Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife Book 1) Page 31

  “We’re waiting for my partner.”

  The door opened to the right of me. This must be the partner. I turned in my chair to get a glimpse of the poor schmuck. My heart slammed against my chest at the sight of the woman in the doorway. Whiskey-colored eyes of my dreams. Perfect honey-gold hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, a conservative gray pantsuit covering the most incredible body that I’d ever laid my hands on.

  The blood drained from my head.

  Julianna was a detective.

  Her gaze locked with mine and recognition filled up her widening eyes. Then came the realization.

  Even though I had decided to let her go, even though I knew she deserved better than me, I had prayed that somehow, some way, in this city of four million people, that fate would somehow manage to drag her back into my life. But not like this. Not like this.

  Julianna was the detective who was about to interrogate me.

  Life could not get any fucking worse.

  I forced my face into a calm mask. I felt the surface of me crack over as it froze. Underneath I was a whirling, furious current.

  Detective Julianna Capulet.

  Something in the newspaper clippings my father had sent over for me to read yesterday caught my attention. I hadn’t fucking put it together until now.

  Montgomery Capulet was the new chief of police. My family’s enemy number one.

  And the woman I couldn’t forget was his only daughter.

  21

  ____________

  Julianna

  I hurried down the station corridor to the interrogation room. Espinoza was already in there with our suspect, Roman Tyrell. Espo had given me a rundown of what we knew about him. At twenty-six, he was the youngest son of Giovanni Tyrell. He didn’t have a record. Yet. At least not in this country. He’d been out of the country for the last eight years, no doubt breaking laws somewhere else. Which also meant we didn’t have any recent pictures on file for him. Wasn’t it funny that he had the same first name as my Roman?

  I slapped myself internally. Roman Lettiere was not my Roman. I couldn’t think of him as my Roman. I had my chance to run off to Paris with him and I turned him down. He still hadn’t replied to my text. He’d probably hated me. I tried to bat away the sting in my heart.

  I had to stop thinking about him. I could barely concentrate on this case. I had to stop replaying our night together at inappropriate times. Like right now. Right now, I was supposed to be in the interrogation room where Espinoza was already waiting alone with the dangerous Roman Tyrell.

  I pushed open the door to the interrogation room, ready to break this new Tyrell heir. This is my town, Mr. Tyrell. You’re in for one hell of a wake-up call. I got my first look at Verona’s new Prince of Darkness.

  Oh my fucking God.

  Sitting in the chair opposite Espo, was Roman. My Roman.

  My stupid heart began to beat in my throat at the sight of him. He looked incredible, like a GQ model. The strong body I had memorized with my hands filled out a tailored dark gray Armani suit. His thick dark hair, the hair I yearned to run my hands through again, was slicked back and curling at the collar.

  I thought I’d never see him again. Here was the man I’d spent the most incredible twenty-four hours with, the man who I had been mooning over since he’d gone. He was the son of darkness, the heir to the Tyrell throne.

  Anger spilled out over the lust rushing through my body. Did he know who I was? Did he screw me for information?

  He never asked about my work, not once.

  Was this supposed to be some sort of sick joke, then? Did he fuck me as some sort of bet, a prize, something to be bragged about later?

  I knew some of the cruder cops had made such wagers when I had first joined the force—who would fuck me first. I wasn’t an idiot. I kept my nose clean and the stupid players soon got bored when they realized I was not here to fuck around, just to do a job and to do it well.

  Had Roman played me?

  Playboy Mafia prince, Roman Tyrell, fucked the police chief’s daughter and fucked her good.

  Our connection had felt real to me. It had all felt real. And his invitation to Paris. Was that a lie as well?

  Roman Lettiere was Roman Tyrell. Son of Giovanni Tyrell. The new Prince of Darkness. A criminal.

  A monster.

  I couldn’t reconcile my Roman to this idea. My Roman could not be a monster.

  But here he was, in the god-like flesh. Prime suspect for our murder investigation.

