by Sienna Blake
“I know that I will enjoy killing you.”
“If you kill me, I have four boys ready and waiting in the wings to take over my business. You brought your only remaining heir. Who would carry on your name if you were both to die today?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father flinch. Alberto Veronesi had found his weak spot and had just pushed. I almost felt impressed.
“You son of a bitch,” my father spat out.
Alberto sighed. “This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed. I called this meeting to offer you a truce.”
“What truce?”
“Put down your weapons and let’s talk like men.”
There was a long pause. The air in the room became hot and sticky, sweat beading on my forehead. We would all die here today if my father didn’t back down. Our lives were in his hands, balancing on a blade’s edge. I could feel the hatred rolling off my father. He would have to put away his pride if we were all to live. Lord knows, how hard he’d have to fight himself to set aside his pride.
Don’t be reckless, Father. Back down.
I shifted my weight slowly from one foot to the other. Any sudden movements and everything would erupt in a storm of bullets and blood. This next breath could be my last. Julianna’s face flashed in my mind and my stomach twisted with regret.
“Fine,” my father said. He withdrew his gun.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and lowered my own weapon. My blood pounded in my ears as a rush of relief flowed over me. I would not die today. Not today.
Slowly the men around us withdrew their weapons.
Alberto nodded. “Thank you, Gio. I stand by my statement that not I nor any of my family had anything to do with the death of your son. The people who did this, cut a V across his chest to make it look like we did. I propose that we call a truce while we search for the real murderer because they are targeting my family as much as yours.”
“These mysterious murderers haven’t killed your son, have they?”
“No, but they might.” Alberto lifted his hands, palms open, in a gesture of surrender. “Think about it. You can call me when you have an answer.” He turned and the men closed ranks around him, creating a wall as he strolled out of the warehouse.
I could hear father growling, his fingers twitching at his side, as he watched Alberto walk away.
“Do you believe him?” I asked my father once we were back inside the bulletproof limo.
He snorted. “Of course not. The Veronesis are liars.”
“Is he really that stupid to start a war between our families? Why? And why now?”
My father sighed. “I am getting old, Roman. In murdering Jacob, he weakened our family. I don’t think Alberto ordered the hit, it was too brash, too messy to be his style. I do think he knows who did it. Someone in his family maybe, one of his sons trying to impress him or to make a play for power.”
“Dante, the second brother, is reckless enough,” said Abel. “It’s common knowledge he’s been making power plays as to who will rule the family once Alberto is gone. The power struggle between the brothers could be their downfall.”
“Are you going to accept the truce?” I asked.
“Of course. It’s to our advantage to play along.” There was a glint in his eyes. “Mark my words, son, we are going to get our revenge.”
26
____________
Julianna
It was late by the time I left the station. Almost nine o clock. I’d buried myself in my work all day to avoid thinking about Roman and the revelation that he was a Tyrell. A Tyrell and my prime suspect. As I walked out the back exit into the parking lot, the heels of my boots clacking against the concrete, echoing between the dark locked cars, I had nothing left but my thoughts.
Why had he lied to me about his last name? How could he be so callous as to trick me? And why?
A thought struck me with such force that I gasped. I had heard of the creative ways that criminals used to blackmail people. He had insisted that we go to his hotel room. I had…I had let him do whatever he wanted to me. Dear God. What if he had photos of me? Footage? I felt sick.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn’t register that I wasn’t alone. Something shifted in the dark before me. A wide figure detached itself from the shadows. I halted, my heart slamming to my throat and my fingers going to my gun at my hip.
He stepped into the light, his familiar features made harsh by the shadows. A jolt of pain and confusion slammed through me.
It was Roman.
What was he doing here?
His stare was pinned to me, his eyebrows drawn together in a look that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost call desperate. He was here for me.
He shouldn’t be here. We were meters from the entrance to the police station. If he were caught…
Roman started forward, his mouth opening as if to call for me—
“Julianna!” My father’s voice cut through the air from behind me.
Roman gave me one last piercing look before he melted back into the shadows. I felt a tug inside my gut as he disappeared.
I spun, my heartbeat so erratic against my ribs I was sure my father would hear it. He cut across the parking lot towards me with his familiar long stride. From the calm look on his face I knew that he hadn’t seen Roman.
Roman… What had he wanted? Had he come to gloat? To taunt me? Had he come to blackmail me? To name his terms for his silence?
Roman’s not like that, a voice inside me said. Give him a chance to explain…
Don’t be stupid, Julianna. He lied about who he was to get you in bed. Don’t fall for his lies again.
I realized my father, now standing before me, had said something. I shook myself. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you brought your car into work. Do you need a lift home?”
I blinked. My car. I had my… No. Wait. Espo had picked me up today. My mind had been so much elsewhere that I had walked out of the station thinking I had my car here. Idiot.
“Julu,” my father frowned at me, “are you okay?”
