Page 90 of Tormented Diamonds

My pace quickens. “Gianni!” I scream, shattering what voice I have left to get his attention. “Stop! You’re going to kill him.”

He stills, his bloodstained arm lifted in mid-strike. Slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder, rage and confusion mangled together and smeared across his face. “I have to.”

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand right now, but he will.

I point to the shipping containers. “There are women in there. They’re drugged. Get them out.”

“Doc…”

“Get them out,” I repeat, my composure athin wire bent to its breaking point.

Gianni just stares at me as if he’s trying to solve an equation that doesn’t add up. I can’t fault him. I’m not acting at all rational. I’m stilted, robotic, and much too calm. The man who tormented my family for two decades is a whisper away from death, and I’m preventing it.

It makes no sense…

And yet it does.

“Gianni…” We both turn to find Anton standing in the open doorway of the warehouse, Owen right on his heels. They both have their guns drawn, their stances ready for a fist or a bullet. “Is everyone all right?”

Gianni tips his chin back. “What the fuck are you two doing here?”

“Tony called me from the ’Boo and said you made him give you his phone, then took off in a crazed panic. I figured you could use the backup.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Anton shrugs. “Ask ‘boy wonder’ over there. He’s the one slapping trackers on everybody’s cars.”

All eyes turn toward Owen who glares at the Marchesi underboss with murderous contempt.

“You tracked my fucking…” Gianni clenches his teeth, his eyes shifting back to me. “Forget it. It’s not important right now. How much transport capability do we have on hand?”

The two men exchange looks.

“Between my car and his SUV, probably nine, eleven max,” Owen offers, his expression cooling.

“Good.” Gianni gestures toward the shipping container, waning adrenaline drawing a heavy breath from his lungs. “Call a doctor who knows how to keep his mouth shut, and have Paulie get a couple stash houses ready. We have along road ahead of us.”

Anton nods at the man lying bloody and motionless behind him. “What about him?”

My husband gives me a slow side-eye, and I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t turn the spotlight on me. My reason for Declan still having breath in his lungs is valid, but deeply personal. It’s not a vein I care to open in front of an audience.

“Let him bleed out a little longer,” he says coldly. “He’s not going anywhere.”

It took twenty minutes for three men to coax ten drugged and frightened women out of the shipping crate and get them loaded into their vehicles. In the end, it was Owen flashing his Marshal’s badge that tipped the first domino. After that, they all followed like dazed lemmings off the side of a cliff.

I mumbled something about what was next for them.

“Detox and a search for their families,”Gianni told me.“And a shitload of therapy.”

It was then I knew I wanted to help them, but that’s something I can’t think about right now. I have to fix myself before I can fix others.

And that starts with living up to my word.

Because a Marchesi always keeps their promise.

Once everyone is gone, Gianni and I stand in silence, the hum of the warehouse lights creating a static anxiousness between us. I’m trying to hold it together, but his eyes are on me, the incinerating heat of his stare burning holes in my composure.

“Gianni, I…”