  His head turned towards me. Our eyes met. I saw the recognition in his eyes and watched shock slacken his jaw. He hadn’t been expecting me. I wasn’t the only one side-swiped by fate’s cruel joke.

  Just as quickly, his face drew back into a mask of cool detachment that hit me like a fist to my gut. What did I expect he would do? Run over and take me in his arms? Kiss me in the middle of a police station? Did I think he’d be happy to see me?

  I turned and shut the door behind me, using this moment with my back to him to force my face into an emotionless mask. Even though my brain was screaming, what the fuck is happening?

  Espinoza hadn’t seen my surprise. He’d been watching Roman this whole time. Did he notice Roman’s flare of recognition? Or did Espo pass it off as a man checking out a young woman detective?

  I wasn’t sure how I managed to walk over to the spare seat next to Espinoza. Every step closer to Roman made my world feel more unbalanced, like I was rocking around on a boat lost at sea. I could feel Roman’s dark stare on me as if it could burn the clothes off me. I had let him put his hands on my body. His tongue. He had been inside me. Watched me come. I sat down and folded my hands in front of me before I dared look up. He watched me impassively.

  He was as beautiful as I remembered him, sharp cheekbones and perfect lips. Today his face was clean-shaven and free of the stubble that had scratched at the insides of my thighs. I pressed my knees together, my whole body buzzing at his nearness. I suddenly felt too hot in this suit that was too tight around my body. It had become a boa constrictor, wrapping around me so I couldn’t breathe. How the fuck could I conduct this investigation when he affected me like this?

  “This is Detective Capulet,” Espinoza said, a slight edge to his tone.

  Right, I was supposed to have introduced myself to this suspect, to this man that I was supposed to have never met before.

  Jesus Christ. I had to get it together. Roman was a suspect. I had to interrogate him like one.

  I had a duty to report a relationship with any suspect. It’d be deemed as a conflict of interest. What the hell was I supposed to say to my superiors? To the chief? To my father? I’d spent the night being intimate with Roman fucking Tyrell without realizing who he was.

  First things first, Julianna. Just get through this interview. Then figure out later what the fuck you should be doing next.

  Espinoza cleared his throat. I was the one who was supposed to be taking the lead on this interrogation. We had both decided this. Roman Tyrell was a reported playboy and Espo had thought it might work in our favor if I, a woman, interrogated him. That’s why I had worn my most flattering suit today with the jacket that nipped in at my waist, a waist that Roman could encircle with both his hands. I almost choked on my own tongue. Roman Tyrell was a reported playboy. How stupid was I to think that I had been something more to him?

  Later, I would shoot the shit out of a target. Right now, I had to bury all this… this and get through this damn interview.

  “Mr. Tyrell,” I began.

  “Please, Detective Capulet, call me Roman.” His voice was exactly as I remembered from my fantasies of him: rich, deep and crooning like a blues singer.

  Our eyes met. My throat went dry. My heart hammered in my chest. I ignored my stupid body and forced a smile as I cleared my throat. “We understand that you were only supposed to be back in town for a few days. But you’re still here?”

  “I came into town for my brother’s funeral.”


  Jacob Tyrell. The massacre at the Tyrell warehouse at the docks. That had been his brother. I couldn’t help the thread of pity I felt in my chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Don’t be. It wasn’t much of a loss.”

  I flinched. Was this the real Roman I was staring at now? Cool, cold and callous about his older brother’s death? It was like I was looking at a man other than the one I’d met only days ago, the one who seemed so tortured by his brother’s demise. Had he…somehow been a part of that death?

  “You seem very blasé about your brother’s death. Are you this careless about murder in general?”

  His eyes narrowed. “My brother wasn’t a very nice man.”

  “And you…would you consider yourself a nice man?”

  I could feel Espo’s eyes on me. I was totally going off script. I ignored him. As far as I was concerned it was just Roman and me in this interrogation room. Him and me and all the things unsaid, sticky and hot between us.

