by Sienna Blake
“Mr. Tyrell,” I said courteously, with a small nod.
He stared me over and I felt like I was being inspected. “So,” he said, his voice like gravel, “you’re Montgomery’s only daughter. Pretty young thing. You look like your mother.”
My blood turned to ice. “How did you know my mother?”
He smiled and it was cruel and hard. “I watch the news. The senseless death of a state prosecutor was a tragedy. I heard you were going to follow in her footsteps until she died. Instead, you became a cop, like your father.”
He knew so much about me. Too much. Giovanni Tyrell was a snake. He was trying to shake me. I would not let him.
“Do you need an escort out of the building?” I asked with a firm voice, indicating that this conversation was over.
He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “It’s a dangerous job, being a homicide detective. You never know what lies in wait for you.”
I lifted my chin. “Are you threatening me?”
He laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I don’t threaten. Merely an observation from a concerned citizen. You wouldn’t want to wreck that pretty face of yours in, say, an accident. Or a tangle with the wrong end of a knife.”
I gritted my teeth. “Excuse me. I must get back to work.”
“You people haven’t discovered yet who killed my son. I doubt you’ll find out who killed this Torrito fellow.” Before I could answer he turned, his two bodyguards flanking him. I remained frozen for a moment as I watched him walk towards the elevator.
“Are you, okay?” Espinoza stepped to my side. I hadn’t noticed him approaching.
“Fine,” I said automatically.
Espinoza stared after Mr. Tyrell as the elevator doors closed in front of him. “Don’t let him rattle you.”
I shook my head. “I’m not rattled.”
“Like a desert snake.” Espo turned to face me, concern on his brows.
I looked away. I didn’t know if I could stand any more scrutiny. “How did the interview go with Tyrell Senior?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He backed his son’s claim, of course. As did his two goons, but…”
“They’re paid to do whatever their boss tells them to.”
“Have you…” Espo paused, the hitch in his voice making me flinch. “Have you ever met Roman Tyrell before?”
Keep a straight face, Julianna. “No. Why?”
“When you walked in, for a second he looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
I shrugged, hoping that Espinoza couldn’t hear how loud my heart was banging in my chest. “I don’t know.” It was the first time I’d lied to my partner. The ground had turned into a slope and I was starting to skid.
I had no choice but to lie. If it got out that I had spent a night with Roman Tyrell, my career would be ruined. I’d be forever tainted. No cop would ever trust me again. And my father… my heart squeezed. The new police chief would be publicly humiliated. He’d be so disappointed in me… I couldn’t bear it. I could not let him find out.
“You seemed rattled in the interview.” Espo wasn’t letting it go just yet.
I shook my head, trying to remain calm. “Just…very little sleep. I need a large coffee.”
Espo made a small noncommittal noise in his throat. “How did you know about his plane ticket?”
“I…er, I checked the flight registers for his name. Found one leaving direct to London at ten p.m. Sunday,” I said. More lies.
“What made you do that?”
“Just a hunch.” I hated lying to him. What choice did I have?
“We’ve got Alberto Veronesi coming in later this afternoon. You want me to take point during the interrogation?”
“I’m fine, Espo.”
He gave me a look which I read as concerned disbelief. “I’ll take point on this one.”
I didn’t have the heart to argue with him.
25
____________
Roman
I didn’t make it two steps outside the police station before I was flanked by two guys in suits. Two of my father’s men. One of them waved his hand to the side indicating the police station parking lot located around the side of the building. “The limo is parked over there.”
I glared at the hired muscle. “I’m not coming with you. Benvolio is—”
“Benvolio has been sent away on other duties. You are to ride with your father.”
“I can get a ride with someone else.”
“Sir.” One of them reached for my arm.
I yanked myself out of reach. “You fucking touch me and I will end you.”
The two men glanced at each other, wariness clear even behind their dark sunglasses. They remained close as if guarding me. Neither of them tried to touch me again.
I pulled out my phone and called Mercutio. “Merc, you free? I seem to have found myself at the police station without a ride.” I needed to buy myself a car if I was forced to stay in Verona.
Mercutio spat out a string of curses. “What the hell are you doing at the police station?”
“It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“I can’t, man. I’m at work.”
“I’ll figure something out. Catch up later, k?”
“We better.”
I shut my cell. I’d grab a cab instead. I searched the street, filled with weekday traffic, for a free one.
“Roman!” My father’s voice boomed out from behind me. Too late. I wasn’t getting away now. He strode up to my side and clasped my shoulder. His hand felt heavy like a shackle. The limo pulled up in front of us. “Get in.”
I decided it would be better if I went along with him for now. I got inside the limo. My father and Abel climbed in after me. One fucked up family. The other men got into a black SUV behind us.
“Did your interview go as planned?” my father asked as the limo pulled away from the curb. “Any surprises?”
I almost choked. Only the biggest surprise of my life. “It went fine.”
