"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed and made my way to the coffee shop where James had insisted we meet. I was not thrilled about waking up so early and having to deal with that human first thing.
Barf.
I scanned the room for James and spotted him in the corner, holding a cup of black coffee that looked like it could wake the dead.
"Morning," I said, sliding into the seat opposite him.
James looked up from his coffee with a smirk. "Morning. You look like you've been hit by a truck."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't like waking up early. And how do you even drink that stuff? It looks like it's straight from hell."
He chuckled and took another sip. "Black coffee is an acquired taste. Besides, it's nice."
You only like it because it's black like your soul, you bitch.
"Right," I said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'll stick with my usual—a cheesecake and some normal coffee."
James raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Still got your sweet tooth, huh?"
"Obviously. Now, get to work."
He pulled out a notepad and pen—who even uses those anymore?—and looked at me seriously. "We need to review everything we know so far. Start from the beginning."
I nodded, pulling out my own notes. "Right. So, we've got Dad's prints at the scene, the camera footage showing he was the last to see Romano, and the parking ticket. Anything else?"
"There was one witnesses who saw your dad leaving before Romano was murdered. We could talk to her, find out what she knows."
"Alright," I agreed, though my stomach twisted at the thought. "Let's start with the witnesses."
***
Our first stop was Lydia Burton's apartment. She lived in the building next to where Romano was killed, and according to the report, she sa something that night.
When we arrived, I rang the doorbell and took a deep breath. James stood beside me, his expression unreadable. As always.
The door swung open, and Lydia, a middle-aged woman with an anxious look, greeted us. "Detective Carter, Mr. Rossi, come in."
Lydia led us to her living room. She gestured for us to sit and took a seat across from us, playing her hands nervously.
"So, Ms. Lydia," James started, "we're investigating the murder of Vincent Romano. We understand you saw something that night. Is that correct?"
Lydia's face went pale. "Yes, yes, officer, that's correct, but I'm not sure if it's relevant. I was just trying to get some sleep that night."
"Anything you can tell us could be helpful," James said, his tone encouraging. "Just start from the beginning."
