Page 61 of Dark Romeo

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.”

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