by Sienna Blake
I reached for the blonde’s lips anyway, praying that they would quiet the noise in my head like Julianna’s had.
They hadn’t. The world still whirled around me, the voices—mine, my mother’s, my father’s—all yelling at me in my head. I needed peace and peace was in Julianna’s touch.
But I couldn’t have her. Not now. Not anymore.
I tore my mouth away from the blonde and let out a growl of frustration as I pushed her off me. She let out a whine of disapproval.
“I can’t do this,” I told her.
She stared at me, wide eyes looking pained, then she glanced down. I was totally flaccid. “You drank too much?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. Let her think that. I hoped it would make her feel better when I kicked her out.
She wouldn’t take the hint. “I can fix that for you.” She pressed up against me, her hand shoving down into the front of my pants. Even in her palm, my dick was limp.
Julianna.
Julianna Julianna Julianna. That’s all my fucking body was crying out for. She was a drug that I’d somehow become addicted too. Nothing else would satisfy me. The gorgeous woman with the whiskey-colored eyes had ruined me.
“You should go,” I said to the blonde.
She left in a huff, refusing the wad of cash I handed out to her. “I am not a fucking hooker,” she yelled at me.
“It’s for your cab.”
She slammed the door behind her and it rattled in its frame.
I took my bottle of Jack and sank into the deck chair out on the main balcony and stared up at the stars.
When I was a boy, when my mother was alive, she used to lie out under the stars on a blanket with me, and we’d pick out constellations. She’d pick out one, a real one, then I’d pick out one. I used to make mine up, but she never let on, pretending that she saw them too.
Julianna had shone brighter than the stars to me. A perfect constellation. I had to let her go. Because I didn’t deserve her. She didn’t deserve me.
I shut my eyes, wishing I was somewhere else. I drank until it all went black.
I turned off my shower, forcing myself back to the present.
When the police knocked on my door, I answered it, pressed and polished in a tailored Armani suit. It had been Jacob’s and now it was mine. Apparently, I had grown to fill it out in the eight years I’d been gone.
I greeted the uniforms at my door with cold civility. They seemed surprised to see that I was ready and waiting for them. They should know by now that nothing went on in Verona without the Tyrells knowing about it. My father had friends and little birdies in all sorts of places.
I traveled to the police station with Benvolio driving his Escalade, the police car behind us, with another black SUV following us at a distance with two other hired men. No Tyrell would be caught dead in the back of a police car like a common criminal.
In the car, Benvolio spoke only to tell me, “Your father has already been summoned to the station too.”
“Great. A father and son excursion.”
I ignored Benvolio’s look.
Verona’s main police station was a solid five-level building that took up half of a block, a parking lot located out the back. After I exited the car, I was escorted by two officers to the third floor where, apparently, I would be interrogated. Benvolio and the hired men remained outside.
As I strode down the corridors of the police station to the interrogation room, the other police officers flinched away from me. I could sense their fear; I could almost smell it. Fear because of who my family was. Who they thought I was. The addictive rush of power swirled in my veins before I could stop it. I lifted my chin and glared back at these officers of the law, looking my natural enemies straight in the eyes.
I was a Tyrell. I had learned how to lie to the world. It was lie or die.
I was shown into a tiny interrogation room where I folded my body into a plastic chair at a table, two chairs opposite me. The room smelled musty and slightly of sweat. How many criminals had they broken in this very chair? They would not break me. They would not break a Tyrell.
I faced a large mirror that took up almost the entire wall and wondered how many of them would be watching through the one-way glass. I smirked into the mirror and spent some time rearranging my hair that was still perfectly in place. I noted a small video camera in the top right-hand corner of the room, also trained on me.
They made me wait a whole forty minutes before the door opened and a male Hispanic detective walked in. It was an interrogation technique, making the interviewee sweat. It wasn’t going to work on me. If they had anything on me, I’d have been arrested. I repressed the emotions and questions swirling around inside me.
He sat opposite me and placed a manila file on the table top. I hid my curiosity as to what was contained within. I suspected enough.
“I’m Detective Espinoza,” he said, folding his hands and placing them over the folder. He was a baby-faced guy, olive-skinned, round cheeks softening the hardness to his eyes. I suspected this detective wasn’t one to be fucked with.
I stared at him for a few seconds, refusing to blink or show any emotion. A Tyrell never shows fear.
“You want to tell me what this is about, detective?”
“Just some questions.”
I lifted my ankle onto my other knee and leaned back in the chair, placing my arm along the back of the chair beside me, acting as comfortable as if this place was my own personal living room. Like he was my guest. “By all means. Ask away.”
“We’re waiting for my partner.”
The door opened to the right of me. This must be the partner. I turned in my chair to get a glimpse of the poor schmuck. My heart slammed against my chest at the sight of the woman in the doorway. Whiskey-colored eyes of my dreams. Perfect honey-gold hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, a conservative gray pantsuit covering the most incredible body that I’d ever laid my hands on.
The blood drained from my head.
Julianna was a detective.
Her gaze locked with mine and recognition filled up her widening eyes. Then came the realization.