“Good. Everything with Rosaline has been arranged.”
I stiffened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“If you could remember the names and faces of the women you fuck, then you wouldn’t need me to pull strings,” my father said.
“I didn’t realize when I took her home that I would need to use her as an alibi,” I muttered.
My father pointed a thick finger at me, his gold ring flashing. “Your life in Europe is over. So is the disgusting way you carry on with your whores.”
I gritted my teeth together, trying to bat away the sting of his disapproval. “They’re not whores.”
My father continued, “Tyrell men are family men. You are my last heir. You will choose a wife and continue the Tyrell name.”
“What?” I snapped my face towards him, stunned at what he was saying.
“You’re almost thirty. It’s time to settle down.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“You’re old enough,” my father bellowed. “Time to start taking on your responsibilities.”
I stared out the tinted window at the city passing us, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Rosaline’s father is a friend of the family,” my father continued, “as is Rosaline.” His voice weighed heavily on her name. My father never hid that he liked the idea of Rosaline and me together. Rosaline’s father was a powerful business man in this city, his reach stretching out farther than the city limits, and if rumor were to be believed, he wasn’t above crossing the line to ensure his empire expanded; all things my father respected. “She likes you, as far as I hear. It would be an advantageous match.”
What about love? I thought but didn’t say.
My father married for love, and she died because of who he was. Anybody I married was signing up for a short life. Marriage to me would be a death sentence. Rosaline didn’t deserve that. No one did.
“Did you see that hot lady detective?” Abel asked with a dark gleam in his eye.
J
ulianna. He was talking about my Jules. Anger boiled underneath my skin. I wanted to rip his head off. I didn’t. If I showed any affection towards her, it would be dangerous for her. I shrugged. “I’ve seen hotter in Europe.”
Abel let out a snort. “They don’t get much hotter than that.”
I glared at him. “Don’t waste your time. She’d never go for someone like you.”
“Or you.” Abel said with a smile, his words stabbing me through the chest.
“She’s the daughter of the new police chief,” said my father, a tight smile on his face. “A very…interesting girl.”
My blood froze in my veins. Did he know about us? Had he been following me? “She doesn’t seem that interesting,” I said, as casually as I could.
“Her father is a righteous man, hard line, and he’s stubborn enough to believe that he can clean up this city. Incorruptible, they call him. I think I just found what he’d be willing to bargain for.”
I stared at my father. I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Something in his smug tone began a growing unease in me. “What are you talking about?”
My father shared a look with Abel. He turned back to face me, a cruel smile stretching across his face. “No one is incorruptible. Everyone has his price. You need to find their weak spot and know when to push.”
My stomach turned as I imagined Julianna being used as a pawn in my father’s hands. “What are you going to do to her?”
My father appraised me. “Nothing. Yet. We have more urgent things to take care of.”
“Like?”
My father said nothing. I realized from the flash of industrial buildings out the window that we weren’t headed back to his house. The tension grew in my shoulders. “Where are we going?” I demanded.
“To the docks.”
My gut tightened. Images of the man I was forced to kill the last time I was at the docks flashed through my head. Vincent Torrito. I knew his name now. “I have a wife…children…”
I swallowed down my guilt. “Need me to clean up your dirty work for you, again?” I said, bitterness squeezing out in my words.
My father sent me a stern look. “If you’re going to take over one day, then you have to understand the business side of things. Time for you to learn the ropes.”
I leaned back into the leather seat and shut my eyes. It was inevitable. I could feel the abyss like a black hole tugging on me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fight it. “We’re meeting with the Veronesis.”
My blood ran cold. “With the men who killed Jacob?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you plan to do at this meeting?”
My father gave me a look. “I hope you wore your vest under your suit.”
I swallowed. Of course, I didn’t wear a fucking bullet-proof vest under my suit. I thought I was just going to an interview at the police station. Not into a goddamn gun fight. “I don’t have a gun.”
My father nudged his head towards Abel, then me.
With a snarl aimed at me, Abel pulled out a black Glock and handed it over. “Don’t shoot yourself.”
“I know how to handle a gun.” I took it from him, released the canister, checked it was loaded then clicked it back into place in one swift move. My father had bought me my first gun on my thirteenth birthday and taught me how to shoot. I still held on to those long summer afternoons he spent crouched by my side, teaching me to shoot. They had been some of the rare times I had cherished with my father.
“Do you remember how to aim?” my father said. He shared a look with Abel as if this was a joke they shared between them.
I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Of course, I maintained my shooting skills. Even in Europe, I was at a range every other week. I may not have wanted to be a Tyrell but I wasn’t stupid. I knew my surname was a target on my back.
The limo pulled up to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse, owned by neither of our families. Neutral property. We sat in the limo, sweat collecting at the base of my spine as we waited for my father’s men to check the area for an ambush. All clear. For now.
