Page 88 of Tortured Hearts

“I don’t want to, which is why I made the deal I did. I stressed how taking him out would make you even more volatile. They agreed to a stay of execution?—”

“Oh, thank?—”

“As long as you’re bound toLa Cosa Nostra,” I finish, my addition wiping the short-lived relief from her face. “If you’re not a Marchesi, Becca, you’re a problem, and I have no recourse in protecting either of you.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I sit back and let her process everything, knowing there’s only one conclusion waiting at the end. Eventually, resignation pools in those baby blues as she bites her lip. “You promise you’ll make sure no one hurts my dad?”

“I promise.”

She swallows hard. “If I agree to this, I have one condition.”

“I’m listening.”

There’s another beat of silence, then that resignation hardens. “When you find the man who killed my mother, I want to be the one to pull the trigger.”

Goddamn, I didn’t think my dick could get any harder for this woman.

I was wrong.

I stare at her, the air between us taut with tension. “He’s all yours.”

She jerks out a stiff nod while slowly rising to her feet. “Then, okay, I’ll marry you.” Without another word, she crosses the room and climbs halfway up the staircase beforecoming to an abrupt stop. “You know, I always thought of you as the hero-laced devil who brought color into my world.” She glances over her shoulder, fear and confusion locking her behind familiar thick glass. “But now, I wonder if you were just another monster waiting to stain it red.”

I don’t stop her as she runs the rest of the way up then disappears behind a slammed door. There’s no point. Nothing we could say will change things. Plus, we both know me following her up those stairs will either end in us fighting, or us fucking and then fighting.

Neither option is worth agitating her more than I already have.

So I sit alone in a house that doesn’t feel like home and find solace in the shadows. It’s nearing dawn. The sun will be up soon, and a new day will begin.

My wedding day.

I fire off a quick text to Anton.

I want you in my driveway in half an hour, or I’m using you for target practice.

Not really, but if I have any hope of this wedding going off without fireworks, I’m going to need him to smooth the edge of the blade I just pressed to Becca’s throat.

Tossing my phone, I pick up my glass and drain it, hoping the answer to this mess will be at the bottom. It’s not, of course. The only thing there is a shitload of guilt and Becca’s barbed accusation.

As much as it stung, I can’t fault the truth buried in it. Iama monster. Marcello was a shitty father, but he never sugar-coated the reality of this life. Even as a young boy, I knew that while all monsters dwell in the dark, the most dangerous ones walkin the sun.

A lesson Becca Brennan is about to learn all over again.