Even though I had decided to let her go, even though I knew she deserved better than me, I had prayed that somehow, some way, in this city of four million people, that fate would somehow manage to drag her back into my life. But not like this. Not like this.
Julianna was the detective who was about to interrogate me.
Life could not get any fucking worse.
I forced my face into a calm mask. I felt the surface of me crack over as it froze. Underneath I was a whirling, furious current.
Detective Julianna Capulet.
Something in the newspaper clippings my father had sent over for me to read yesterday caught my attention. I hadn’t fucking put it together until now.
Montgomery Capulet was the new chief of police. My family’s enemy number one.
And the woman I couldn’t forget was his only daughter.
21
____________
Julianna
I hurried down the station corridor to the interrogation room. Espinoza was already in there with our suspect, Roman Tyrell. Espo had given me a rundown of what we knew about him. At twenty-six, he was the youngest son of Giovanni Tyrell. He didn’t have a record. Yet. At least not in this country. He’d been out of the country for the last eight years, no doubt breaking laws somewhere else. Which also meant we didn’t have any recent pictures on file for him. Wasn’t it funny that he had the same first name as my Roman?
I slapped myself internally. Roman Lettiere was not my Roman. I couldn’t think of him as my Roman. I had my chance to run off to Paris with him and I turned him down. He still hadn’t replied to my text. He’d probably hated me. I tried to bat away the sting in my heart.
I had to stop thinking about him. I could barely concentrate on this case. I had to stop replaying our night together at inappropriate times. Like right now. Right now, I was supposed to be
in the interrogation room where Espinoza was already waiting alone with the dangerous Roman Tyrell.
I pushed open the door to the interrogation room, ready to break this new Tyrell heir. This is my town, Mr. Tyrell. You’re in for one hell of a wake-up call. I got my first look at Verona’s new Prince of Darkness.
Oh my fucking God.
Sitting in the chair opposite Espo, was Roman. My Roman.
My stupid heart began to beat in my throat at the sight of him. He looked incredible, like a GQ model. The strong body I had memorized with my hands filled out a tailored dark gray Armani suit. His thick dark hair, the hair I yearned to run my hands through again, was slicked back and curling at the collar.
I thought I’d never see him again. Here was the man I’d spent the most incredible twenty-four hours with, the man who I had been mooning over since he’d gone. He was the son of darkness, the heir to the Tyrell throne.
Anger spilled out over the lust rushing through my body. Did he know who I was? Did he screw me for information?
He never asked about my work, not once.
Was this supposed to be some sort of sick joke, then? Did he fuck me as some sort of bet, a prize, something to be bragged about later?
I knew some of the cruder cops had made such wagers when I had first joined the force—who would fuck me first. I wasn’t an idiot. I kept my nose clean and the stupid players soon got bored when they realized I was not here to fuck around, just to do a job and to do it well.
Had Roman played me?
Playboy Mafia prince, Roman Tyrell, fucked the police chief’s daughter and fucked her good.
Our connection had felt real to me. It had all felt real. And his invitation to Paris. Was that a lie as well?
Roman Lettiere was Roman Tyrell. Son of Giovanni Tyrell. The new Prince of Darkness. A criminal.
A monster.
I couldn’t reconcile my Roman to this idea. My Roman could not be a monster.
But here he was, in the god-like flesh. Prime suspect for our murder investigation.
His head turned towards me. Our eyes met. I saw the recognition in his eyes and watched shock slacken his jaw. He hadn’t been expecting me. I wasn’t the only one side-swiped by fate’s cruel joke.
Just as quickly, his face drew back into a mask of cool detachment that hit me like a fist to my gut. What did I expect he would do? Run over and take me in his arms? Kiss me in the middle of a police station? Did I think he’d be happy to see me?
I turned and shut the door behind me, using this moment with my back to him to force my face into an emotionless mask. Even though my brain was screaming, what the fuck is happening?
Espinoza hadn’t seen my surprise. He’d been watching Roman this whole time. Did he notice Roman’s flare of recognition? Or did Espo pass it off as a man checking out a young woman detective?
I wasn’t sure how I managed to walk over to the spare seat next to Espinoza. Every step closer to Roman made my world feel more unbalanced, like I was rocking around on a boat lost at sea. I could feel Roman’s dark stare on me as if it could burn the clothes off me. I had let him put his hands on my body. His tongue. He had been inside me. Watched me come. I sat down and folded my hands in front of me before I dared look up. He watched me impassively.
He was as beautiful as I remembered him, sharp cheekbones and perfect lips. Today his face was clean-shaven and free of the stubble that had scratched at the insides of my thighs. I pressed my knees together, my whole body buzzing at his nearness. I suddenly felt too hot in this suit that was too tight around my body. It had become a boa constrictor, wrapping around me so I couldn’t breathe. How the fuck could I conduct this investigation when he affected me like this?
“This is Detective Capulet,” Espinoza said, a slight edge to his tone.
Right, I was supposed to have introduced myself to this suspect, to this man that I was supposed to have never met before.
Jesus Christ. I had to get it together. Roman was a suspect. I had to interrogate him like one.
