by Sienna Blake
I decided it would be better if I went along with him for now. I got inside the limo. My father and Abel climbed in after me. One fucked up family. The other men got into a black SUV behind us.
“Did your interview go as planned?” my father asked as the limo pulled away from the curb. “Any surprises?”
I almost choked. Only the biggest surprise of my life. “It went fine.”
“Good. Everything with Rosaline has been arranged.”
I stiffened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“If you could remember the names and faces of the women you fuck, then you wouldn’t need me to pull strings,” my father said.
“I didn’t realize when I took her home that I would need to use her as an alibi,” I muttered.
My father pointed a thick finger at me, his gold ring flashing. “Your life in Europe is over. So is the disgusting way you carry on with your whores.”
I gritted my teeth together, trying to bat away the sting of his disapproval. “They’re not whores.”
My father continued, “Tyrell men are family men. You are my last heir. You will choose a wife and continue the Tyrell name.”
“What?” I snapped my face towards him, stunned at what he was saying.
“You’re almost thirty. It’s time to settle down.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“You’re old enough,” my father bellowed. “Time to start taking on your responsibilities.”
I stared out the tinted window at the city passing us, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Rosaline’s father is a friend of the family,” my father continued, “as is Rosaline.” His voice weighed heavily on her name. My father never hid that he liked the idea of Rosaline and me together. Rosaline’s father was a powerful business man in this city, his reach stretching out farther than the city limits, and if rumor were to be believed, he wasn’t above crossing the line to ensure his empire expanded; all things my father respected. “She likes you, as far as I hear. It would be an advantageous match.”
What about love? I thought but didn’t say.
My father married for love, and she died because of who he was. Anybody I married was signing up for a short life. Marriage to me would be a death sentence. Rosaline didn’t deserve that. No one did.
“Did you see that hot lady detective?” Abel asked with a dark gleam in his eye.
Julianna. He was talking about my Jules. Anger boiled underneath my skin. I wanted to rip his head off. I didn’t. If I showed any affection towards her, it would be dangerous for her. I shrugged. “I’ve seen hotter in Europe.”
Abel let out a snort. “They don’t get much hotter than that.”
I glared at him. “Don’t waste your time. She’d never go for someone like you.”
“Or you.” Abel said with a smile, his words stabbing me through the chest.
“She’s the daughter of the new police chief,” said my father, a tight smile on his face. “A very…interesting girl.”
My blood froze in my veins. Did he know about us? Had he been following me? “She doesn’t seem that interesting,” I said, as casually as I could.
“Her father is a righteous man, hard line, and he’s stubborn enough to believe that he can clean up this city. Incorruptible, they call him. I think I just found what he’d be willing to bargain for.”
I stared at my father. I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Something in his smug tone began a growing unease in me. “What are you talking about?”
My father shared a look with Abel. He turned back to face me, a cruel smile stretching across his face. “No one is incorruptible. Everyone has his price. You need to find their weak spot and know when to push.”
My stomach turned as I imagined Julianna being used as a pawn in my father’s hands. “What are you going to do to her?”
My father appraised me. “Nothing. Yet. We have more urgent things to take care of.”
“Like?”
My father said nothing. I realized from the flash of industrial buildings out the window that we weren’t headed back to his house. The tension grew in my shoulders. “Where are we going?” I demanded.
“To the docks.”
My gut tightened. Images of the man I was forced to kill the last time I was at the docks flashed through my head. Vincent Torrito. I knew his name now. “I have a wife…children…”
I swallowed down my guilt. “Need me to clean up your dirty work for you, again?” I said, bitterness squeezing out in my words.
My father sent me a stern look. “If you’re going to take over one day, then you have to understand the business side of things. Time for you to learn the ropes.”
I leaned back into the leather seat and shut my eyes. It was inevitable. I could feel the abyss like a black hole tugging on me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fight it. “We’re meeting with the Veronesis.”
My blood ran cold. “With the men who killed Jacob?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you plan to do at this meeting?”
My father gave me a look. “I hope you wore your vest under your suit.”
I swallowed. Of course, I didn’t wear a fucking bullet-proof vest under my suit. I thought I was just going to an interview at the police station. Not into a goddamn gun fight. “I don’t have a gun.”
My father nudged his head towards Abel, then me.
With a snarl aimed at me, Abel pulled out a black Glock and handed it over. “Don’t shoot yourself.”
“I know how to handle a gun.” I took it from him, released the canister, checked it was loaded then clicked it back into place in one swift move. My father had bought me my first gun on my thirteenth birthday and taught me how to shoot. I still held on to those long summer afternoons he spent crouched by my side, teaching me to shoot. They had been some of the rare times I had cherished with my father.
“Do you remember how to aim?” my father said. He shared a look with Abel as if this was a joke they shared between them.
