor revival monstrosity came into view. Multiple asymmetrical gables stuck out of the body of the house, alternating between red brick and beige stucco accented with dark brown trim, which, for some reason, the architect had decided to add diagonally. A large bay window filled the first floor of the foremost addition. Shrubs lined the front of the mansion, leading to inexplicably vast patches of red rocks that matched the bricks.

Rosaline gulped as the car rolled to a stop on the street two houses down.

Benvolio turned the ignition and dropped the keys into his pocket.

“Livia is going to be alright,” he squeezed her hand again. “The Captain has Dogberry and Verges out looking for her now. We’ll find her, but right now, we need to catch a murderer.”

Rosaline squeezed his hand back.

“Let’s catch this bastard.”

***

As they exited the car, Rosaline double-checked the velcro on her Kevlar vest and jogged over to join Benvolio at the Captain’s circle at the copse of trees that obscured them from the front door of the mansion.

“The goal of this search is to find something that connects Count Paris to our murders.” The captain informed the crowd of officers. “This is not an arrest, but be warned, we consider the suspect possibly dangerous. He may have a woman with him—Livia Capulet. Our priority is making sure she is safe. Is that clear?”

The officers answered in the affirmative, and Captain Lawrence signaled to move out.

Rosaline drew her weapon from her holster and aimed, deploying behind the SWAT team with Benvolio at her side.

They approached the front door from the side, keeping out of sight of the gabled windows.

Flanking the door in formation, the officer in front of her rapped on the door as she crouched behind it, Benvolio at her six.

“Mr. Ferarri, open up.” The captain shouted. “It’s the police; we have a warrant to search the premises.”

Rosaline craned her neck to listen.

No answer.

The house stood silent.

The captain nodded, signaling the SWAT officers to enter.

The officer kicked in the door, a loud crash that sent splinters flying. Rosaline winced.

“Alright, let’s move,” whispered into his walkie. Following the team inside, Rosaline fanned out into the enormous foyer, under the dangling crystal chandelier embraced by a winding grand staircase.

Heart pounding, her shoes squeaked on the tiled marble floor as Rosaline broke off from the main group and stepped into the door on the side of the foyer leading to a small gallery. Crouching, Benvolio followed her. Guns at the ready, they checked the room.

It was empty save for the dozens of antique sabers lined the wall in glass display cases, their hilts glinting in the fluorescent, sterile light.

Benvolio nodded.

“Clear,” Rosaline said into the walkie on her shoulder.

“Copy,” came the staticky reply.

Shadows from the blades danced on the turquoise wall behind them. Information plaques listed the history of each sword. A series of swords detailed the restoration process from start to finish on one wall. In another, the blades fanned out from the center point in a ring, but one of the stands seemed to be empty.

“Captain, I think I’ve got something,” Rosaline reported, transferring her gun to one hand.

“On my way,” the walkie crackled in response as Benvolio joined her in the corner of the room.

“What you got for me?” Captain Lawrence marched in.

Rosaline pointed to the empty display case.

“It appears one piece of Paris’ sword collection is missing,” she said.

“Could be our murder weapon,” Benvolio remarked.

“My thoughts exactly,” Rosaline responded.

“Does anyone think that stretch of the wall over there is a little odd?” Benvolio nodded to the wall opposite the case with the missing sword, bare aside from a small bronze plaque at waist level.

Rosaline jogged over and pulled the plaque away, revealing a recessed doorknob. She jiggled it.

“It’s locked.” She wiped her brow.

They all crowded around the door as Captain Lawrence gave it a turn.

“That’s not going anywhere.” He grimaced and stepped away.

“Leave that to me,” Benvolio smirked, kneeling as he pulled a lock pick kit from the pocket of his leather jacket.

“I didn’t know you could pick locks,” Rosaline observed.

Benvolio winked.

“A holdover from my troubled youth. My friend Mercutio liked to get into trouble.”

While he fiddled with the lock, Benvolio, ear pressed to the wall, stuck out his tongue and closed one eye. Rosaline held her breath.

At last, the lock clicked open.

“The moment of truth,” Benvolio commented, tucking his lock picks back into their case as he stood.

Rosaline opened the door and flicked on the light switch.

She took a tentative step inside.