I glanced to the shadows that had swallowed Roman Tyrell. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could feel him. I could sense him watching us. Watching me. The hairs on my skin stood on end. I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or…something else.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
27
____________
Julianna
“Capi,” Espinoza’s voice made my head snap towards him. I hadn’t realized he was standing at my desk at work, waving at me as I stared into space like a zombie.
I shook myself. Get yourself together, Julianna. I had to get my head back in the game. I had to stop Roman Tyrell from getting under my skin.
Too late.
“Sorry, what?” I asked.
Espo frowned. “Lacey just messaged. She’s finished Vinnie’s autopsy report. You coming?”
I followed Espinoza through the corridor. As we waited for the elevator, I could see him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “You got something to say, just say it,” I snapped.
His frown deepened. “Are you okay?”
Why was everyone asking me this? “Fine,” I muttered.
“Uh-huh.” The tone of his voice told me he wasn’t at all convinced. “You seem off lately.” We entered the elevator and Espo pressed the button to the basement where the morgue was located. “Like in the interrogation with Roman Tyrell.”
I stiffened and tried not to sound so defensive. “What are you talking about?”
“You went off script with him. You got emotional. I mean, Jesus, at one point I thought you two were going to jump across the table and start hitting each other.”
Or ripping each other’s clothes off. I flushed at the memory and turned my head to hide my face.
“I don’t like him,” I admitted. “Something about him just…gets under my skin.”
I wasn’t lying. He lied to me about his surname. I had been tricke
d into my feelings for him. I hated the way I couldn’t seem to switch them off, even now that I knew who he really was. I hated that I was lying for him. I hated that I wanted so badly to believe him. He was an infuriating, confusing mess that I didn’t need in my life.
Espo made a noise in his throat. “He is a Tyrell. Your instincts are correct about him. It’s not like you to take these things so personally.”
If only he knew how personally things between Roman and me went. “I’ll do better. I’ll try not to get so worked up about the case.”
Espo clasped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Capi. We’re going to nail him.”
That’s what a fucked-up part of me was worried about. “We don’t have the evidence to back up our case.”
“Hopefully Lacey will have something for us,” Espo said as the elevator doors dinged. We stepped out into the cold, eerie light of the basement corridor and walked through the double doors into the morgue. The sharp air of disinfectant and death hit my nose. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it.
Lacey was standing in her scrubs by a metal slab, Vinnie’s body lying on top of it. The body was naked, cleaned of blood, a Y incision made into his chest, now sewn back using thick Frankenstein-like stitches.
“Have you got something good for me, baby?” Espo grinned at her.
Lacey shot him a coy smile, her long dark eyelashes fluttering. “I always have the goods, Espo.”
Espo made an appreciative noise in his throat as his eyes roamed over her. “Don’t I know it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you two actually flirting over a dead body?”
Espo and Lacey shot each other another weighted smile before Lacey turned towards Vinnie’s body. Her face grew serious. “Now that I’ve washed off all the blood, I can see the extent of his injuries.” She shook her head, a heaviness pulling down the corners of her lips. “They did him over real good. I hope you catch the bastards.” Using the closed tip of a pen she pointed to the body as she spoke. “Premortem bruising all over his torso. I count at least six cracked ribs. Five phalanges were cut off at the proximal phalanx.”
“That’s the fingers cut off at the closest bone to the palm,” I translated to Espo.
He smacked my shoulder. “I understand geek-speak. Sort of.”
“The remaining fingers were all broken,” Lacey continued, her voice growing quieter. “Shallow cuts, at least two dozen, made all over his body. His kneecaps were shattered; blunt force trauma, so I’m assuming they used a bat or something like that.”
I stared at the man on the table. Vinnie Torrito had an arrest record as long as my arm. He had not been a good man, but nobody deserved to die like this.
“Whoever shot him used a .22 caliber. Right in between the eyes. I recovered the bullet, already sent it to ballistics. Without a gun to match the striations to it’s pretty useless.”
“Could this all have been done by one person?” Espo asked.
Lacey’s lips whitened as they pressed together. “Could be. Could be more than one. It’s hard to tell. It’s horrifying to think that a single human being could do this to another person.”
“These Mafia families are all bred to be monsters from birth,” Espo said, his voice hard and unflinching. Roman Tyrell flashed through my mind. I hated that Espo was right.
“He would have been in so much pain.” Lacey stared at me with big brown eyes. “I hate to say this but… I’m glad they finally killed him. At least they put him out of his misery.”
* * *
Mercutio Brevio sat across from me in the interrogation room in a closed-off silence until spoken to, a very different demeanor than Roman Tyrell when he was sitting in that very chair. They could have been brothers, I noted. They had the same dark features, except Mercutio’s build was long and lean while Roman’s was thick and intimidating. Mercutio didn’t seem scared or worried. He was alert, his dark eyes darting around him as if he was memorizing everything. So far he had corroborated Roman’s timeline for Saturday afternoon leading up to Club Luxe.
“How long have you known Roman Tyrell?” I asked as I leaned forward in my chair.
