Page 183 of Dark Romeo

“Don’t take it so personally,” he said, his voice rough like the rumble of an engine.

“It’s a little difficult not to take it personally when I’m the one being held here against my will.”

“You’re just a means to an end, my dear. With you I get to kill two birds with one stone, excuse the pun.” He grinned, a horrible smile of teeth and stretched lips.

I tensed. “I don’t understand. I’m just a lowly detective.”

He let out a curt laugh. “Don’t play coy with me, girl.”

“I’m not.”

He pursed his mouth. “You know, you remind me of Maria, my deceased wife, God rest her soul. You both have spunk. A spark. That certain bewitching quality.” His features hardened. “And that annoying habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The hair on my arms stood on end. Look where Maria Tyrell ended up.

“No matter,” Giovanni continued. “In the end, I can turn anything to my advantage.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded. “What plans do you have for me?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” He turned and exited my cell. I could do nothing but stand there as the nameless guards retreated after him, their guns trained on me until the door was slammed shut and locked.

I had no idea what Giovanni meant. I only knew that his plans could not be good. I had to warn Roman but I had no idea where I was or how the hell I was going to get out.

ROMAN

____________

My father. My own damn father had Julianna.

I pushed through the doors to my father’s library, where I had been told he was. The library was a medium-sized room, the walls lined with tall bookcases almost to the ceiling. It was carpeted in a warm green, the color of moss. Around a fireplace were several high-backed armchairs.

My father reclined in his large crimson leather armchair, his slippered feet resting on a matching leather pouf, a round crystal-cut glass filled with amber liquid. He was staring off into space. It was past midnight, but he was still awake as I knew he would be. He’d been an insomniac for as long as I could remember.

Even when I was a child, he often sat in here alone except for his volumes and volumes of books—mostly business and politics. He would often make me read them as a teenager. My father might be an immoral man but he wasn’t stupid. He was never violent for the sake of being violent. Every one of his decisions was strategic, calculated and had a purpose. Even the bloody ones. He clawed his way to the top of the underground world using his brain and his penchant for getting his hands dirty. A deadly combination.

For a split second, before he noticed me, when he still thought he was alone, he looked…open and vulnerable, lost in his thoughts. How could someone so evil, so ruthless, so monstrous, look so fragile? So human. So lonely.

I imagined that he was replaying the faces of all the men he’d sent to their deaths. Did they whisper to him as they whispered to me when I was alone? Did he regret the things he did? Did he hate who he’d become? He wasn’t always this man. My mother wouldn’t have loved him if he was. I wondered if he ever thought back to the first decision he made that turned him down this dark road. Whether, knowing what he did now, he would have made the same decision. I noticed the wrinkles around his eyes, the downward pull of the corner of his lips and the great weight that curved his shoulders. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. The sight of him sitting comfortably while he kept Julianna somewhere against her will made my blood boil. If he let his men hurt her, if they so much as touched her, I would slaughter every last one of them myself, damn the consequences.

For now, I had to keep pretending I was on his side. I had to keep playing the dutiful son. The deserving heir. At least until I got her back. When I got her back, God help me…I would burn his fucking empire to the ground with him in it.

I tucked away the river of fire in my veins. I promised the monster inside of me that he would get his revenge, and I composed my features. I was a Tyrell. I knew how to keep my emotions in check. I cleared my throat. “Father.”

He looked over, his humanness melting into the stern mask that I knew so well. His lip curled up into a snarl, my standard greeting. “So good of you to return, son,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “But then again, I knew you would eventually.”

He thought I could never survive without him. He was wrong. So wrong. Today would not be the day I proved that to him.

I brushed off his jab. I strode over to the liquor cabinet on one wall, opened the stopper of the crystal bottle that he had left out and took a sniff. Cognac. No doubt the finest that money could buy. “Family first,” I said. “Isn’t what you always say?”

He let out a scoff behind me. “Since when do you actually listen to me?”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he sounded bitter.

I poured myself a stiff drink and turned to face him. He eyed my freshly pressed black pants and black button-up shirt. I’d showered and changed out of my wrinkled clothes before coming to him. My wardrobe of Giovanni-approved suits and smart-casual clothes hung in the bedroom that had been kept here for me. My attire, at least, he couldn’t disapprove of.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I had men looking for you.”

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