Beautiful Revenge

by Sienna Blake

  “Yeah, but…” Merc paused and a look of guilt crept into his eyes as he glanced at me, then looked away.

  “What? Spit it out.”

  Merc shrugged. “I think…I think he’s still scared of your father. What he might do if…”

  I swallowed. My father was not a man to be crossed. “Do you think he’ll ever come home, then?” It’s what Mercutio had been dreaming of since he was thirteen, the only thing he ever asked for on every birthday and every Christmas.

  “One day, he’ll come home,” Merc said quietly. “One day.”

  4

  ____________

  Julianna

  He had such damn deep-set eyes. Too dark. Annoyingly intense. The way he had looked at me. Like I was prey. His gaze rolling so obviously over my body, not even bothering to hide that he was imagining doing all sorts of wicked, unwanted things. My body flushed. Completely unwanted things.

  And those lips. The most beautiful wide, thickest lips I had ever seen wasted on a man. I bet they’d feel terrible against mine. I bet he’d be a bad kisser. Totally unskilled. Not that I was imagining him kissing me.

  And that voice. So rough and indecent. The way he had demanded my name. Demanded that I meet him again tonight. So shameless. What kind of woman did he think I was? If I had any sense I’d go to the club tonight just to tell him off for being so…so…presumptuous.

  “Julianna, you okay, honey?”

  I glanced up from my dinner plate of fettuccine marinara to my father’s concerned face, his thick, bushy salt-and-pepper brows furrowed over familiar whiskey-colored eyes. Those were my eyes. I looked like my mother—same curvy build, same long hair that couldn’t decide if it was honey or wheat, same full bottom lip—but I had his eyes. Once upon a time, when my mother’s love painted color on his cheeks and injected his smile with warmth, he would have been handsome. Since she died, the lines had deepened into a permanent frown and a set of purple shadows remained under his eyes.

  I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

  His frown didn’t smooth out. “You sure? Because I’ve been talking to you for a few minutes now and you’ve just been staring at your dinner.”

  I pushed my plate away. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Is it…because of today?” he said, a little quieter.

  My heart tugged. I may have lost my mother, but my father lost the love of his life. Despite how busy my father was, I knew he would have remembered Mama’s birthday today. He never forgot things like that when she’d been alive. Despite being so furious with him earlier, I knew that part of the reason he buried himself in work was to keep from remembering her and hurting even more.

  I reached out across our small wooden dining table to grab his hand. “A little. Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “I miss her,” I admitted.

  His fingers squeezed mine. He looked like he was about to say something when his phone on the tabletop by his elbow began to ring. He pulled back his hand and answered it. “Hello?” Sorry, it’s work, he mouthed at me. Of course, it was. His face pulled into a frown. “What? Where?”

  I sighed and stabbed at a piece of pasta. I already knew that our family dinner was going to get cut short.

  When my father hung up, he was already pushing his chair out. “Sorry, honey. They need me to manage some stuff at work.”

  I dropped the napkin from my lips. “Do you need me to—”

  “No,” he said a little too abruptly. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not a homicide?”

  He paused. It was. Bastard. “I already have Pierce and Ramirez on it.”

  I crossed my arms as the familiar argument began to swirl heat around under my skin. “You’re never going to give me a chance to prove myself, are you?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  “Ready?” I yelled. “I’ve been a detective for over six months and you haven’t let me handle a single case.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Not any real cases. I’m stuck going through paperwork and old cold cases.” I hovered around him as he gathered his things. “I scored the highest on my detective’s exam in the whole damn state.”

  “I know. But…you shouldn’t be working today.”

  “Then by the same argument, neither should you.”

  He let out a sigh as he grabbed his jacket from the hook near my front door. “Julianna, I don’t want to argue about this now. It’s an election year and the mayor is putting the pressure on me to get the streets cleaned up.”

  “So, it’s another gang-related homicide.”

  “I can’t discuss the case.”

  I slammed my palm on my front door, preventing him from leaving. “You hate that I’m a detective.”

  His features turned sour. “You’re my only daughter. You should have gone to law school. Your mother, God rest her soul, would hate the idea of you putting yourself in the firing line of killers and rapists. She’d be turning over in her—”

  “You hate the idea. Mama would have been proud that I followed in your footsteps.” It was a shitty thing, using my dead mother as a point of argument between us. Neither of us could ever seem to just let her rest.

  “You’re damn right I hate the idea!” He took a deep breath and let it out, his face softening. “There are some bad, bad people out there in the world, Julu.” I couldn’t say my name properly when I was learning how to speak. I could only say Julu. My parents thought it was adorable. The nickname stuck even as I grew up. “If anything ever happened to you…”

  I would not be swayed by his attempt at a guilt trip. After my mother died, my father became so protective it was stifling. He yelled and spat and threatened when I announced I was moving out after I graduated high school. Again when I announced I was joining the police academy. There was nothing he could do because at eighteen I was legally an adult. Even now at the age of twenty-five, he hated that he couldn’t wrap me in cotton. He still wanted to keep me caged and “safe”.

