The Scent of Roses: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Romeo Book 2) Read online

  They tied the man up with his back to me. The coward in me was thankful I couldn’t see his face.

  His crying sounded muffled in my ears as if I were drowning underwater. My vision had taken on a blurry quality. And when I lifted my arm to make the first strike, it didn’t feel like my arm. I was merely an observer, watching through another’s eyes.

  The whip came down across his back, opening it to the sky. Violent red blood appeared like a warning. Stop. Stop! His screams took on an anguish that fisted into my heart.

  To my horror, a rush of power surged through my veins. Power. I held this man’s life in my hands. I was a god.

  I hated myself for feeling it.

  Don’t lie, Roman. You love the power. You are a Tyrell. Give in to it. Take it.

  I was becoming everything I feared. Everything I had fought so long not to become.

  A fury rose out of me. It had nowhere to go except towards the man before me. You fool. Why did you have to steal from my family? Why did you have to make me do this? The anguish released from me in the frenzied furious slashing of my whip.

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  He screamed louder, his voice echoing across the wide sky like the pained cries of the jungle birds, cries that would later rouse me from my bed. Between screams I could hear the muffled sobs and whispers of the workers behind me. Monster. Monster. Monster. They would chase me from wake to sleep like my shadow.

  Then it stopped. All the noise ended in a collective hushed gasp. Even my brother, who had been laughing, had fallen into silent horror.

  All the noise except for the bark of my whip. Crack. Crack.

  Someone grabbed my forearm poised above me and the whip coiled at my feet like an obedient snake.

  My father stared at me with gravity. “That’s enough, son.”

  That’s enough.

  I turned around slowly. I caught the look on my brother’s face: fear. Then Abel’s: respect.

  My eyes came to rest upon what was left of the man who was screaming no more. I had torn him to ribbons. A mess of flesh stripped off bloody bones remained wrapped around the tree.

  Later that night in my brother’s den, as we all sat our well-fed selves in armchairs so soft it was like sitting in the lap of angels, I heard the whispers of the devil. Yo no fui, he taunted. Ayúdame.

  Through the nameless ghost of the man I had whipped to death, my father raised his glass to me. “I’m proud of you, son.”

  I had never felt so lost than in that moment.

  31

  ____________

  Julianna

  The present...

  My heart was beating like an executioner’s drum as Espo and I strode down the hallway towards Roman’s apartment door, his official one, not his secret one.

  “I still think we should wait until there’s more evidence,” I hissed at Espinoza.

  “Capi, we have a witness that puts Roman in a car heading out from Verona on the same road that the body was found on.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He was a druggie and it was dark. Some witness.”

  “You know,” Espo glared at me, “it’s almost as if you don’t want it to be Roman Tyrell regardless of the evidence.”

  “You know,” I snapped back, “it’s almost as if you want it to be Roman regardless of the lack of evidence.”

  Espo lifted a finger to signal to be quiet as we approached Roman’s door. Espo insisted that he and I personally go to his apartment to escort him to the station.

  There was nothing I could do. No excuse I could give to avoid it.

  I lifted my trembling fist and rapped my knuckles on Roman’s door. Dear God, please don’t be home.

  “He won’t hear you if you knock like a mouse.” Espo slammed his fist against the door making it reverberate, the sound rattling around in my body like a pile of old bones.

  The lock clicked like the cock of a gun. The door opened.

  Roman stood in the doorway, wide and imposing as always, fitted black shirt over denim jeans. His eyes found mine, boring into me. For a second my heart squeezed in my chest so hard it hurt to breathe. Thank God, you’re alive.

  Now that he was alive, I was free to kill him. Why haven’t you returned my calls in two damn days? Not even a quick text, you bastard.

  There was nothing I could do except keep a calm professional face on.

  His unflinching eyes slid across to Espinoza at my side. “Detective Capulet, Detective Espinoza. What brings you to my humble abode?”

  “We would like you to come with us down to the station and answer some questions,” Espinoza said.

  Roman’s gaze returned to me. As usual I could decipher nothing in his stoic features. “Care to tell me what this is about, Detective Capulet?” Roman asked, his voice as sharp as a blade.

  He thought I was betraying him. If only he had called me back I could have warned him we were coming. I opened my mouth to speak but—

  “Roman?” a female voice called from within the apartment. “Who is it?”

  A female’s voice?

  Roman’s face betrayed nothing—no guilt, no apology, nothing—as a honey-haired woman wearing a silky wrap-around minidress appeared beside him.

  Rosaline.

  When she spotted me, she shot me a smirk and pawed possessively at Roman’s side. He put his arm around her.

  He put his fucking arm around her.

  Inside I raged, a tempest, a storm smashing our ship to pieces. Outside I was too shocked to move or say anything. Bastard! How could he betray me?

  Roman wouldn’t do that to you, a voice inside me urged. There must be an explanation.

  Are you stupid, Julianna? He doesn’t contact you for two damn days and you find him with her in his apartment?

