Page 51 of Dark Romeo

“Mr. Tyrell,” Espo warned.

“No. I left with another girl,” he admitted, his voice heavy.

The fucker. The fucking fucker. He was exactly the playboy that his reputation afforded him. I can’t believe I fell for it. Less than four hours after he left me he was taking another woman back to his bed. I wanted to punch him in the face. I leaned back in my chair and fisted my itching hands across my chest.

“Another woman?” I said. “Where did you two go?”

“To my apartment.” His words stabbed me.

“And was this one special as well?” I fought and failed to hide the bitterness in my voice.

“No. I…I thought the special woman was lost to me. I…” For the first time during this whole interview, Roman seemed unsure.

“This other woman have a name?” Espo asked.

He shrugged. “I’m sure she did, but I didn’t catch it. Rachel or something.”

“And did she stay at your place until seven the next day too?” I asked.

“No… she only lasted ten minutes or so before she left.”

“That was quick.”

“I changed my mind about her company.”

I stared at Roman, wondering if this was at all true.

“Leaving you alone?” Espo asked.

“Just me and a bottle of Jack.”

“And you have no idea who this mystery woman was?” Espinoza’s voice bordered on sarcastic, betraying his doubt in Roman’s story.

“No.”

“So you have no alibi for Sunday night after you left the club at around ten.” Barely enough time to kill Vinnie and dump the body somewhere.

Roman’s eyes hardened. Once more the Roman I knew felt lost to me. “My building has security cameras. I’m sure you could get a hold of them.”

“We’ll have to check your story. We have your father in the next room.”

If Roman was guilty he may have flinched. Instead, he smiled without humor. “Say hello to dear old Dad for me.”

“And this special girl,” Espo said. “The first one. What was her name?”

Roman caught my gaze. This was it. The moment I become a fucking laughing stock of the entire precinct. I braced myself.

“Rosaline.”

What? I stared at Roman. His face gave away nothing. He was lying. The fucker was lying. “Rosaline who?” I demanded.

“Rosaline le Monde.”

“Pearce le Monde’s daughter?” Espo asked. Mr. Le Monde was a prominent Verona businessman with a vast property portfolio.

“One and the same.”

“Who is she to you?” I demanded, trying to sound like a cop and not a jealous girlfriend.

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