by Sienna Blake
Did that just happen? The erratic thudding of my heart seemed the only evidence of his appearance.
“Stay away from my family and me, detective.”
Well, Mr. Tyrell, I did not respond to threats. The easiest way to make me chase after something is to tell me I should let it go. “Stubborn” or “bullheaded” my father often called me with an affectionate smile on his face.
Underneath the surface of Vinnie Torrito’s gang-related execution was something more complex. Roman Tyrell was the key to unraveling it all.
As I pushed myself off the wall a flash of silver on the floor caught my eye. I bent to pick it up. It was a small card. It appeared to be an invitation.
We cordially invite you to…
The Fated Grand Opening
Midnight, Friday, August 25th
Dress code: Evening Wear & Masks
There was an address on the other side.
It was a party invitation for next Friday. Roman must have dropped it. Did he do it on purpose? Did he want me to find this? Was this his way of inviting me?
I shook myself. He just told me to stay away from him. It must have been an accident. What should I do with it? I certainly wasn’t going to return it…
I should just throw it away.
I glanced once at the boiler room door as if I expected Roman to come back for it at any moment. He did not return. I slipped the invitation into my pocket.
The next day another package arrived for me at work. A long white box just as before. No message, no note, no return address.
My stomach fluttered as I opened the lid. As I expected, I found a second perfect blood-red rose.
4
____________
Julianna
I’d been sitting at the large meeting room table in one of the offices for hours, cheap laminate chipping off the corners. Across the table I had spread out all the files we had on the entire Tyrell family and their associates. Each file was open with photos and papers fanning out across the table and stuck up across the walls, my notes in glaring red marker pen. I’d been combing through each file, memorizing each one, my stomach curdling as I read about the Tyrell family’s cold-blooded rise to power. How could Roman Tyrell grow up in such a family and yet turn out so different from them?
“Hey, Jules.” Dene, one of the tech guys, stuck his head into the meeting room, making me jump.
His eyes cast across the room and his eyebrow lifted for a second. I know what it looked like. It looked like one of those shrine rooms we always seemed to find when we busted a crazed stalker.
“I’m in the middle of a case,” I blurted out. “This is for a case.”
He let out a whistle. “Damn. I’d hate to be the one you set your sights on.”
I stabbed the lid of my pen closed. “Do you have something for me?”
His gaze snapped towards me. “Er, you’ll want to see this.”
“This better be good.”
I followed him into the tech room, where he had lined up black-and-white security footage on several large monitors. I recognized the hotel. It was the one that Roman and I had spent the night in. Oh, shit. I completely forgot about the hotel security footage. I was on that footage. The blood drained from my face. I felt like I might pass out.
“When did we get the footage from the hotel?” I asked, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Earlier today.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I asked, my voice going high.
Dene frowned at me. “I’m telling you now.”
At that moment, Espinoza walked in and stood next to me, blocking my exit. Even if he hadn’t, I still couldn’t have run. I was frozen to the floor. I could only watch in horror as Dene rolled the footage from that Saturday night.
On screen, Roman entered the hotel lobby, unmistakable in his stature and the way he walked, commanding the attention of everyone in the space. Slung over his shoulder was me.
“Same kind of hair as Rosaline,” said Espinoza. “Pity we can’t see her face.”
“She’s got great legs,” said Dene.
I ignored that comment. “Do, er, do we get a shot of her face anywhere?” I asked, trying not to let my voice shake.
“No. Just her sweet ass.”
Espo slapped the Dene on the back of his head. “Have some respect, bro.” He pointed to me.
“Oh, er, sorry, detective,” Dene said, sounding a little embarrassed.
“It’s fine,” I muttered, hoping he didn’t notice that I couldn’t look him in the face.
The camera angle flicked to the lift, then to the top floor’s suite. I was still hanging upside down, my hair in my face. I had never been so thankful that Roman had been such a caveman that night.
“They go into the Presidential Suite at eleven-oh-three,” Dene said. “They don’t leave the room, either of them, until seven the next night.”
“Do they get any visitors?” Espo asked.
“They order room service on Sunday, twice.”
“Just like Rosaline said in her statement. Looks like she’s telling the truth. Show us the footage of them leaving.”
“Here.” Dene pointed to another screen where Roman was walking back out of the room, the duffel over his bag. The time stamp was seven eleven p.m. He disappeared off screen. My gut tightened. I would come out next, maybe five minutes after him.
“Where’s the girl?” Espo asked.
“Well, this is the strange bit…” Dene said, his eyes flicking over to look at me.
Oh my God. I was so screwed. In a second they would both watch me walk out of that hotel room.
Hopefully I could argue that it was Rosaline and not me. We did look similar. It wasn’t like the footage was perfectly clear. Right?
I could barely breathe as Dene sped up the tape and the minutes flew by. Here it was…seven sixteen p.m. I stared at the screen, waiting for the door to the Presidential Suite to open, revealing my face.
But it never did. The video played on and on until the cleaners came the next morning.
“That’s it?” Espo asked. “She never comes out?”