  “These fine detectives just want to talk to me for a while,” Roman said to Rosaline. “Another misunderstanding, I’m sure.” Roman turned back to me, a smirk on his face. “Tell me, detectives, do you actually have any evidence this time of whatever it is I’ve supposedly done? Or is this just another fishing expedition because of who my family is?”

  I cringed at his words.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Espo said, his words cordial yet barbed. “We have evidence.”

  Roman didn’t flinch. His eyes bored into mine, a thousand unsaid things hanging between us. “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Roman Tyrell sat in the back of our patrol wagon, a set of thin bars like a wire cage separating us from him. It hurt my heart to see him sitting there, in the seat reserved for criminals and lowlifes. He had his arm slung casually over the back of the seat as if he was being chauffeured in the back of a limo, but I could see the tightness in his jaw, his inner state beginning to leak out.

  Sitting in the passenger seat I could feel his eyes boring right into the back of my head. The tension in the vehicle was so thick you could cut it with a hatchet.

  “Look at that,” Espo said, just a little too casually as he glanced up in his rearview mirror. “Roman Tyrell sitting where he belongs.”

  Roman said nothing.

  “Tell me, Roman, with your brother Jacob gone you’re next in line to rule the Tyrell empire, isn’t that right?”

  “Believe me,” Roman said in an even tone. In the rearview mirror his eyes flashed with anger. “I would rather he had lived.”

  Espinoza let out a short, sharp laugh, devoid of humor. “But now you don’t have to share once your old man dies. Total power for you.”

  “Espo,” I hissed at him out of the corner of my mouth, trying not to let my cheeks flare with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe what he was saying to Roman. Each word like a stab in my own gut. “Leave him alone.”

  Espinoza shot me a look. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re being unnecessarily rude to a suspect.”

  “Roman is tough. Aren’t you, Roman? You can handle it. I imagine your father has had harsher things to say to you, judging by his reputation.”

  “You’re q
uite right, Detective Espinoza,” Roman said. “My father is an unforgiving and unrelenting teacher. I’ve developed a skin thicker than steel. Nothing you say to me could possibly have any effect other than to stroke your own prejudices.”

  I began to protest. “I don’t think—”

  “I don’t need you, of all people, to fight my battles for me, Detective Capulet.”

  I was stunned into silence. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  At the station we put Roman in an interrogation room. We placed a very snotty Rosaline, who had followed us in her car, in a spare office to “wait for my Romy away from all the riff-raff”.

  Usually we made the suspect sweat it out in the interrogation room for some time before we began our questions. Espo and I watched Roman through the live feed of the camera from the tech room. He sat casually in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked like he hadn’t a care in the world, while inside I was in turmoil. I alternated between glaring at Roman on the screen and at Espo beside me. “What the hell was that about in the car?” I blurted out.

  Espo narrowed his eyes at me. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were picking sides and the side you were picking was his.”

  I let out an exasperated sound. “I’m not picking sides. I just think we have to keep an open mind about our suspects and let the evidence speak for itself.”

  “Capi, the evidence has spoken. We found a witness who saw Roman that night. You and I both know what kind of man Roman Tyrell is.”

  I pinched my lips together. There was so much I wanted to say to Espo. About Roman, about the night he saved my life, about how I knew he didn’t kill Eddie Sanchez. But I couldn’t. So I said nothing. Like a damn coward.

  32

  ____________

  Julianna

  Espo and I sat opposite Roman in the interrogation room, the cold metal chair biting at my legs through my skirt. Espo glared at Roman. I stared at the table. Roman watched me. He seemed so calm, so collected. Meanwhile I was a fucking mess inside, trying not to let it all leak out all over my face.

  Espo pressed the start button on the recording device, spoke our names, the time and date.

  He pulled a blown-up copy of Eddie’s driver’s license photo out of his file. “Do you know this man?” he asked Roman, as he pushed the photo across the table.

  Roman leaned over the table and gave the picture a cursory glance. “No.” He sank back against his chair, which gave out a low creak under his bulk.

  “Of course, he didn’t exactly look like that when you last saw him, right? Perhaps this image will jog your memory.” Espo slid out a second picture, this time of Eddie’s pale, dead face taken from the crime scene, the bullet wound leaking blood, his eyes frosted over and his mouth open as if mid-begging for his life.

  Roman glanced down to the second picture.

  Nothing. There wasn’t even a flash of surprise on his face. Did he know already? Did he have something to do with it?

  Roman lifted his eyes up to meet mine. For a second there was an accusation in them. An accusation? At me?

  “Hey,” Espinoza snapped as he bristled beside me. “I asked you a question.”

  Roman slid his gaze back to Espinoza, coldness wafting off him like he was made of ice. I shivered inside.

  This is just the mask he wears for the world, I reminded myself. You know the real man. The good man inside. The man who is worth fighting for.

  “Like I said,” Roman said, his voice sharp and deadly like the edge of a blade. “I don’t recognize this man.”

  “Lay your hands out.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you refusing?”

  For a few terse moments, Roman and Espo glared at each other, an unspoken battle of wills raging between them. At any moment either of them, or both, might lunge over the table and punch the other.