  Roman leaned forward in his seat. I fought the urge to lean forward. I caught the whiff of his cologne; that dark masculine scent that had surrounded me as he’d fucked me long into the night.

  “You seem very young to be a detective,” he said.

  I snapped out of my reverie. “My age is irrelevant. I’m good at my job.”

  “I bet you’re good at anything you put your…hands to.” He gave me the hint of a smile.

  I felt my cheeks heat at the suggestiveness of his words. An image of my hands wrapped around his shaft assaulted my senses before I slammed it back away into a corner of my mind.

  Focus, Julianna.

  “You never answered my question earlier. You were supposed to have left Verona. Sunday night, if I’m correct. Why didn’t you?”

  Now Espo’s eyes were burning into the side of my head. How did I know Roman was supposed to have left? This information wasn’t on his file. I would have to figure out some excuse for my information. But not right now.

  “Plans changed. Trust me, it was not my intention to stay. My father can be very persuasive.”

  Espo pulled a photo out of the file, shooting me a look, before turning back to Roman. “Do you know this man?”

  Roman’s eyes flicked down to the photo that Espo had pulled out of his file. It was Vinnie’s arrest photo blown up to A4 size. I didn’t take my eyes off Roman, holding my breath, as he pulled the photo towards him. I searched his face for any sign of recognition. I didn’t see any.

  “No. Who is he?” Roman asked.

  “His name is Vincent Torrito. Otherwise known as Vinnie.”

  “Vincent Torrito,” he repeated. I swore I heard a slip of sadness in his voice.

  “He’s a known associate of the Veronesi family. The same family who is rumored to have murdered your brother.”

  There was something unsaid in Roman’s eyes. I couldn’t decipher it. He pushed the photo back towards me. “I don’t know him.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Take another look.”

  “I assure you, Detective Capulet, I don’t know this man.”

  “You haven’t asked why we’re so interested in this man,” Espo said.

  Roman leveled his stare at my partner. “I assume because you fine detectives are asking me about him that a misfortune has happened to this… Mr. Torrito, did you say his name was?”

  “Where were you Sunday night?” I asked.

  His eyebrow lifted, a questioning look. “Do you have a specific time in mind?”

  Yes, you fucker. What were you doing after you left me at your hotel room? “How about you tell me everything you did from, say, seven o’clock.”

  “You think I was involved?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “In fact,” inserted Espinoza, “start with where you were Friday night, then go through step by step what you did that weekend, ending with Sunday night.”

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  Espinoza was trying to establish Roman’s whereabouts not only for the murder but for during the time frame when Vinnie could had been kidnapped. I was going to be sick. Roman had been with me.

  “You want my exact whereabouts…from Friday afternoon,” repeated Roman, “until Sunday.”

  “Exactly,” said Espinoza.

  Roman stared at me. “You want every detail?”

  My body, already taut as a drum, tightened further. This was where it was going to come out, our time together. I was his fucking alibi for the abduction.

  I was so fucked. I should speak up now, pull Espo out into the hallway and explain before Roman spilled everything, in detail, right here on record.

  I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.

  “I was at my brother’s funeral Friday afternoon. Then I met up with my best friend Mercutio, afterward.”

  “This Mercutio have a last name?”

  “Brevio.”

  Espo wrote this down on his pad. “What did you guys do?”

  “We caught up at his grandmother’s house. Had dinner. Got ready, had a few drinks. Then we went out to Club Luxe around nine thirty.”

  “We’ll need the phone number and address of Mercutio and his grandmother. I assume they can corroborate your story.”

  “Of course.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Like I said, I went to Club Luxe where about a dozen people saw me.”

  “And you stayed all night? Until when?”

  “I left at about eleven p.m.” He cleared his throat. “With a lady friend.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat developing a lump. He’d have to produce the name of this “lady friend” for us to corroborate his whereabouts. My name. The irony.

  “Where did you and this lady friend go?”

  “We spent the rest of the night together in my hotel room.”

  “Which hotel?”