A solitary light bulb flickered above them, casting its dim light on a small wooden desk and a stack of cans of blood-red paint. A computer and the missing rapier rested on the desk. Benvolio pulled up the photo of the sketch of Angelo’s notebook that he had taken at the museum. The pattern on the hilt matched the drawing— and the bruising on their John Doe. Above it hung dozens of newspaper articles about Escalus’ efforts to quell the Capulet-Montague feud and a map of the city with pins stuck in all the crime scenes.

Rosaline brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Every photo of Escalus had its eyes scratched out.

“I guess that answers that question,” Benvolio followed her inside.

Captain Lawrence grabbed the walkie on his shoulder. “I need CSI in the East Wing Gallery right away.”

Tense silence blanketed the room as Rosaline holstered her weapon. Benvolio and Rosaline shuffled out of the way as the first CSI tech, John, appeared in the gallery with a camera.

“Get pictures of all of this,” Captain Lawrence ordered while the other investigator, Hero, arrived and set up their equipment. “I want documentation of everything. Let my detectives know if you find anything important. I’ve got to get the ADA and a judge on the phone immediately.”

“Will do,” Hero responded; Captain Lawrence nodded and exited the gallery.

The camera flashed in the background as Rosaline paced the gallery floor, biting her nails with her phone pressed against her ear.

“Livia’s still not picking up.” She dialed the number again.

Benvolio placed a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll find her.”

“Detectives,” John interrupted. “We’ve got something.”

Rosaline and Benvolio shared a look before heading to the doorway.

“We found this in the desk hiding under some papers,” Hero said, coming to the door as she dangled a revolver from her gloved fingertips. “It’s an antique Colt .45. They don’t make revolvers anymore.”

“That’s the same caliber as the gun that killed Truccio.” Rosaline breathed.

Benvolio slapped on some powder blue rubber gloves. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Knock yourself out.” Hero handed him the gun.

Benvolio held it for a moment, examining the intricate ivory inlay on the grip.

He flipped open the cylinder, revealing two missing cartridges.

“Looks like it’s been fired twice,” Rosaline remarked as Benvolio spun the cylinder back into place and dropped the revolver into an evidence bag. “Hopefully, ballistics will be able to tell us if it’s a match.” He handed the gun back to Hero.

“Hero,” John interrupted again. “I’ve got a stack of unopened burner phones.”

“Bag ‘em, John,” Hero ordered, setting the gun into her case for collection.

“Yes, boss,” John nodded.

“Are they Nokias?” Rosaline asked.

“Yes,” John quirked a stoic eyebrow, holding a plastic case aloft. “How did you know?”

Before she could answer, Captain Lawrence joined them in the gallery, pocketing his cellphone. “Judge Shallow just signed the warrant for Paris’ arrest; the APB’s already out. We’ll get him, detective.”

“Thanks, captain,” Rosaline inclined her head and tried to smile.

“All units,” their radios crackled to life, “be on the lookout for Paris Ferrari, Caucasian white male, late 20s, 6ft, brown hair, blue eyes. He is considered armed and dangerous.”

“Now we just have to find him,” Rosaline sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Where to start?” Benvolio wondered, pounding his fist against the gallery wall.

They all stood in silence until the muffled Star Trek theme trilled out of Rosaline’s jacket pocket.

They froze, holding each other’s gaze before Rosaline remembered herself, almost dropping the phone as she pulled it out of her pocket.

“It’s Livia,” she breathed.

Benvolio tented his hands.

They all waited with bated breath as Rosaline answered the call and put her sister on speakerphone.

“Good heavens, Rosaline,” Livia’s voice came out of the speaker, “why do I have twenty-six missed calls from you?”

“Livia, are you alright?” Rosaline bit her lip.

“Alright? Yes, I’m fine. What’s this all about?”

Rosaline practically heard the frown on her sister’s face.

“Where are you?”

“I’m watching Doctor Faustus at the Verona Opera House; it’s intermission. That’s why my phone was off.”

“Is Paris with you?” Benvolio asked.

“He’s in the bathroom, but I don’t see what that has to do with—“

“Keep him there.” Rosaline interrupted. “I can’t tell you much right now, but he’s very dangerous. Go on with your evening as if nothing’s wrong. We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

Livia stayed silent for a long moment.

