Page 72 of Dark Romeo

“Julianna, you’re still here?” Captain Foster poked his head through the partially open door. I jumped and clicked the minimize button on the screen. The traffic camera footage disappeared.

I turned to face him. I hoped from his angle at the door he hadn’t been able to see what was on the screen properly. “Yes, captain. I was just running through a hunch.”

He stepped farther into the room. “Did you find anything?”

I shook my head. “Nothing interesting,” I lied. I couldn’t tell the captain about my theory on Roman Tyrell. Not yet.

He glanced at the blank screen, then looked back at me, his face unreadable. “Are you leaving soon?”

“In a bit.”

He shook his head and gave me an affectionate smile. “You’re like your father. You work too hard.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks. I think.”

“It is a compliment. I’m waiting for the day that you surpass me in rank. Anyway, good night. Make sure you get some sleep.”

As soon as the captain left, I sagged with relief. I had to be more careful. I opened up the traffic camera footage again and stared at the screen.

What should I do with this footage? All that it proved was that Roman got into a limo owned by his father. They already claimed that they had had dinner together that night. Unfortunately, this new footage didn’t disprove that. Why would Giovanni Tyrell force his own son into his car?

What was going on? Who are you really, Roman Tyrell? What happened with your father?

“My father is a difficult man. My family is…complicated. We have a family business and the politics… The politics are killer. I didn’t want to be a part of it.”

What if Giovanni did kill Vinnie, or at the very least, had Vinnie killed? Perhaps all Roman was guilty of was lying about being his father’s alibi. How would I prove this?

Roman.

Roman was my proof.

* * *

The next evening, I stood in front of my closet looking across the items in my wardrobe. I needed to be sexy without being obvious. My eyes were drawn to a dress in a deep red.

He let out a groan. “You’re wearing red lacy underwear?” His voice came out tight, almost pained. “Please tell me the bra matches.”

My cheeks heated. Red. Roman liked me in red. I pulled out a red fitted dress with buttons running the whole way up the front and slipped it on. I slid my feet into a pair of nude heels and stepped in front of the mirror. It held on to the lines of my curves without being too clingy, and if I left the top button undone, you could see the peak of the top of my cleavage. It was perfect.

Except there was no place to hide a gun.

The thought of walking into enemy camp without a gun made me feel…naked. A shiver slipped down my spine like a melting ice cube. Did I really think that Roman could be dangerous to me?

No.

At least, not physically. My heart skipped a beat as if to make a point. A point which I summarily ignored. I grabbed my keys, Roman’s address which I had copied from his file, and left before I could change my mind.

Less than thirty minutes later I walked out of the elevator to the top floor of an inner West Verona apartment block, all creamy walls, warm cherry wood and silver finishes. It appeared there was only one apartment on this penthouse level. I walked down the short corridor, my heels muffled on the cream carpet, stopping in front of a painted midnight blue door, a silver number “70” and a matching silver knocker centered at eye height. I smoothed down my dress and took a deep, steadying breath. It didn’t work. I knocked on the door, my rapping echoing down the empty corridor.

I heard footsteps approaching the door from inside. The sound turned my heart into a tribal drumbeat inside my body. I shook my clammy hands by my sides and forced what I hoped was a sexy smile on my face. I had a touch of eye makeup to darken my eyes and a natural-colored gloss on my mouth.

The small peephole darkened. My skin broke out into goosebumps, the way it did when Roman looked at me. There was a pause. I could almost feel him stop breathing. Or perhaps I was projecting because I certainly had.

Here we were. After…everything. Less than two inches of wood separating us.

I heard the lock click. The door opened a few inches, stopping against the strain of the chain still hooked on. Through the gap, one of Roman’s dark hooded eyes stared out at me. “What are you doing here?” His deep voice, like honey and gravel all at once, rolled like a wave over me.

“I…I want to talk to you.”

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