Page 10 of Dark Romeo

“Once you see those things, you can’t unsee them.” He shook his head. “It’s my job as a father to protect you.” He didn’t look like he was going to budge.

Neither was I. I straightened to my full height and looked him right in the eyes. “You can either let me work as a homicide detective here, under your command, under your…protection,” I chose my words carefully, “or you can watch me do it from another state.”

A look of surprise flashed across his face. Then his features softened. “You’re as stubborn as she was,” he said, a hint of affection in his tone. He sighed. “Fine. The next major case is yours.”

Finally. I couldn’t stop the grin from bursting across my face. I lunged for him and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

He kissed my forehead. “Stay safe, baby girl.” Then he left.

I let out a huge breath and leaned against the inside of my front door. I did it. I had won that argument. I would get my chance to work on a real case. So why did I suddenly feel so anxious? This is your chance to prove yourself, Julianna. Don’t blow it.

I ate the rest of my dinner alone, staring at my phone, the clock on my wall ticking loudly into the room. I lived alone in a rented apartment on the top floor of a five-story building in Verona’s east side inner city. It was a cozy apartment, old wooden floors that creaked, heating that was temperamental in winter and the occasional drunken row heard from the streets below. But it was mine.

I had filled it with a mix of decent second-hand furniture, like my comfy two-piece chocolate leather couch, and cheap basics, a light wooden dining room set and DIY-shelves.

My father hated that I lived in the inner city; he still lived in our old house in an outer suburb, a safe, respectable and utterly boring neighborhood. I understood why; the towering chaos of buildings bathing the city in shadows, the dirty, well-worn streets jammed full of smells, the unknown hidden in the dark corners. Perhaps, it was all these things. But I saw the raw uncut gem underneath.

I felt a thrill every time I walked the streets, each corner beckoning with possibilities or something new to be discovered. I felt the city humming away around me, even at night. Here, I felt a part of something. The inner city was Verona’s beating heart, as tough and black as it was. It was gritty and alive and...real. And I loved it.

My phone dinged as I chewed on my pasta. I swiped it open with my pinkie.

Unknown: Remember. 10pm. Club Luxe.

It was sent from a private number. No signature. Who…?

Roman. It was from Roman. A little thrill shot up my spine like a tiny electrocution. He hadn’t just forgotten about me. He still wanted me to meet him. The nerve.

How did he get my number? A memory of him picking up my phone at the graveyard flashed through my mind. He’d held on to it for a long time. At the time, I had been so distracted I hadn’t thought anything of it. He must have texted himself my number or something. I should feel indignant. I did feel indignant.

I glanced up at the clock. Twenty past nine. If I dressed now I could be there on time. Club Luxe was only twenty minutes away in the trendy downtown area. In less than an hour I could be seeing him again. My body seemed to vibrate awake at the thought.

No. I wouldn’t go. He obviously wanted certain things from me and… and… giving in to these feelings, however nice they might be, were for other women. Not me. I had a reputation to uphold. A career to focus on. Paperwork to do.

I placed my phone face down on the table so I couldn’t stare at the screen and returned to my food. My appetite was gone. My eyes kept being drawn to the phone, tiny butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

I still hadn’t replied to Roman’s text. One, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to tell him I wasn’t coming. And two, I thought it better not to reply rather than get dragged into a debate I was scared I’d end up giving in to.

I pushed my half-finished dinner away and grabbed my phone. My finger hovered over the message reply button.

Dammit. I wasn’t replying, remember?

I opened my recent calls. The only two contacts that came up were my father and Luiz Espinoza, the partner I’d been assigned to when I made homicide. I hit call on Espinoza’s name before I could change my mind. I chewed my lip as I listened to the ring tone. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off intense eyes and electric touches.

He picked up after three rings. “Espinoza,” he yelled into the phone, muffled thudding and thrashing of an electric guitar in the background.

“It’s me,” I said. “Where are you?”

“Yo, Capi,” he said, using his nickname for me. “I’m at Dixie’s. The No Name Band is playing tonight.”

I frowned. “Why don’t they have a name?”

“What? No, the band’s name is the ‘No Name Band’.”

“Oh, right. What do they sing?”

There was a small pause. “You didn’t call me to talk about my awesome taste in music. What’s up?”

“Has there, um, been any calls?”

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