“Alright,” she said at last. “I trust you.” A gong rang in the background. “Intermission’s almost over. I need to get back to our box.”

“Where are you sitting?” Benvolio interjected.

“Box Five,” Livia answered without hesitation.

“Go now,” Rosaline urged. “We’ll see you soon.”

“You had better explain what this is all about when you get here.”

The line clicked dead.

Rosaline, Benvolio, and Captain Lawrence stared at the phone in silence.

Gritting her teeth, Rosaline clenched her fist. “Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

***

Rosaline checked her watch as the Crown Victoria careened into the car lane in front of the Verona Grand Opera House. In a flash, Benvolio switched the gearshift to park and pulled the keys from the ignition.

Rosaline threw open the car door, vaulting onto the sidewalk in her rush to get to the theater.

“Hey,” a valet in a green uniform ran toward them. “You can’t park there.”

Rosaline slammed the door shut and flashed her badge.

“My mistake,” the valet stammered, stepping aside to let her pass.

Benvolio joined her in sprinting up the marble steps to the Opera House. Their shoes clicked on the stone as their back-up zoomed onto the scene, blue lights silently flashing in the distance.

“Hurry up,” Rosaline shouted over the din of screeching tires, “we’ve only got a few more minutes before the last act is over.”

They redoubled their efforts, flying up the stairs as if they had just ingested five cups of coffee.

Rosaline burst through the glass doors at the top, only pausing for a moment to check the plaque on the wall for directions.

“Box Five, this way,” Benvolio yelled as he swerved to head up the main staircase.

Lungs bursting, heart pumping with every step she took, Rosaline ascended the stairs.

Muffled applause rose from the theater through closed doors.

As they climbed, Rosaline drew her gun from her holster.

The applause grew louder.

When they reached the landing, they rounded the corner toward Box Five.

Taking positions on either side of the gilt doors, Rosaline and Benvolio raised their weapons.

“Bravo,” Paris’ voice came through the door. “Splendid!”

The applause died down.

“Well, that was wonderful, but I’m ready to head home,” Paris yawned. “What about you, darling?”

Benvolio raised an eyebrow.

Rosaline shook her head.

“Let’s wait for a second,” Livia responded. “There’s just so many people trying to leave right now—it would be better to let them leave first.”

A pause.

“You’re right, my dear. As usual.”

The doors to Boxes Four and Six opened, chattering opera patrons spilling out into the hallway.

“What artistry!” A woman in a faux fur wrap and deep mauve evening gown remarked to her companions. “A finer Mephistopheles was never—“

She gasped when she spotted them; her hand flew to her mouth.

Benvolio flashed his badge and motioned for the party to hurry past.

“What’s going on out there?” Paris asked. His chair creaked as he rose.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Livia explained, her voice trembling.

Dozens of footsteps sounded on the stairs; backup had arrived.

“No, I’m sure I heard something.”

Rosaline whirled around the door to join Benvolio’s side.

“It’s now or never,” Rosaline whispered to Benvolio as she took a flanking position to block the exit.

“No, don’t—“

Paris burst through the door, Livia hot on his heels.

“Give it up, Paris,” Rosaline barked, cocking her gun and taking aim. The safety clicked off.

Paris froze.

“You’ve nowhere to run,” Benvolio added, stepping beside her, weapon drawn, as their backup took up positions on the landing behind them.

“Rosaline,” Livia implored, stepping between them, “would you please explain what’s going on?”

“Your boyfriend’s the Hooded Man,” Rosaline rolled her shoulder and tightened her grip on her gun. “We found a boatload of evidence in a suspicious secret room in his mansion.”

She turned to Paris.

“Is this true?”

Paris moved toward Livia. Rosaline and Benvolio retrained their guns on him.

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He glanced between Livia and the barrels of the guns pointed at him. “Someone must be setting me up.”

Another step.

“I would never lie to you, Livia.”

One more.

“I love you.”

Livia’s lip quivered.

Tears welling in her eyes, she stepped away.

“I don’t believe you,” Livia bit out as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Shaking his head, Paris sighed. “I had hoped I wouldn’t have to do this.”

In a blur, he snatched Livia by the wrist and dragged her body in front of him as a shield.

A knife glinted at her throat.

“Let her go,” Rosaline gritted her teeth, her heart pumping faster.