I pressed my lips together and said nothing. Of course, I maintained my shooting skills. Even in Europe, I was at a range every other week. I may not have wanted to be a Tyrell but I wasn’t stupid. I knew my surname was a target on my back.
The limo pulled up to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse, owned by neither of our families. Neutral property. We sat in the limo, sweat collecting at the base of my spine as we waited for my father’s men to check the area for an ambush. All clear. For now.
We exited the limo and entered the warehouse, my father and me in the center, Abel and four other men flanked around us like a walking shield. My ears were pricked, my eyes darting about me, peering through the shadows and the scattered machinery hanging like rusty skeletons.
Already waiting for us was Alberto Veronesi in the center of four suited men. He was my father’s age, although he didn’t wear his age as well. His belly bulged over his tailored pin-stripe pants, his matching jacket hanging open, and his wrinkles were deeply lined in a pale, puffy face. His once dark hair was now gray.
I scanned the faces of the other men there. I didn’t recognize any of them from the dossiers my father had sent over to me. A prickle scattered over my skin. Alberto’s four sons were missing from this meeting.
I had only met Alberto in person once, at the funeral of my mother. He had been a childhood sweetheart of hers and a friend to my father. She left him to be with my father. This, as well as territorial disputes, caused a bitterness between these two men extending back several decades. My mother had been the prize my father had won. Alberto had never forgiven him.
“I thought we agreed to limit our associates who were to attend this meeting,” Alberto said, eyeing our seven to his five.
“I’m surprised you had the nerve to call this meeting,” my father said.
Alberto’s eyes met mine and a smile crept across his face. “So, this is the new heir to Tyrell’s empire. You’ve been away for several years, my boy. You ready for the g
ames that real men play?”
Before I could answer, my father interrupted. “You do not get to speak to him. You called this meeting with me. You shall address me.”
Alberto stiffened and turned to stare at my father. “We did not order the attack on your son. We would not break the code like that.”
Even as a child my father was always talking about the code. No Made Man was to be killed without consent from the Commission, being the head of the five biggest families in the country. The Tyrell family, however powerful, still bowed to the de Lucas. Sonny de Luca, the current capo, would not have sentenced Jacob to die. Sonny and my father had a long, close history.
Four years ago, Jacob had been wanted for the murder of an informant after his ex-girlfriend turned against him to testify that she’d seen him shoot the poor woman in cold blood. He had escaped and gone underground. There was no reason to order his execution. Not now.
Or was there?
“Why should we believe you?” my father said. “It’s common knowledge that your family has been making plays for more power in this district for years.”
“Do you think I want a full-scale war?” Alberto bristled. “Do you think I am stupid enough to incite one? With you? I do not want a war. It’s not good for anyone’s business.”
“If there is a war, I did not start it.”
“You think I’d be reckless enough to carve a V on your boy’s chest? If you think that, then you’re as stupid as the man who ordered your son’s death.” Alberto growled.
The tension in the room shot up by several degrees, our men and his men eyeing each other, their hands floating ever so closely to their hips where an arsenal of guns waited.
“If you didn’t do it,” my father spat out, “then who did? One of the other families? I don’t think so. They wouldn’t dare. Only you would.”
“You’re forgetting the third option.”
My father stiffened. “Which is?”
“The fleur-de-lis,” Alberto said with a hiss.
The fleur-de-lis? “They’re a myth,” I said. A group of faceless vigilantes hell-bent on taking the law into their own hands.
“Quiet, boy,” my father snapped at me.
“My man, Vinnie Torrito, turned up dead a few days ago. Tortured, shot in the head, and dumped in our territory. Do you deny you killed him?”
“Of course I do,” my father said.
He just lied. No doubt, Veronesi was lying too.
Both sides glared at the other, eyes watching twitchy fingers. Two men, two fathers, two sides filled with bitter hate. This was a combustible situation, mistrust leaking into the air like gas. Any minute the spark would ignite the whole damn place. We’d all be consumed along with it.
“What about you, boy?” Alberto turned towards me. “Do you know who killed my man?”
“He’ll tell you the same thing,” my father said.
“I want to hear it from him.”
I felt all eyes turn towards me. I couldn’t let myself flinch. “We didn’t have anything to do with your man’s death,” I lied, keeping my face passive and cold like I’d learned from my father.
“I guess the fleur-de-lis also killed your man,” my father sneered at the boss of the Veronesi family.
“Don’t mock me,” he replied.
My father glared back at him. “I’m not your only enemy, Alberto.”
“And I’m not yours. You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with Vinnie’s death?”
“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the death of my son?” retorted my father, anger coloring his voice. He snatched out his gun and pointed it at Alberto.
Fuck! I snatched out my gun and the sound of drawing weapons filled the warehouse. My nerves were wires about to snap. I counted three weapons aimed at my father, the remaining two were on me. If my father fired, he and I would both be dead.
The only one who remained weaponless was Alberto, his face a steely mask, despite the guns trained on him.
