Page 103 of Dark Romeo

Dammit. What should I tell her? I couldn’t admit Roman was the Paris guy or she’d never let it go. I couldn’t tell her he was a friggin’ gangster or she’d be scared out of her mind. Actually, she’d probably be turned on as hell and push me even further towards him. I realized my mouth was flapping open like a fish. I slammed it shut.

Nora nodded. “Hot, charming, dangerous and loaded enough to take you first class to Paris. Why the hell haven’t you jumped all over that? I’ll take him if you don’t want him.”

I cursed inwardly as I slammed down two cups and spooned in coffee. “It doesn’t matter whether he was or wasn’t the Paris guy, nothing can ever happen between us again.”

Nora crossed her arms over her chest, a frown beginning to form on her face. “Are you really that set on keeping yourself unhappy?”

I sighed and poured the hot water into the cups. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t.”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Gay?”

I laughed snorted. “Definitely not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I stirred our coffees as I debated how to answer this question. I settled with, “It’s complicated.”

“It always is.” Nora took the cup I handed her and placed her other hand on my arm. “Take it from a woman who’s lived twice as long as you have, ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’.”

* * *

The next few days dragged. Every time my phone rang I half expected it to be Roman, making some inappropriate flirty comment as if nothing had happened. When I came home at night, I half expected Roman to be waiting for me in my apartment. Each time he wasn’t there, my heart sank lower and lower. Until I almost regretted kicking him out of my apartment. Almost.

Things at work seemed to have quieted down for now. Quiet enough that I was stuck doing paperwork. Which made me nervous. The ruling families, including the Tyrells, seemed to have been very quiet lately, too quiet. Like the calm before the storm. We had yet to see the full retaliation for Jacob Tyrell’s murder. One of the sources on the street claimed a truce between the Tyrells and the Veronesis had been negotiated. I suspected the war was coming. Giovanni Tyrell was not one to back away. And he was not one for truces.

Early one morning, as I walked the short distance from my car to the station, I felt a strange tingling on the back of my neck. Roman? I spun, glancing around the street, looking to find the pair of eyes that was trained on me. I startled a passerby, who weaved around me before continuing on his way. I peered into every doorway, every street corner, every shadow. As far as I could see there was no one.

When I left work that evening—the sun had set, the only light drifting down from streetlights, the law-abiding workers retired to their homes, the ones that remained had shifty-eyes, scanning for trouble—I felt that feeling again. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I walked through the shadows to my car. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was watching.

Roman?

He hadn’t given up on me. He hadn’t let go. A small relief bubbled up inside me. I had the urge to call out to him, to let him know I was watching. I didn’t. I licked my lips, which had gone dry at the knowledge of his eyes on me. And sent a hopeful look into the dark. Please talk to me, I threw out into the night. Don’t let this be over.

I walked slowly to my car, willing him to show himself. I kept glancing into my rearview mirror as I drove home, looking for him tailing me. I felt him. But I didn’t see him.

After dropping off my work things and showering, I had dinner at my father’s place. My father didn’t cook. We ate Thai carry-out from white cardboard cartons with cheap wooden chopsticks on his couch because his dining table was covered in work files. I chewed on too-soft pad Thai and listened to him ranting after I told him we still had no evidence linking anyone to Vinnie Torrito’s murder.

“Those damn Tyrells. They think they run this town.” My father’s face reddened as he spoke, his chopsticks holding a piece of pork waving about, scattering rice everywhere. “They’re so damn arrogant, flaunting the law thinking they’re too smart to get caught. One of these days their arrogance will cause them to make a mistake, then…I’ll get them. We just need one to turn and we’ll get them all.”

I wanted to argue for Roman, that he didn’t really want to be involved with his family’s business. “Surely not all the Tyrells are like that,” I said carefully.

My father gave me an incredulous look. “Are you that naïve, Julu? Of course they all are. They’re bred from birth to be monsters. I won’t rest until every single one of them is behind bars.”

I bit back the urge to argue with him—what happened to innocent until proven guilty? I had an odd feeling like…like I was betraying Roman by staying silent about the accusations against him.

Whose side are you on, Julianna? Your father’s or Roman Tyrell’s?

My father studied my face. “You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”

I said nothing but my lips pinched in answer.

He mopped his forehead with a napkin. “When your mother died,” his voice choked on the word, “I made a vow that I wouldn’t stop until every single piece of scum was locked up. I vowed that no other family would have to go through what we did.” His face had turned a shade of red, his breathing gone heavy. “So far I’ve failed. Now that I’m chief, I have a real chance to make a difference.”

I understood now. All his late nights and weekends at work, his obsession with locking up the Tyrell family. He was on a crusade in my mother’s honor. He had turned himself into a weapon to fight crime. My thoughts flashed to Roman Tyrell again. What if that weapon aimed at someone innocent?

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