“Of course. I’ll let Livia go,” Paris stroked a stray strand of Livia’s hair. “After you let us leave.”

Livia flinched, the knife sitting dangerously close to her artery.

“She is my beloved, after all.”

A chill ran down Rosaline’s spine when Paris smiled.

“Are you going to let us go? I don’t have all day,” Paris drawled, drawing Livia closer so that she covered him. All of him. All except his left leg.

Rosaline caught Benvolio’s eye and subtly inclined her head.

Benvolio nodded, the gesture almost imperceptible to the untrained eye.

“Tick-tock, sister.”

Rosaline whirled, training her gun at Paris’ exposed leg.

Her finger curled around the trigger.

The bullet ripped from the barrel, spiraling through the air.

“What the—“

It lodged in Paris’ leg before he could finish.

He crumpled to the floor, the dagger falling noiselessly from his limp hand.

Benvolio rushed over as soon as Paris hit the ground.

Livia stood, a statue, blinking, until she reached for the blood trickling down her neck.

“My leg,” Paris screamed. “She shot me!”

Benvolio kicked the dagger away.

Rosaline dropped her arms, the gun still smoking, and ran to her shaking sister.

Benvolio pulled his handcuffs from his belt.

“Paris Ferrari, you are under arrest for vandalism, conspiracy to commit murder, and the murder of—“

Rosaline holstered her weapon and pulled her sister into a hug.

“Are you alright?” Rosaline asked, rubbing circles into Livia’s back, just as she used to do when Liva got a nightmare as a child.

“I’m fine,” she whimpered. “I think I’m in shock, though.”

“You have the right to remain silent—“

Laughing, Rosaline pulled away reluctantly.

“Of course, the nurse would know when she’s in shock,” she looked over as Benvolio helped the paramedics haul Paris onto a stretcher. “Benvolio can handle the rest from here. Let’s get you to a medic.”

***

Flashing lights filled the night sky outside the opera house.

Rosaline leaned against the door of an open ambulance, watching Livia sip lukewarm water out of a paper cup.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Rosaline said. “I know you really liked him.”

“I would have liked him more if he wasn’t a murderer,” she sighed and pulled the crinkling trauma blanket closer, revealing an ugly crimson bloodstain on her purple evening gown. “I guess I’m just destined to be perpetually single. Or maybe I should give Rosencrantz or Guildenstern a call,” she quipped.

“There she is,” Rosaline smiled. “Although you should definitely still get a therapist.”

“I will,” Livia promised, setting her water aside.

Benvolio jogged across the road, skidding to a stop at Rosaline’s side.

“How’s the patient?” he asked.

“Better now,” Livia answered.

“What about Paris?” Rosaline asked.

“Captain Lawrence is riding with him to the hospital—we can take a visit to see him once Livia is cleared to go home.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Well, I couldn’t let my future sister-in-law down.” Benvolio winked.

Rosaline smacked him on the arm. “You haven't even proposed yet!”

“Keyword: yet,” Benvolio smirked. “Although, according to Isabella, our getting together was fore-ordained, so why fight destiny?”

“I can’t take you seriously when you say things like that,” Rosaline chuckled. She kissed him on the cheek, his beard tickling her lips.

Livia lit up like a firecracker.

“Wait,” she squealed, “does this mean you two are finally together? For real?”

“Yes,” Rosaline laughed, “we’re together now.”

A smug smile spread across Livia’s face.

“And don’t say I told you so.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Livia grinned. “But I did, didn’t I?” She winked at Benvolio.

Benvolio held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I will admit you were right—on this one occasion.”

“You better get used to that feeling,” Rosaline snarked. “Livia is always correct.”

“That’s right, I am,” Livia smiled. “You should listen to me more often.” She took another slow sip of water. “Well, at least one thing came out of this debacle.”

The flashing lights reflected off the wet asphalt, and the din of the sirens leaving the scene dimmed until Rosaline only saw Benvolio, her partner and best friend, glowing under the streetlamps and beaming back at her.

“Yes, it really did,” she said.

And she meant it.

#save the date #rosvolio #rosaline x benvolio #still star crossed #ssc #valentines in verona #modern au #fake wedding date #detectives #everyone can see it #murder mystery #fake dating #bachelorette party #drunk dialing #and there was only one bed #chapter eight #it's finally done y'all

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