We exited the limo and entered the warehouse, my father and me in the center, Abel and four other men flanked around us like a walking shield. My ears were pricked, my eyes darting about me, peering through the shadows and the scattered machinery hanging like rusty skeletons.
Already waiting for us was Alberto Veronesi in the center of four suited men. He was my father’s age, although he didn’t wear his age as well. His belly bulged over his tailored pin-stripe pants, his matching jacket hanging open, and his wrinkles were deeply lined in a pale, puffy face. His once dark hair was now gray.
I scanned the faces of the other men there. I didn’t recognize any of them from the dossiers my father had sent over to me. A prickle scattered over my skin. Alberto’s four sons were missing from this meeting.
I had only met Alberto in person once, at the funeral of my mother. He had been a childhood sweetheart of hers and a friend to my father. She left him to be with my father. This, as well as territorial disputes, caused a bitterness between these two men extending back several decades. My mother had been the prize my father had won. Alberto had never forgiven him.
“I thought we agreed to limit our associates who were to attend this meeting,” Alberto said, eyeing our seven to his five.
“I’m surprised you had the nerve to call this meeting,” my father said.
Alberto’s eyes met mine and a smile crept across his face. “So, this is the new heir to Tyrell’s empire. You’ve been away for several years, my boy. You ready for the games that real men play?”
Before I could answer, my father interrupted. “You do not get to speak to him. You called this meeting with me. You shall address me.”
Alberto stiffened and turned to stare at my father. “We did not order the attack on your son. We would not break the code like that.”
Even as a child my father was always talking about the code. No Made Man was to be killed without consent from the Commission, being the head of the five biggest families in the country. The Tyrell family, however powerful, still bowed to the de Lucas. Sonny de Luca, the current capo, would not have sentenced Jacob to die. Sonny and my father had a long, close history.
Four years ago, Jacob had been wanted for the murder of an informant after his ex-girlfriend turned against him to testify that she’d seen him shoot the poor woman in cold blood. He had escaped and gone underground. There was no reason to order his execution. Not now.
Or was there?
“Why should we believe you?” my father said. “It’s common knowledge that your family has been making plays for more power in this district for years.”
“Do you think I want a full-scale war?” Alberto bristled. “Do you think I am stupid enough to incite one? With you? I do not want a war. It’s not good for anyone’s business.”
“If there is a war, I did not start it.”
“You think I’d be reckless enough to carve a V on your boy’s chest? If you think that, then you’re as stupid as the man who ordered your son’s death.” Alberto growled.
The tension in the room shot up by several degrees, our men and his men eyeing each other, their hands floating ever so closely to their hips where an arsenal of guns waited.
“If you didn’t do it,” my father spat out, “then who did? One of the other families? I don’t think so. They wouldn’t dare. Only you would.”
“You’re forgetting the third option.”
My father stiffened. “Which is?”
“The fleur-de-lis,” Alberto said with a hiss.
The fleur-de-lis? “They’re a myth,” I said. A group of faceless vigilantes hell-bent on taking the law into their own hands.
“Quiet, boy,” my father snapped at me.
“My man, Vinnie Torrito, turned up dead a few days ago. Tortured, shot in the head, and dumped in our territory. Do you deny you killed him?”
“Of course I do,” my father said.
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He just lied. No doubt, Veronesi was lying too.
Both sides glared at the other, eyes watching twitchy fingers. Two men, two fathers, two sides filled with bitter hate. This was a combustible situation, mistrust leaking into the air like gas. Any minute the spark would ignite the whole damn place. We’d all be consumed along with it.
“What about you, boy?” Alberto turned towards me. “Do you know who killed my man?”
“He’ll tell you the same thing,” my father said.
“I want to hear it from him.”
I felt all eyes turn towards me. I couldn’t let myself flinch. “We didn’t have anything to do with your man’s death,” I lied, keeping my face passive and cold like I’d learned from my father.
“I guess the fleur-de-lis also killed your man,” my father sneered at the boss of the Veronesi family.
“Don’t mock me,” he replied.
My father glared back at him. “I’m not your only enemy, Alberto.”
“And I’m not yours. You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with Vinnie’s death?”
“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the death of my son?” retorted my father, anger coloring his voice. He snatched out his gun and pointed it at Alberto.
Fuck! I snatched out my gun and the sound of drawing weapons filled the warehouse. My nerves were wires about to snap. I counted three weapons aimed at my father, the remaining two were on me. If my father fired, he and I would both be dead.
The only one who remained weaponless was Alberto, his face a steely mask, despite the guns trained on him.
“I could kill you right now,” my father snarled.
Alberto stared at my father. “You pull the trigger and you and your son die.”
“But I will take you down with me,” my father said, his words filled with pleasure. “My eldest son deserves justice.”
“You’d lose your life and you’d lose a chance at justice because I didn’t kill your son. Do you really think I’d take out an entire slew of your men and carve a V on their chests? You might not like me, Giovanni, but you know I am not reckless nor am I stupid enough to incite a war like that.”