  Roman gave Espo a smile that bordered on a smirk before spreading his hands on the table, palms up.

  “Palms down,” Espo said, his eyes still fixed on Roman.

  Roman hesitated for just a second, then turned his hands over.

  My heart sank. His knuckles were scabbed over, bruised up as if he’d hit someone. He had. He’d hit Eddie several times the night he saved me.

  Espo glanced up to the camera above his head, the red light still on, as if to make a point that we now had Roman’s injuries on record.

  “How did you get those cuts on your knuckles?” Espo nodded to Roman’s hands.

  Roman didn’t flinch. He didn’t even take his hands off the desk, he just stared at his knuckles as if he were admiring them. “I got into an altercation with a man who was assaulting my girl.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two nights ago, three… I don’t keep track of these things.”

  “And you sure it wasn’t this guy you hit?” Espo tapped the picture of a very dead Eddie.

  Roman let out a long sigh. He picked up the picture, making a show of studying it. I could almost see his mind working. What did we know? What evidence did we have?

  If he’d only called me back, I could have warned him. Instead, we had him in a corner.

  Roman dropped the picture on the desk. “I’m sure, detective.”

  “Really? ’Cause I think you beat the shit out of this guy.” Espo stabbed the picture with his finger. “Eddie Sanchez. Look again.”

  Roman leaned back in his chair, cool as anything. “Do you have any evidence linking my wounds to this man’s wounds?”

  Espinoza shuffled in his seat. “No.”

  “I see.”

  Espo leaned in, his chair scraping against the ground. “Someone had the foresight to pour bleach over his wounds, destroying whatever DNA evidence there might have been.”

  Roman gave Espinoza a smug look. “Really? How clever.”

  Espo glared back. The tension in the room was strung as tight as a tennis racket. “What was the name of the man you assaulted?”

  “I didn’t assault anyone. I was protecting my girlfriend.”

  “Fine, what was the name of the man you were protecting your girlfriend from?”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  “You didn’t get it?”

  “I didn’t exactly stop to chat. I was too busy teaching him some manners.”

  “Bruising on your knuckles shows you must have hit this man several times.”

  “He was a poor learner. I had to teach him several times.”

  “What a coincidence, a body turns up that had been hit several times before he was killed.”

  “There seem to be a lot of people around the place who deserve that kind of thing.”

  “You think Eduardo Sanchez deserved what he got?”

  “I already told you, detective, I don’t know this Eduardo character.”

  Espinoza paused. “Where were you two nights ago?”

  “With a girl.”

  “This girl have a name?”

  He looked over to me, his eyes piercing into my soul. I stopped breathing. I was fucked if he opened his mouth. He was fucked if he didn’t.

  I would lose my badge. My father would kill me. But Roman had no choice. He would be alibi-less if he didn’t.

  I braced myself.

  “Julianna,” he said deliberately. I could feel Espo bristling beside me at his informality. “You know my girl, don’t you? Gorgeous face, long honey-brown hair, a body to kill for.”

  I gritted my teeth. What was he playing at? Just say my name already. “I’m sure I don’t.”

  Roman leaned across “Don’t play coy. She’s sitting in this very station now.”

  My heart stopped beating.

  “Rosaline?” Espo said.

  Roman smiled. My heart stuttered back to life. Of course, Rosaline. I had totally forgotten about her. He was talking about his girl, Rosaline. The image of their arms around each other at his apartment door flashed
through my mind.

  “You’re telling me,” said Espinoza, “that your alibi for this murder just happens to be the same alibi as the last one we pulled you in here for?”

  He shrugged. “Coincidence.”

  “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  “What can I say,” Roman looked squarely at me as he spoke, “I really like this girl. Want to spend all my time with her.”

  I flushed.

  “We have a witness that puts you at a gas station on the road leading out of Verona at around midnight. The same road where we happened to find poor Eddie. What do you say to that?”

  Roman smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world. “My girlfriend, who happens to be the daughter of a prominent Verona businessman, says otherwise. Are you calling her a liar?”

  With the interview and audio recording suspended, Espo and I conferred in whispers on our side of the table. Roman watched us carefully.

  “I’ll go talk to Rosaline right now,” Espo said. “Get her side of the story. You stay here and keep an eye on him.”

  And be left alone with Roman? “I, er, I should go with you.”

  Espo pursed his lips. “No offense, but you and Rosaline don’t really have a rapport. I think she’ll open up to me more if I speak to her alone.”

  That wasn’t something I could argue with. I nodded, resigned to my fate.

  Espo shot Roman one last glare before he left the room. The door clicked behind them. I was left in the dim interrogation room alone with Roman Tyrell. Had it only been less than forty-eight hours since we had kissed goodbye? How much things could change in so little time.

  Roman’s face twisted with the first sign of any emotion from him. “Here we are again, detective.”

  “Roman, you don’t have to call me that. There are no recording devices on.”

  “You sitting on that side,” he continued, “me right back here on the side I belong. You, the cop. Me, the guilty party.”