“Practically my whole life. We were pretty much raised together.” Mercutio had a steady, calm voice. His diction was smooth, letting me know that he was better educated than the various men associated with the Tyrells.
“You’re good friends,” I clarified. Roman had indicated as such.
“Like brothers.”
“You were there for him when his mother died.”
“Yes.”
“Like he was there for you when your father left.”
Mercutio weighed this question up. “Of course.”
“Would you lie for him?”
Mercutio’s eyes cut to me, a hard anger glittering in his irises. He didn’t make any other indication that he thought my insinuation was an insulting one. This man had incredible control over his emotions.
“I’d do anything for him,” Mercutio replied, his voice even, “even lie if he asked me to. But he didn’t ask me to lie about anything.”
“He was supposed to leave Verona Sunday night. Why didn’t he?”
“Why don’t you ask Roman?”
“He said his father convinced him to stay.”
Mercutio stared at me, his head shaking slightly. “Mr. Tyrell Senior is a persuasive man. No doubt he made Roman an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“You’re Tito Brevio’s son,” I said, changing tactic.
Mercutio stiffened. “You can do research. Good for you, detective.”
“He was the Tyrell’s accountant for many years until he pulled that stunt in court, then disappeared.”
“Are you here to rehash my family history or do you have a question?”
“You have a clean record, Mercutio. Not even so much as a parking ticket.”
I could feel Espo’s eyes on me. Where was I going with this? I was going off script again.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Mercutio crossed his arms over his chest and met my stare with a cold look. His jaw twitched. I was getting to him, although he was trying hard not to show it.
I just had to push a little further. I had to make him angry. “Why are you friends with someone like Roman Tyrell?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“We all know his reputation. Violent, aggressive, heir to a Mafia empire… Why do you hang around him? Do you get his protection? Do you work for him? Does he pay you to stick around?”
“It’s not like that,” Mercutio said through gritted teeth.
I kept going. “Or maybe you can’t come to grips with the monster he’s become? Maybe childhood sentimentality keeps you by his side?”
Mercutio’s nostrils flared. His hands flew out from their constricted place across his chest and slammed on the table. He glared at me as if he might leap across at me at any second. “Roman’s a good guy. He’s not like his family. He’s not what everyone thinks he is. He wouldn’t kill anybody.”
I leaned back in my chair, letting Mercutio’s words soak into my bones. I had gotten what I wanted. A passionate, truthful outburst. I wanted to believe Mercutio. I wanted to believe my gut feeling about Roman. But…
Mercutio inhaled loudly, then let out a breath. He sank back into his chair, an uncomfortable look on his face. He’d come into this room determined not to say a bad word about anyone. I had managed to get him to admit how he really felt.
“If you don’t have any more questions for me, detective,” Mercutio’s eyes landed on me. For a second I wondered if Roman had confessed to him about our night together. “We’re done here.”
* * *
“Do you actually believe that guy?” Espo said with a snort. “He actually thinks Roman Tyrell is innocent.”
“Roman’s a good guy.”
I let out an absentminded laugh. Roman, innocent. How funny.
“Either Roman has him fooled or he’s the world’s best actor. I mean, for a second th
ere you looked like you believed him.”
“He’s not like his family. He’s not what everyone thinks he is.”
“You okay, Jules?”
My thoughts were rattling around my head like pans as I entered the interrogation room. Espinoza closed the door behind us.
“About time,” said Rosaline, her voice thick with annoyance.
Rosaline le Monde, socialite daughter of Pearce le Monde, and Roman’s alibi. She sat at the interrogation table, legs crossed, thick waves of perfectly highlighted caramel hair falling over her shoulders, her huge breasts wrapped in an expensive-looking blue dress. Her manicured nails, a garish red, were clicking on the tabletop along with her gold bracelets. Her dark eyes were heavily made up, dark eyeshadow, dark eyeliner, and false eyelashes.
We could have passed for sisters except that Rosaline’s features were sharper, she wore more makeup than I’d ever dream of doing, and her arms were bony while mine were defined.
Roman had a type, it appeared. I fit into it perfectly. Along with how many other women? My fingers tightened on my notepad. My heels struck the floor harder, sounding louder than usual as I stormed across the room and took my seat in front of her. I ignored the curious glance that Espinoza gave me as he sat next to me.
“Thank you for coming in Ms. le Monde,” I said, trying to keep my face and voice passive. Espo and I had decided that it would be better for me to take point on this interview, as my being a woman might make Rosaline feel more at ease. I was not counting on this irrational desire I had to lunge across the table and punch her right in her stupid face.
Rosaline crossed her arms over her obviously fake breasts. “Anything for Romy.”
Romy. What a stupid nickname.
“I assume when you say Romy you mean Roman Tyrell,” I clarified for the interview recording.
“Obviously.”
Obviously, you’re a twit. “And how would you define your relationship with Mr. Tyrell?”
She broke out into a sticky red smile. “Me and Romy go way back, if you know what I mean.”