Page 182 of Dark Romeo

“Goddammit, D, I don’t have time to chit-chat.”

She tsked. “Alright already. Calm your farm.”

I shoved down the frustrated curt response about to lash off the tip of my tongue. Control yourself, Roman. Yelling at D was not going to get Jules back. “I need you to check something in the Tyrell accounts.”

“The Tyrells have a number of accounts.”

“Check all of them.”

“All of them?”

“I have an amount and a date. Check all of them.”

There was a soft sigh at the end. “I don’t know why I keep doing shit for you.”

“’Cause you secretly love me.” I couldn’t help but joke despite the situation.

She snorted.

I recited the information Goldfish had given to me. There was a pause and tapping.

Finally, her voice came back online. “Yup, there it is coming out of one of the Tyrell subsidiaries…$7,275, Nemo’s Furniture Removals, thirtieth of August.”

My blood turned cold.

Goldfish was telling the truth. My father lied to me. He paid to have Julianna kidnapped.

The contract’s still open.

JULIANNA

____________

I rose to awareness like a drowning woman reaching from under the surface of an icy lake. For what seemed like ages, awakeness seemed removed from me by a thin sheet of ice. I fought against it, kicking and screaming for life. Finally I broke through.

My eyes opened. I inhaled sharply, drawing sharp, frigid air into my lungs, and sat up. My head spun. I reached down to steady myself, finding a cold, smooth surface.

Where was I?

My mind scrambled to piece together the last few minutes of consciousness. I had been in a cab before the doors had been locked. I had been knocked out by some kind of gas. I had been taken. By whom?

I squinted through the dim, trying to figure out where I was. It was a room perhaps the size of a small bedroom, empty shelves about the place. A single fluorescent light bulb flickered over me, the only one working, casting a greenish sickly spotlight over me. There was a distinct smell of something rotting. The air felt wet. I frowned. The walls and floor were white and shiny, like marker board. So was the ceiling. High along one wall there were three air conditioning units on shelves. There were no windows that I could see. A large door like a barn door took up part of one wall, sheets of plastic draped before it.

I knew what this was. I was in an old cold storage room.

“I did warn you to be careful, didn’t I, Detective Capulet?”

My blood froze.

Protruding from the shadows on one side stood a man whose features looked so similar to those that I treasured.

Roman’s father.

He stepped forward so I could see him properly. With a wide frame dressed in a midnight-black suit, leather shoes so polished they shined, Giovanni Tyrell was just as intimidating and imposing as I remembered him to be. His dark hair was slicked back off his stern features, and his sharp dark eyes studied me from under thick brows. It unnerved me that I could see fragments of Roman’s face in his.

Several rifles cocked, their barrels pointing out of the shadows, letting me know that he and I were not alone. I slid back, keeping my distance, keeping my features schooled, even though inside I was lashing out like an animal cornered. It would do me no good. I had to bide my time. Gather as much information as I could, then figure how to get the hell out of here.

When I spoke, my voice came out steadier than I felt, thank God. “What do you want with me?”

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