  “Why do you think I became a detective? To put those bad people away. I’m trained to do just that.”

  “Honey—”

  “Put me on the next major homicide case or I’ll transfer to another city. No, I’ll transfer to another state.”

  He flinched, a growing panic clear in his eyes. I was the one card that I could play. “You wouldn’t.”

  I lifted my chin. “I won’t have my career stifled because I’m your daughter and you want to protect me.” There. I said it.

  “Julu, you’re my only daughter.” The hitch in his tone sent a stab of guilt through me. “You’re the only one I have left.”

  Was I being too hard on him? Was I being unreasonable? My resolve began to soften. After my mother died my father had dove into his work and never resurfaced. His efforts had earned him promotion after promotion until he was promoted to the top position in the city as Verona’s chief of police. But it meant that his friendships had suffered. He had no family left, except me. He hadn’t even dated again as far as I was aware. If I left Verona…

  I shoved this thought away. I could not let him guilt me into giving up my dream. I wasn’t a scared little girl. I was an adult with a gun and a badge.

  I stepped in front of the door, blocking his way out. “Dad, I’m not a child anymore. I can protect myself. Let me work real cases.”

  “You haven’t seen the horrors I have,” he said in a reverent whisper I knew was meant to scare me. “You haven’t seen how dark the human psyche can get, how twisted…”

  “I can take it.”

  “Once you see those things, you can’t unsee them.” He shook his head. “It’s my job as a father to protect you.” He didn’t look like he was going to budge.

  Neither was I. I straightened to my full height and looked him right in the eyes. “You can either let me work as a homicide detective here, under your command, under your…protection,” I chose my words carefully, “or you can watch me do it from another state.”
/>
  A look of surprise flashed across his face. Then his features softened. “You’re as stubborn as she was,” he said, a hint of affection in his tone. He sighed. “Fine. The next major case is yours.”

  Finally. I couldn’t stop the grin from bursting across my face. I lunged for him and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Stay safe, baby girl.” Then he left.

  I let out a huge breath and leaned against the inside of my front door. I did it. I had won that argument. I would get my chance to work on a real case. So why did I suddenly feel so anxious? This is your chance to prove yourself, Julianna. Don’t blow it.

  I ate the rest of my dinner alone, staring at my phone, the clock on my wall ticking loudly into the room. I lived alone in a rented apartment on the top floor of a five-story building in Verona’s east side inner city. It was a cozy apartment, old wooden floors that creaked, heating that was temperamental in winter and the occasional drunken row heard from the streets below. But it was mine.

  I had filled it with a mix of decent second-hand furniture, like my comfy two-piece chocolate leather couch, and cheap basics, a light wooden dining room set and DIY-shelves.

  My father hated that I lived in the inner city; he still lived in our old house in an outer suburb, a safe, respectable and utterly boring neighborhood. I understood why; the towering chaos of buildings bathing the city in shadows, the dirty, well-worn streets jammed full of smells, the unknown hidden in the dark corners. Perhaps, it was all these things. But I saw the raw uncut gem underneath.

  I felt a thrill every time I walked the streets, each corner beckoning with possibilities or something new to be discovered. I felt the city humming away around me, even at night. Here, I felt a part of something. The inner city was Verona’s beating heart, as tough and black as it was. It was gritty and alive and…real. And I loved it.

  My phone dinged as I chewed on my pasta. I swiped it open with my pinkie.

  Unknown: Remember. 10pm. Club Luxe.

  It was sent from a private number. No signature. Who…?

  Roman. It was from Roman. A little thrill shot up my spine like a tiny electrocution. He hadn’t just forgotten about me. He still wanted me to meet him. The nerve.

  How did he get my number? A memory of him picking up my phone at the graveyard flashed through my mind. He’d held on to it for a long time. At the time, I had been so distracted I hadn’t thought anything of it. He must have texted himself my number or something. I should feel indignant. I did feel indignant.

  I glanced up at the clock. Twenty past nine. If I dressed now I could be there on time. Club Luxe was only twenty minutes away in the trendy downtown area. In less than an hour I could be seeing him again. My body seemed to vibrate awake at the thought.

  No. I wouldn’t go. He obviously wanted certain things from me and… and… giving in to these feelings, however nice they might be, were for other women. Not me. I had a reputation to uphold. A career to focus on. Paperwork to do.

  I placed my phone face down on the table so I couldn’t stare at the screen and returned to my food. My appetite was gone. My eyes kept being drawn to the phone, tiny butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

  I still hadn’t replied to Roman’s text. One, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to tell him I wasn’t coming. And two, I thought it better not to reply rather than get dragged into a debate I was scared I’d end up giving in to.

  I pushed my half-finished dinner away and grabbed my phone. My finger hovered over the message reply button.

  Dammit. I wasn’t replying, remember?

  I opened my recent calls. The only two contacts that came up were my father and Luiz Espinoza, the partner I’d been assigned to when I made homicide. I hit call on Espinoza’s name before I could change my mind. I chewed my lip as I listened to the ring tone. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off intense eyes and electric touches.

