Page 113 of Torched Spades

I spin around. “So are you.”

“You’ll never understand what I did for you.”

I laugh. “For me? Don’t play the protective parent role now. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I won’t apologize for protecting my daughter.”

Rage rushes through my veins like molten lava. Picking up the stapler from my desk, I hurl it at him, only for him to dodge and watch it dent the wall. “Oh, spare me the act. Everything you’ve done is to protect your own ass.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you!”

“I know enough to realize when my daughter is involved with a murderer.” He sighs, his expression turning sour. “Becca, sit down.”

Bile crawls up my throat. “Just say what you came to say.”

“They found Jack.”

I double over, my vision blurring. “No. You’re lying.”

He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I wish I was. They found him in Narragansett Bay a few hours ago. He’d been burned to death, Becca.”

There are days when you know you can take what life doles out and keep moving. The hits may sting, but eventually, the good outweighs the bad. But sometimes there’s so much bad that it seeps into the roots of everything you are. Your foundation becomes flooded with pain, blood, and darkness, and at that moment, you know nothing will ever be right again.

The shadows will never lift.

Daylight will never come.

And feet will always be red.

“There’s an arrest warrant out for Malone,” he adds.

His words break through my grief, and I snap my head up. “What? Why?”

“Come on, Becca…” He sighs “Let’s not play this game. I told you before, someone reported seeing Jack and Malone arguing at the docks at six o’clock p.m. on Tuesday evening. I talked to the medical examiner myself. She places his estimated time of death at around six-ten.”

“That doesn’t mean he did it,” I insist.

“Jesus Christ, Becca! Wake the fuck up!” His face reddens as he snaps his fingers in my face. “Want to know what police recovered at the scene?”

“No…”

“Goddamn it!” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a piece of paper before unfolding it and tossing it onto my desk. I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop myself. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t.The ace of spades.“Open your eyes! He’s been lying to you, Becca. For Christ’s sake, his name isn’t even Johnny.”

“Stop!” I shout, pressing my hands over my ears.

He lets out a harsh laugh. “Maybe you’d know him better as Torch.”

I try to keep my face blank, but judging by the satisfied smirk on my father’s face, I fail. Torch is a name infamous along the East Coast—most recently for turning state’s witness against Marcello Marchesi, the boss of New Jersey’s most powerful crime family. No one knew his real identity, and the Marchesis never publicly claimed responsibility for his trail of destruction.

“The only thing Torch left at the scene of his crimes was a playing card,” I whisper.

The truth swings like a hammer to my chest.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“That’s right,” my father says tightly. “The ace of spades. Your Johnny Malone is Gianni Marchesi, heir to the blood-soaked Marchesi throne.”