Dene shook his head. “It’s the strangest thing. I checked the footage for the rest of the day, even the day after just to be sure, but we never see her leave the room.”
Somehow I’d dodged a bullet. I slowly let out a breath of relief. But how did this happen? I had walked out a few minutes after Roman. Why wasn’t I on the tape?
“Is there another exit?” Espo asked.
Dene shook his head. “Not unless she climbed off the balcony.”
“Has someone messed with the footage?”
“If they did it was a pro job.”
Roman. Roman must have done this.
He was protecting me. Protecting my career, my job, my reputation. My heart began to warm. He did care.
I shook myself internally. What was I thinking? Roman didn’t do this for me. He did it for himself. If word got out to his family that he’d been intimate with a detective, they’d have reason to mistrust him. They might even kill him.
I couldn’t get rid of the nagging thought that he’d done it to protect me. It was stupid. Arrogant, even. Still, I couldn’t help but want to thank him. In person. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again.
Stupid heart.
Espo let out a growl. “Dammit. His alibi holds. The chief isn’t going to like this.”
I stared at Espo. He was beginning to sound like my father. Condemning a man before he was proved guilty. “Here’s a novel idea,” I said, my voice biting at the air. “What if his alibi holds because he didn’t do it.”
Espo stared at me like I’d grown two heads. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were on his side.”
“No, I’m on the side of ‘innocent until proven guilty’.”
“Roman Tyrell is guilty.”
I threw my hands up in the air before storming out and locking myself in my meeting room again. I shoved the files aside un
til I found the one on Roman Tyrell.
No arrests except for drunken brawling. No criminal record. He’d not even been associated with the Tyrells until his father basically kidnapped him as he was about to leave the country. Roman wasn’t staying in Verona of his own free will. Of that I was sure.
I stared at one of the few photos of Roman Tyrell we had on file, taken from a video camera still in the interrogation room that day I found out who he was. His thick brows shading intense eyes that stared back at me. He was volatile, aggressive, dangerous even. But he was not a cold-blooded killer.
What does your father have over you, Roman?
Why won’t you let me help you?
These questions plagued me. They plagued me until Friday, August twenty-fifth arrived. That night I was trying to sleep, but a certain frustrating dark-eyed man was on my mind and a particular invitation was burning a hole in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. I told myself I wouldn’t go…
It was a masked ball. I had the perfect outfit. No one would recognize me.
No. I should just leave Roman the hell alone just like he warned me to.
I could just slip in quietly. No one needed to know. I wouldn’t even need to approach Roman. It was a just a chance to watch him without him knowing. Perhaps his father would be there. Perhaps I would overhear something, see something…
Screw it. I was as far from sleep as I could possibly be. What could possibly go wrong?
5
____________
Julianna
Fated was a slinky bar taking up the entire top floor of an inner-city heritage building. The outside was all almond-colored stone and high arches. Inside it looked more like an exclusive party thrown in some billionaire’s penthouse than a bar; snow-white walls decorated with large gilded mirrors reflecting the beautiful people in classy gowns draped over plush couches and leather chairs, waiters in coattails carrying flutes of bubbling gold liquid and glasses of honeyed amber over ice.
I might not feel like I belonged but I at least looked the part. I wore a long silver dress that clung to my hips and fell to my ankles like a waterfall of cut crystal. An intricate silver mask of lace-like metalwork wrapped around the upper half of my face like a frosted winter branch. My honey hair was combed back into a bun. The dress and the mask had been my mother’s. I had never worn them before. I had never had a reason to. Until now.
A small thrill rushed through me as I made my way through the glittering masked crowd. I felt eyes slide across me and yet I felt invisible. Anonymous. Free. I was no longer Detective Julianna Capulet. I could be anyone in here. My feet felt light as if I was stepping on lily pads.
I slipped from room to room, searching for those familiar dark eyes. Just as I was giving up hope that he was here, I spotted him. He was standing in a small group, looking regal in his dark suit, matching midnight shirt and tie. He was cloaked in a simple midnight mask. I stood watching, mesmerized as he carried himself like a king presiding over his court, his subjects hanging over his every word, hungry for scraps of his attention.
The music changed. He looked up and his eyes found mine.
Oh my God.
I spun, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing tray. My sudden movement startled a couple beside me. I gave them a forced smile. “Nice bar, huh?”
They turned back to each other, ignoring me completely.
I gulped down some champagne, wincing when the bubbles fizzled up my nose. It’s fine. I’m sure Roman didn’t see me. Even if he did, it’s not like he would have recognized me. Stupid. Why did I spin around like I had been caught? That action alone could have caused more suspicion than my masked face. I’d just turn back around slowly, casually and…
He wasn’t there. Where did he—?
A strong hand grabbed my arm, wrenching me against a firm chest. Roman glared down at me, his dark eyes flashing like black diamonds from behind his velvet mask, which I could see were now featured like a raven’s. “What,” he growled low and full of menace, “are you doing here?”
I sucked in a gasp. “You recognize me?”
His eyes rolled over my body. “I’d recognize you anywhere. Your eyes. You can’t change them. You can’t hide them.” He leaned in close. “I can see the goodness shining out of them.” He said goodness like it was an insult.
