by Sienna Blake
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 tricked 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 yo
u, 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 there 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.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean, that’s why I asked,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Romy and I are childhood sweethearts.”
I opened the file in front of me, pretending to find the information I was looking for. I didn’t need to. I knew the details of Roman’s file by heart. Every piece of information I came across about Roman had been studied, analyzed and carefully stored away. “I understand he’s been in Europe for…the last eight years. If you were so close, why didn’t you go with him?” I knew I sounded bitchy. I couldn’t help it.
“Romy,” she fluttered her hands about her, “is like a wild stallion. I knew he needed a few years to go and do whatever he needed to do. At the end of the day, he will always come back to me. He loves me.”
Her words stabbed me in the heart. Was it true? Did Roman love her? Had I just been a whatever he needed to do?
“We’re you with him on Saturday the eleventh? Last Saturday.”
“I was with him all night,” she smirked at me.
She was lying. I knew she was lying. Roman had been with me. But I couldn’t contradict her without ruining myself. I studied her face. Did she know she was sitting across from the woman Roman was actually with that night? “Why don’t you take us through your evening with Mr. Tyrell. Start with what time you met and where.”
“We met about ten thirty p.m. at Club Luxe…” She proceeded to outline Roman’s night with me, starting with leaving Club Luxe and going to his hotel room, how we stayed in the next day, ordered room service, ending with our goodbye around seven p.m. Sunday night. As she spoke the blood drained from my limbs. She knew exactly what Roman and I had been doing. Which meant that Roman told her about our night together, details about our night together.
All I could do was stare at her, even after she finished talking, my mind going at a million miles per hour. Roman had told her everything about our time together. They must be close. Did she know she was talking about Roman and me? Was she mocking me?
Had I just been a fling? A substitute for her? Had he been fucking me and thinking of her that night? My heart burned as all these questions piled one on top of the other.
Espinoza cleared his throat. I could see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye. He was waiting for my next question. I couldn’t get anything coherent to come out of my mouth.
“Ms. le Monde,” Espo said.
“Please,” she said, sending Espinoza a sticky smile, “call me Rosaline.”
“Okay, Rosaline. Do you remember what you were wearing that night?”
“An LBD. Chanel.”
“LBD?”
“Little black dress.”
“Right.” Espinoza paused as he wrote a small note on his notepad.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth about your relationship with Romy?” I spat out before I could stop myself.
Rosaline stared at me, the smirk on her face never faltering. “Romy has a small birthmark on his lower left hip, shaped like Italy.” Her grin widened. “Have fun checking it out. It’s as close as you’ll ever get.”
His birthmark. I forced myself to take a deep breath and leaned back in my chair. She knew about his birthmark. How many other women knew about his birthmark? Why did I think I had been special?
“We’ll, um, check that out,” said Espinoza. “That’s all, Ms. le Monde.”
Rosaline sent me one more smug look before she let Espinoza escort her out. I was left alone in the interrogati
on room with my thoughts.
I felt violated. She had known every detail about my time with Roman. He had told her everything. Had it not been sacred to him? Had they laid in bed together and discussed me? Did Rosaline know that the woman Roman had been with was me?
I was totally wrecked by the time I left the station that evening. My stomach was empty and in knots. I hadn’t been hungry all day. I had driven my car into work today and had remembered that I had driven it in. I found myself searching the parking lot shadows. I chastised myself. I didn’t want to see Roman Tyrell again. I didn’t want an explanation from him. I just wanted to get enough evidence on him to put him away. Then to forget about him and his stupid beautiful face and his stupid beautiful body.
I closed my apartment door behind me, dropping my keys and bag automatically on the side table. Before I could reach for the light, I saw the shadow moving in front of me. Someone was in my apartment.
28
____________
Julianna
My training kicked in. I slammed my back up against the front door and grabbed for my gun, my veins flooding with adrenaline.
A firm hand on my forearm stopped me. “Relax, Jules.” I heard Roman’s voice. A strange sense of relief washed over me.
It took me a second for my mind to catch up. Roman Tyrell had broken into my apartment. I should not be feeling relief. In the dim moonlight streaming in through my living room windows, I could see his wide frame taking up almost my entire vision. Where he was touching me, felt like it was burning.
I found my voice. “Let go of me.”
“Only if you promise not to shoot me,” he said, his tone light.
“I’m not promising anything.” I could smell his familiar masculine cologne of wood and citrus. I hated that I wanted to press my nose into his chest and fist my hands into his shirt. He was a criminal for God sakes.
He chuckled softly into the dark, the noise sending shivers down my spine. “I guess I’ll have to take a chance that I’ll survive you.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