I had a duty to report a relationship with any suspect. It’d be deemed as a conflict of interest. What the hell was I supposed to say to my superiors? To the chief? To my father? I’d spent the night being intimate with Roman fucking Tyrell without realizing who he was.
First things first, Julianna. Just get through this interview. Then figure out later what the fuck you should be doing next.
Espinoza cleared his throat. I was the one who was supposed to be taking the lead on this interrogation. We had both decided this. Roman Tyrell was a reported playboy and Espo had thought it might work in our favor if I, a woman, interrogated him. That’s why I had worn my most flattering suit today with the jacket that nipped in at my waist, a waist that Roman could encircle with both his hands. I almost choked on my own tongue. Roman Tyrell was a reported playboy. How stupid was I to think that I had been something more to him?
Later, I would shoot the shit out of a target. Right now, I had to bury all this… this and get through this damn interview.
“Mr. Tyrell,” I began.
“Please, Detective Capulet, call me Roman.” His voice was exactly as I remembered from my fantasies of him: rich, deep and crooning like a blues singer.
Our eyes met. My throat went dry. My heart hammered in my chest. I ignored my stupid body and forced a smile as I cleared my throat. “We understand that you were only supposed to be back in town for a few days. But you’re still here?”
“I came into town for my brother’s funeral.”
Jacob Tyrell. The massacre at the Tyrell warehouse at the docks. That had been his brother. I couldn’t help the thread of pity I felt in my chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t much of a loss.”
I flinched. Was this the real Roman I was staring at now? Cool, cold and callous about his older brother’s death? It was like I was looking at a man other than the one I’d met only days ago, the one who seemed so tortured by his brother’s demise. Had he…somehow been a part of that death?
“You seem very blasé about your brother’s death. Are you this careless about murder in general?”
His eyes narrowed. “My brother wasn’t a very nice man.”
“And you…would you consider yourself a nice man?”
I could feel Espo’s eyes on me. I was totally going off script. I ignored him. As far as I was concerned it was just Roman and me in this interrogation room. Him and me and all the things unsaid, sticky and hot between us.
Roman leaned forward in his seat. I fought the urge to lean forward. I caught the whiff of his cologne; that dark masculine scent that had surrounded me as he’d fucked me long into the night.
“You seem very young to be a detective,” he said.
I snapped out of my reverie. “My age is irrelevant. I’m good at my job.”
“I bet you’re good at anything you put your…hands to.” He gave me the hint of a smile.
I felt my cheeks heat at the suggestiveness of his words. An image of my hands wrapped around his shaft assaulted my senses before I slammed it back away into a corner of my mind.
Focus, Julianna.
“You never answered my question earlier. You were supposed to have left Verona. Sunday night, if I’m correct. Why didn’t you?”
Now Espo’s eyes were burning into the side of my head. How did I know Roman was supposed to have left? This information wasn’t on his file. I would have to figure out some excuse for my information. But not right now.
“Plans changed. Trust me, it was not my intention to stay. My father can be very persuasive.”
Espo pulled a photo out of the file, shooting me a look, before turning back to Roman. “Do you know this man?”
Roman’s eyes flicked down to the photo that Espo had pulled out of his file. It was Vinnie’s arrest photo blown up to A4 size. I didn’t take my eyes off Roman, holding my breath, as he pulled the photo towards him. I searched his face for any sign of recognition. I didn�
�t see any.
“No. Who is he?” Roman asked.
“His name is Vincent Torrito. Otherwise known as Vinnie.”
“Vincent Torrito,” he repeated. I swore I heard a slip of sadness in his voice.
“He’s a known associate of the Veronesi family. The same family who is rumored to have murdered your brother.”
There was something unsaid in Roman’s eyes. I couldn’t decipher it. He pushed the photo back towards me. “I don’t know him.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Take another look.”
“I assure you, Detective Capulet, I don’t know this man.”
“You haven’t asked why we’re so interested in this man,” Espo said.
Roman leveled his stare at my partner. “I assume because you fine detectives are asking me about him that a misfortune has happened to this… Mr. Torrito, did you say his name was?”
“Where were you Sunday night?” I asked.
His eyebrow lifted, a questioning look. “Do you have a specific time in mind?”
Yes, you fucker. What were you doing after you left me at your hotel room? “How about you tell me everything you did from, say, seven o’clock.”
“You think I was involved?”
“Just answer the question.”
“In fact,” inserted Espinoza, “start with where you were Friday night, then go through step by step what you did that weekend, ending with Sunday night.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Espinoza was trying to establish Roman’s whereabouts not only for the murder but for during the time frame when Vinnie could had been kidnapped. I was going to be sick. Roman had been with me.
“You want my exact whereabouts…from Friday afternoon,” repeated Roman, “until Sunday.”
“Exactly,” said Espinoza.
Roman stared at me. “You want every detail?”
My body, already taut as a drum, tightened further. This was where it was going to come out, our time together. I was his fucking alibi for the abduction.
I was so fucked. I should speak up now, pull Espo out into the hallway and explain before Roman spilled everything, in detail, right here on record.