  Oh shit. The hotel would have security cameras in the lobby. I was doubly screwed. The security cameras would be confiscated. I would be seen with Roman Tyrell. Irrefutable evidence, right there. My head spun.

  “The Marriott, off Broadway.”

  “And when did you leave your lady friend?”

  “I left at around seven o’clock on Sunday.”

  “You spent an entire day with this friend?”

  “She was…special.”

  I froze. My eyes caught his across the interrogation table. Did he just call me special? I searched Roman’s face. I couldn’t see anything under his impassionate mask.

  Roman looked over to Espinoza, but his words were for me. “I don’t know if you ever met a woman who made you crave her, who…was like a drug. That you couldn’t get enough of. A woman you wanted to protect and worship. Always.”

  As he spoke my stomach twisted into heated knots. My nipples turned hard, pressing painfully against my bra …a woman who made you crave her, who was like a drug. That you couldn’t get enough of. He felt those things about me.

  Liar! He was fucking with me. He wasn’t even touching me and he was still fucking me. He was trying to manipulate me. He wanted me to think he was innocent.

  What if he was innocent?

  Was the Roman I met someone I could imagine torturing and killing Vinnie in such a cold, heartless manner? Someone who could dispose of the body and murder weapon with such a practiced manner? He didn’t feel like a heartless killer to me.

  What did I really know about Roman Tyrell?

  Espinoza smirked. “I can’t say I’ve ever felt that for a woman.”

  “It’s a rare thing to find, indeed,” Roman said.

  “And does this special friend have—”

  “Where did you go after you left her?” I interrupted Espo. I wasn’t ready for Roman to spill our dirty little secret. I could feel Espo glaring at me for interrupting him. We never did that in interviews. It was one of our rules to maintain a singular front. No disrespecting the other person. No arguing. No interruptions. Unless, of course, we were trying for an interrogation play.


  Roman looked over to me, folding his large masculine hands in front of him, hands that fit perfectly around my neck as he fucked me from behind. Wetness pooled in between my legs as the memory flashed through me.

  “I went to meet my father,” Roman’s voice cut through my thoughts. “For dinner.”

  “Where did you have dinner?” Espo asked.

  A restaurant with wait staff could corroborate his story. Roman could be innocent of this horrendous crime after all.

  “We had dinner at his house. You can ask my father, his staff…”

  His father’s house, where only the people his father paid were alibis.

  Espo pursed his lips, and I knew this was what he was thinking too. “What was for dinner?”

  “Rib-eye steak with steamed green beans and roasted potatoes. I had mine medium rare, my father had his rare. Did you want to hear what we had for dessert as well? Perhaps the wine list?”

  He was mocking us. He recited the menu as if it were a list he’d memorized. I was sure Giovanni would tell us the exact same thing. The Tyrells were too smart. If they had planned their alibis, we wouldn’t find a hole in them. This was why Giovanni Tyrell had managed to evade justice for so damn long.

  “When did you leave your father’s?” Espo asked, giving up that line of questioning.

  “I stayed until about ten thirty p.m., after which he dropped me off at Copan Bar. Mercutio can vouch for me again.”

  “A good friend, is he?” I asked.

  Roman’s eyes flicked to mine. He hesitated for a second. Then said, “Yes, a good friend.” I realized Mercutio was a weak spot for him.

  “Good enough that he would lie for you?” I asked.

  Roman’s eyes narrowed. “I’m insulted at your question.”

  I leaned forward on my elbows. “You still haven’t answered it.”

  Roman leaned in too, matching my posture. “Mercutio doesn’t need to lie for me, detective.”

  We were practically breathing the same air. Our faces only inches apart. We were so close that I could see his irises dilate so that his chocolate eyes now looked as black as night. Was he angry or…turned on? His eyes dropped to my lips. Oh God. He was turned on.

  Fuck, so was I. Heat pooled in the base of my belly as my gaze drew to his mouth. I could remember how soft yet firm his lips were when he kissed me, claiming me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth.