Page 35 of Tormented Diamonds

“Obviously.” He nods to where I’m rubbing the pad of my thumb over the palm side strip of my wedding band.

I stare down at the antique diamond. The one I found had the wordsL'amore è una macchia indelebile sull'anima.engraved on the inside. The same words Gianni said to me at the altar.

Love is an irreversible stain on the soul.

Just like sin.

“I didn’t get to walk you down the aisle,” he murmurs.

Looking up, I find him locked in a distant gaze. “Would you have?”

He waits a few beats, then offers the first real smile I’ve seen from him in a long time. “I’d like to think so.”

We sit in a jittery moment neither of us knows what to do with. The Reeses don’t do heavy emotion, and we sure as hell aren’t comfortable wading in syrupy piles of sentimentality. Thankfully, the server appears with a tray of food. By the time our plates are in front of us, the awkwardness has passed, cementing a silent agreement to pretend like it never happened.

“Now, I may be an old man,” he says, stuffing a fork load of pasta in his mouth, “but I still know when I’m being hustled with a giant plate of manicotti.” He turns his fork around and points it at me. “You didn’t bring me here just to iron out a few wrinkled edges. So, let’s hear it.”

Once more, my appetite shrivels to nothing.

“It’s about Dagger,” I admit, pushing my plate to the side.

His fork stills. “If you want me to pick him out of a lineup, great. Otherwise, I can’t help you.” He caps the declaration off by stabbing into another tube of pasta.

“I know, but there might be something small you’re not considering, something that doesn’t seem important to you but could help Gianni track him down.”

Another overfilled fork load goes in his mouth. “If he wants to find him so bad, go to Providence.”

“Please, Dad. Do it for me…” Then, because I’m desperate and know it’s a cheap shot that’ll hit dead center, I add, “Do it for Mom.”

He exhales a rough breath. I’m about to jump out of myskin when his fork hits his plate. “He always summoned me on Tuesdays. I don’t know why, and I didn’t care to ask.”

The words hit like a brick wall.

Jack was killed on a Tuesday.

“Where would you meet?”

“At the docks.”

I tip forward, as if closing the few inches of distance between us will counteract those words. “Even when Gianni worked there?”

“Yep. It drives home the whole ‘happening right under your nose’ thing, huh?”

“Why the docks? Did he ever give a reason? It seems kind of risky.”

He tilts his chin and stares up at the ceiling. “Don’t, Becca.”

Something buried in the bite of his tone makes my stomach turn. “Why? Did you see him doing anything strange while you were there?”

“Other than existing? No. I walked away, and he walked toward the cargo berths.”

“You never found out what he and Marcello were running through the port?”

Silence.

“Dad?”

Silence.