“I could kill you right now,” my father snarled.
Alberto stared at my father. “You pull the trigger and you and your son die.”
“But I will take you down with me,” my father said, his words filled with pleasure. “My eldest son deserves justice.”
“You’d lose your life and you’d lose a chance at justice because I didn’t kill your son. Do you really think I’d take out an entire slew of your men and carve a V on their chests? You might not like me, Giovanni, but you know I am not reckless nor am I stupid enough to incite a war like that.”
“I know that I will enjoy killing you.”
“If you kill me, I have four boys ready and waiting in the wings to take over my business. You brought your only remaining heir. Who would carry on your name if you were both to die today?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father flinch. Alberto Veronesi had found his weak spot and had just pushed. I almost felt impressed.
“You son of a bitch,” my father spat out.
Alberto sighed. “This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed. I called this meeting to offer you a truce.”
“What truce?”
“Put down your weapons and let’s talk like men.”
There was a long pause. The air in the room became hot and sticky, sweat beading on my forehead. We would all die here today if my father didn’t back down. Our lives were in his hands, balancing on a blade’s edge. I could feel the hatred rolling off my father. He would have to put away his pride if we were all to live. Lord knows, how hard he’d have to fight himself to set aside his pride.
Don’t be reckless, Father. Back down.
I shifted my weight slowly from one foot to the other. Any sudden movements and everything would erupt in a storm of bullets and blood. This next breath could be my last. Julianna’s face flashed in my mind and my stomach twisted with regret.
“Fine,” my father said. He withdrew his gun.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and lowered my own weapon. My blood pounded in my ears as a rush of relief flowed over me. I would not die today. Not today.
Slowly the men around us withdrew their weapons.
Alberto nodded. “Thank you, Gio. I stand by my statement that not I nor any of my family had anything to do with the death of your son. The people who did this, cut a V across his chest to make it look like we did. I propose that we call a truce while we search for the real murderer because they are targeting my family as much as yours.”
“These mysterious murderers haven’t killed your son, have they?”
“No, but they might.” Alberto lifted his hands, palms open, in a gesture of surrender. “Think about it. You can call me when you have an answer.” He turned and the men closed ranks around him, creating a wall as he strolled out of the warehouse.
I could hear father growling, his fingers twitching at his side, as he watched Alberto walk away.
“Do you believe him?” I asked my father once we were back inside the bulletproof limo.
He snorted. “Of course not. The Veronesis are liars.”
“Is he really that stupid to start a war between our families? Why? And why now?”
My father sighed. “I am getting old, Roman. In murdering Jacob, he weakened our family. I don’t think Alberto ordered the hit, it was too brash, too messy to be his style. I do think he knows who did it. Someone in his family maybe, one of his sons trying to impress him or to make a play for power.”
“Dante, the second brother, is reckless enough,” said Abel. “It’s common knowledge he’s been making power plays as to who will rule the family once Alberto is gone. The power struggle between the brothers could be their downfall.”
“Are you going to accept the truce?” I asked.
“Of course. It’s to our advantage to play along.” There was a glint in his eyes. “Mark my words, son, we are going to get our revenge.”
26
____________
Julianna
It
was late by the time I left the station. Almost nine o clock. I’d buried myself in my work all day to avoid thinking about Roman and the revelation that he was a Tyrell. A Tyrell and my prime suspect. As I walked out the back exit into the parking lot, the heels of my boots clacking against the concrete, echoing between the dark locked cars, I had nothing left but my thoughts.
Why had he lied to me about his last name? How could he be so callous as to trick me? And why?
A thought struck me with such force that I gasped. I had heard of the creative ways that criminals used to blackmail people. He had insisted that we go to his hotel room. I had…I had let him do whatever he wanted to me. Dear God. What if he had photos of me? Footage? I felt sick.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts I didn’t register that I wasn’t alone. Something shifted in the dark before me. A wide figure detached itself from the shadows. I halted, my heart slamming to my throat and my fingers going to my gun at my hip.
He stepped into the light, his familiar features made harsh by the shadows. A jolt of pain and confusion slammed through me.
It was Roman.
What was he doing here?
His stare was pinned to me, his eyebrows drawn together in a look that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost call desperate. He was here for me.
He shouldn’t be here. We were meters from the entrance to the police station. If he were caught…
Roman started forward, his mouth opening as if to call for me—
“Julianna!” My father’s voice cut through the air from behind me.
Roman gave me one last piercing look before he melted back into the shadows. I felt a tug inside my gut as he disappeared.
I spun, my heartbeat so erratic against my ribs I was sure my father would hear it. He cut across the parking lot towards me with his familiar long stride. From the calm look on his face I knew that he hadn’t seen Roman.
Roman… What had he wanted? Had he come to gloat? To taunt me? Had he come to blackmail me? To name his terms for his silence?
Roman’s not like that, a voice inside me said. Give him a chance to explain…