“I’m not as good as you think I am.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, really.” I leaned in closer, drawn in by his scent and his pure masculine presence; a thrill of fear mixed with lust shot through my body. I finally admitted to myself, I may be turned on by the danger of being here. Any one of his family might recognize me like he had.
It was the same kind of rush that I sought out by joining the police academy. The same kind of rush I felt when engaging with an assailant. The fear didn’t make me freeze like it did some people. It made things sharper, clearer. Just like now, even in the low light of the crystal chandeliers, I could see Roman’s pupils dilating, his Adam’s apple hitching as I slid a hand onto his arm. He was remembering what it was like to be this close to me, just like I was remembering too. Skin on skin. Wet tongues dancing. Hot flesh colliding.
Heat flooded my panties and turned my core into an aching ball. My heart began to bang against my ribs. His lips parted, a reaction I mirrored. If I leaned in any closer… If I just tilted up my face…
“Roman, bro!” a male’s voice called out. I jumped back. Roman played it much cooler, smoothing out the front of his expensive suit jacket and acknowledging the man beside me with a nod of his chin. They spoke briefly in low tones. I noticed Roman subtly shifting his body between me and his acquaintance. Like he was protecting me.
Don’t be stupid, Julianna. He’s trying to hide you.
The other man wore a dark gray suit which didn’t fit him as well as Roman’s did. His cheeks carried the first flush of liquor from behind a simple pirate’s mask. I didn’t think I recognized him. I kept my eyes averted and gulped the rest of my champagne, setting the empty glass on a tray as it went past.
As soon as the other man strode away, Roman grabbed me and closed the gap between us, causing a shiver to run down my spine. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Get out. Now.”
“I know you did something to the security footage at the hotel,” I blurted out.
He glared at me, his eyes darting around us before locking onto mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I watched it,” I said in a low voice. “Somehow the footage of me leaving your hotel room is missing. That’s evidence tampering.”
He leaned in, his eyes glittering, his voice filled with amusement. “Are you going to turn me in, detective?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Then we have nothing more to say to each other about it.”
“Except…thank you,” I whispered.
He looked taken aback for a second. Then he snorted, his top lip pulling up into a sneer. “Don’t think I did it for you. I did what I had to do to protect myself. I just happen to be protecting you at the same time.”
He was lying. I could see underneath the bravado he was trying so desperately to cling to.
“Roman!” another male voice called out over the music.
Roman cursed under his breath and I swear I heard my name cursed as well. A group of three men swarmed us, taking up space like they owned the bar. They all had dark hair and dark eyes like Roman’s, their faces partly obscured by the same raven mask as Roman had on. I froze. Oh, shit. These men were Tyrell men.
Two of them were flashing wild grins as they scanned the crowd, barely noticing me. The third one, however, was staring at me. I suddenly felt naked. I wrapped an arm across my waist, not that it would stop him from seeing me.
I chanced a glance at him again—still staring. My gaze landed on the familiar scar that came out from under his mask. It was Scarface. Abel Montero. The Tyrell butcher. The man who’d been chasing Roman through the graveyard. The same man who had forc
ed Roman into his father’s limo at gunpoint. The one who almost caught me at Roman’s apartment. My blood froze. I tore my eyes away from his probing ones. I had to stay calm. Don’t react. Don’t panic.
I tried to look bored. I tried to look for a waiter with more champagne just for something to do with my hands. Or for my nerves. Of course, there were none to be found when I needed them. I found Roman watching me, then glancing at Abel, a furrow between his brows the only thing betraying his anxiety.
One of the other men clasped Roman on the shoulder. “We got some shit to talk about. Some shipments—”
“This is not the time, Benvolio,” Roman growled. “Talk to me later.” He waved at the group of ladies dressed in slinky minidresses standing to one side who were looking our way. “Go keep them company for me.” Right. They’d been the ones he had been standing with before he came over to me. That’s why they were batting their eyelashes at him and glaring at me like they wanted to murder me.
Benvolio looked over to them, his chin dipping as he gave them an exaggerated once-over. He whistled. “Dayum. If you don’t want them, I’ll have them.”
“Dude,” one of his friends said, shoving Benvolio aside. “Plenty to share.”
“No way. Dibs on them all.”
Roman snorted as the two grinners sauntered across the room. Then he called out after them, “You’re just keeping them occupied until I get back.”
Roman’s words stung, reminding me that I wasn’t wanted here. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong with him. I swallowed the hurt down and forced myself not to react.
“You look familiar,” Abel said. He hadn’t moved. His gaze hadn’t left mine.
My skin broke out in a cold rash. I was about to be exposed. And it was all my fault. I didn’t dare look at Roman.
Abel took a slow, measured step towards me. I fought the urge to turn and run. “Who are you?” he asked. His fingers twitched as if he was thinking about snatching my mask off.
If he exposed me I would be in serious trouble. I had no weapon with me. I had no backup. He couldn’t harm me here. Not in front of all these witnesses. He had to take me somewhere quieter to do that. I couldn’t let him take me.