Page 12 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

GIANNI

I n one smooth motion, I swing the Glock and switch targets. “You lying motherfucker.”

Henry tucks his hand in the pocket of his slacks as he strolls into the room.

Gone is the dirty warehouse uniform pants.

Instead, the rat bastard is in a tailored three-piece suit with a bright red power tie the same shade as his hair.

“You should’ve trusted your instincts, Gianni.

You knew something was off from the moment I took your keys in the parking lot.

” Stopping next to me, he cocks his head.

“You have a bad habit of underestimating me.”

A mistake that drew Becca right into the line of fire.

I grind my teeth “Are you even a real marshal?”

“Of course I am. Just one with a lucrative side venture.”

“What about Owen?”

“What about him? I told you he got tied up at his office. You heard what you wanted to hear.”

He’s not wrong. My mind was so preoccupied with Becca that I ignored the underlying meaning. Owen wasn’t running late because he was busy; he was running late because he was bound and most likely already dead.

My father lets out a disgusted grunt. “It’s embarrassing how easily you abandoned the only testa di cazzo who had your back.”

“Maybe I played two dirty marshals until they turned on each other,” I strike back.

It’s complete bullshit, but I’m grasping at straws here.

“You think Owen had the balls to fuck the feds’ biggest case since Gotti?

” Henry throws his head back and forces out a laugh.

“That son of a bitch bled red, white, and blue. The only color I honor is green,” he says, jabbing a finger at his chest. “He had no clue we were protecting two different Marchesis.”

“I take it you were the reason the infamous FBI tapes got ‘lost.’”

“Obviously.” Pride blooms on his stupid, smug face. “Well, with a little help from a newly graduated FBI agent with a high libido and low self-esteem.”

I lower my gun and fold my arms across the back of the chair.

“You’ve been a busy bee, haven’t you, Henry?

In twelve short weeks, you got yourself assigned to my case, freed my father on a technicality, and framed me for two murders, as well as first-degree arson.

I don’t know whether to kick your ass or shake your hand. ”

“The higher-ups placed you in the heart of Marchesi territory,” he says, beaming as if he just blindsided me with information Owen revealed sixteen hours ago. “The family had to turn eyes on you, or people would realize Marcello?—”

“That’ll be all, Henry,” my father snaps.

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. “ But you said?—”

“ Dio santo! Get the fuck out!”

I’ve never seen a man move so fast. One minute Henry is hovering like a shadow, and the next he’s a red-headed blur sprinting out the door.

“You should put a muzzle on your lapdog,” I say, the visible chink in their armor fortifying my own. “He’s contradicting your delusion.”

Lowering into his chair, he fixes me with a hard stare and places his drink on the table. “You have a severe lack of respect, Gianni. Perhaps you need an incentive to fix it.”

His steel-edged tone funnels all my attention to the hand reaching inside his suit jacket.

I tighten my finger around the trigger just as he produces his phone.

With one press of a button it flares to life, my stomach twisting as he slides it across the game table.

There’s no sound coming from the video on the screen, just an image of a Becca lying in the center of a dark basement floor like a discarded rag doll.

I lunge from my chair, the rage I’ve kept in check erupting.

I have the gun pressed to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger, when an identical one lands between my eyes.

We stare at each other, each more than ready to send the other straight to Hell when the door flies open.

A rapid snap of Italian dress shoes eats up the distance, and then the gun is ripped from my hand.

The cold steel of Marcello’s muzzle scrapes across my forehead as I turn to find Anton standing at my side like a pissed-off Rottweiler. I glare at him, making a mental note to saw off every finger he has when this is over. “I’ll fucking kill you,” I mutter under my breath.

My father lowers his gun and pockets his phone. “You want revenge, Gianni? Go ahead. Take it. But know that I’ve got a man stationed outside her door ready to take mine, and I’ve instructed him to make sure she knows every second of her torture is because of you.”

I clench my fist, the space where my gun should be withering more of my fuse. “What’s this really about? What do you want?”

He leans so close I can smell a week’s worth of whiskey on his breath. “I want solidified power. Something your wandering eye nearly cost me.”

“Don’t tell me this whole cat-and-mouse game has been about resurrecting your sad, little marriage pact.

Because that’d be pathetic, even for you.

” Not to mention, make him look like even more of an incompetent dipshit.

It’s been eight months since the New Jersey and Connecticut bosses put their heirs on the marital auction block in an underhanded power play…

And six since I dropped the match that sent it all up in flames.

“I have no interest in facilitating another union between you and Carmine’s daughter,” he says with a dismissive wave. “However, the stunt you pulled in retaliation weakened the Marchesi name. This ‘cat-and-mouse ’ game, as you call it, has been about strengthening it.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s hear this ‘brilliant’ plan.”

“Simple,” he says, swirling the liquid in his glass. “We call a truce.”

Right. Because feuding mafia men always prefer peace to violence.

“You’re forgetting the Authority considers me Public Enemy Number One. I’d think the only ‘truce’ they’d entertain would involve a bullet.”

As the governing body of the East Coast underworld, the Authority enforces all La Cosa Nostra rules. So he’d better have a golden ticket before parading me around like a prized steer, or he might as well turn that gun around.