  He picked up after three rings. “Espinoza,” he yelled into the phone, muffled thudding and thrashing of an electric guitar in the background.

  “It’s me,” I said. “Where are you?”

  “Yo, Capi,” he said, using his nickname for me. “I’m at Dixie’s. The No Name Band is playing tonight.”

  I frowned. “Why don’t they have a name?”

  “What? No, the band’s name is the ‘No Name Band’.”

  “Oh, right. What do they sing?”

  There was a small pause. “You didn’t call me to talk about my awesome taste in music. What’s up?”

  “Has there, um, been any calls?”

  “From who?”

  “Work.”

  He snorted. “It’s a Saturday night, Capi. It’s our day off. Go have some fun,” he emphasized the word over the music in the background. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  Fun. Right. I know what fun is.

  I hung up and saw that another message had come through. My heart fluttered. Another one from Roman?

  It wasn’t. It was from Christian.

  Christian: I tried to call you. What are you up to tonight?

  Christian Price was the son of Senator Price, my father’s childhood friend. Christian and I would sometimes see each other when my father dragged me to dinners at the senator’s mansion. If Christian was texting, he must be home from Princeton where he was finishing a bachelor of business or politics or something. My father didn’t hide that he encouraged Christian and me getting together.

  Me: Sorry, I have plans tonight.

  I felt a little bad for my lie. It was kinder than telling him the truth. I just didn’t want to date him.

  Christian: Another time then.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Christian, just that I never felt 100% comfortable around him. Our silences felt stilted. Our conversations were just…bland. I mean, what did a homicide detective have to say to the silver-spooned son of a senator? I didn’t feel any chemistry. That zing. The electricity and fireworks that my mother promised I would feel when I’d found the right one.

  Like you did with Roman. I shoved that thought away.

  Almost like he knew I was thinking of him, my phone dinged with another text message.

  Roman: Don’t make me come get you.

  I chewed on my lip and my eyes went involuntarily to my front door as if he might come barreling through at any second. I shivered at the thought.

  My front door remained silent.

  I shook my head. Silly. He was bluffing. He didn’t know where I lived. How could he possibly find out?

  I washed the dishes, dried them and put them away. All the while Roman’s face kept intruding into my mind. I threw the dish towel aside and folded my arms as I leaned against the counter. The clock read twenty minutes to ten…

  Maybe there was something good on TV?

  It was still twenty damn minutes to ten.

  Dammit, I couldn’t sit around staring at the clock. I walked out of my apartment, leaving the door unlocked behind me. I was about to knock on the door opposite when it swung open.

  Nora, my sixty-something-year-old neighbor, was dressed in a powder blue skirt suit trimmed with black and shiny black pumps a la Jackie Kennedy. It looked stunning against her dark chocolate skin. Her light gray hair was coiffed into a French bun. She had a dash of deep red lipstick across her thick lips.

  “Wow, Nora, you look great!” I said.

  She beamed at me. “Thank you, honey. Can’t chat now. I’m late. Ta-ta,” she called back at me as she strode down the hall to the elevator.

  Damn. Even senior citizens had more of a life than I did.

  I slunk back into my apartment, shutting the door behind me. What now? I could go over cold case files from work like I did most nights. For some reason, this didn’t appeal to me right now. I sighed. I was officially the lamest single twenty-five-year-old in all of Verona, home alone on her Saturday night off.

  The silence of my apartment seemed so stark and empty, the echoing of my cl
ock reminding me that every second was getting closer to ten p.m. and my chance to see Roman again was slipping away.

  My phone dinged again.

  Roman: Don’t break my heart, Jules…

  My chest felt funny again. I stared at my phone. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to meet him for a few minutes. Five. Ten at most. Just to let him know in person that us spending time together was a bad idea. I had a career to focus on. It seemed so rude to reject him over a text message.

  A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of seeing Roman again. These strange feelings… the odd way my body reacted… I shouldn’t go.

  Screw it. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

  I dropped my phone on the table as I half-strode, half-ran into my bedroom to get ready.

  5

  ____________

  Roman

  Three text messages and still no response from Julianna.

  I frowned at my silent phone that I was threatening to break by gripping onto it too hard. The connection we had at the graveyard was unmistakable. Sparks, fireworks and all that clichéd bullshit. It had caught me off guard. I hadn’t been as smooth as I usually was. I knew she’d felt it too by the way her breath hitched and her nipples hardened through her cotton dress. How could she feel it too and not come to meet me? Didn’t she feel this pull?

  I fantasized about storming over to her apartment, breaking open her door and carrying her out of there over my damn shoulder. My cock stirred. On second thought, maybe I’d carry her to her bedroom. We were going to end up there anyway. At least that was the plan. I already had her address.

  Most people didn’t realize that their phones were like GPS trackers. All I needed was her phone number and my connections at the phone company. Sometimes it helped to be a Tyrell.

  I was standing with a group of people that I knew from high school in a roped off VIP section of Club Luxe. I haven’t seen these guys in almost eight years. I barely noticed them, forcing small talk and fielding uninspired questions about Europe. I was being a rude prick but I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. Usually, I was so good at this small talk shit.