“Five Families. Five bosses. Five votes,” he says, ticking all three off on his fingers. “As a member of the Authority, I have the power to make rules and bend them.” His smile returns. “It’s surprising how quickly people will alter their values when given the right motivation.”

The only surprising thing is him thinking I’d buy a tenth of the load he’s shoveling.

“Just an observation…” I say, sitting back and letting the bait sink below the surface. “If I’m such a pariah, wouldn’t the whole ‘forgive and forget’ thing make you guilty by association?”

“I don’t have to forgive you to exploit you, Gianni. You’re simply a piece on my chessboard.”

“And you expect me to believe I’m anything other than a pawn?”

“I don’t care what you believe. My actions aren’t for you to question.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The other bosses might question them once they find out about your Providence side hustle.”

While Anton gives me nothing but a stone-walled stare, Marcello seems entertained by the accusation. “Those idiots are incapable of finding their own dicks, much less something operating in front of their faces.”

“Oh, Marcello…” I tsk . “If you were half as smart as you think you are, you might be a functioning idiot. Naming your shell corporation Rose and Dagger Holdings isn’t the red herring you think it is. Especially when you link it to another one named Tesora International.”

“Search every financial record I have,” he says, firing off the empty dare like a blank bullet.

“You won’t find one mention of these so-called ‘shell corporations.’” Holstering his gun, he picks up his glass and tips it toward me.

“Now, I’ve grown tired of this conversation.

It’s time to make a choice. Dr. Brennan’s life is in your hands. Accept your fate or seal hers . ”

I glare at him, a little taken aback. I expected him to dance around the accusation, not meet it head on. I don’t know what he’s playing at or why he’s so confident, but it adds a layer to this game I don’t like.

“You’re insane.” I rise to my feet to the sound of a gun cocking.

Fucking Anton.

Forget the fingers. I’m taking both hands with a serrated kitchen knife.

“And you’re stalling.” Marcello tuts. “What’s she worth to you? You have thirty seconds to decide.”

I only need one.

“Fine,” I grit out, lowering into my seat. It’s far from a white flag, more like a temporary bandage to control the bleeding from all the knives in my back. At least until I can buy enough time to find Becca and draw blood of my own. “So, now what?”

Abandoning his drink, he pulls a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Now, we put on a show, and everyone gets what they deserve.”

Watching him bleed is no longer enough. I need to see him burn.

“So what does this demented family reunion of yours entail?”

“The first step is reaffirming your oath. Don’t worry about the details. I’ll arrange it all in a day or two.”

“Unfortunately, I’m going to need those details,” I tell him, straining to keep my voice even. “I’ve found your surprises leave a lot to be desired.”

“Yes, well, I’ve found your word to be unreliable.” He lifts a hissing blue flame to the end of the cigar, puffing until it catches fire. “As such, I’ll be keeping them to myself. I won’t let another puttana get in my way.”

The delusion circulating through him could power a city.

“God complexes aren’t healthy. In fact, I’ve read they stem from low self-esteem and unresolved daddy issues.” I flash a lethal smile. “Is that it, Marcello? Did you not get hugged enough as a kid?”

He chuckles. “As entertaining as this has been, I have other things to do.”

“At three a.m.?”

“ La Cosa Nostra doesn’t keep office hours, Giovanni.” Pinching the cigar between his fingers, he pulls it from his lips and points it at me. “Which reminds me, considering your tendency for stepping outside the lines of your oath, I’ve assigned Anton to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter,” he says, another arrogant smile darkening his face. “Tomorrow, you’ll both go to Hackensack to visit a proprietor who has been less than appreciative of my generosity.”

Smart man. My father’s “generosity” comes with a wad of tangled strings. He swoops in with pretty words and shiny promises, but once that box opens, there’s no closing it. Extortion is the gift that keeps on giving.

“Well, you do tend to draw out the worst in people.”

“Something you found out firsthand.” Draining his glass, he slams it on the table. “Which is why you’ll show our friend how the Marchesi family handles disrespect.”

He’s so transparent it’s pathetic. This trip is nothing but a wall of smoke and mirrors.

“Are you sure about that? It didn’t end so well for you last time.”

His face tightens. “Please, keep challenging me, and see how that works out for you.”

Silence rages hard and deadly between us.

There’s something more he’s hiding. Obviously, this whole Kumbaya shit is a cover, but the song is out of tune.

For a man sold out by his own son, his demands are too neat and tidy.

Too tame . My father offers information on an IV drip.

You’re never given the full story until the bag is empty.

So instead of playing into his hands, I force them.

“I’m not doing shit until I talk to Becca.”

“You act like I planned on keeping you apart. Actually, I’d very much like to see you reunited.” He settles that flat, arrogant stare on me. “Although, I suggest not attempting any white knight bullshit. I have cameras everywhere. One wrong move and she’s dead.”

I go to lunge again, only to still when my pocket vibrates. No one knows about this burner phone. I’ve only used it to dial one number. I run my tongue along my lower lip, savoring the taste of whiskey and contempt as I plan my next move.

“Fine,” I clip again, the repetitive buzzing like a shot of adrenaline. I have no intention of falling in line, but I have to stall for time.

“I thought you’d see things my way.” He drops his cigar into the mouth of the whiskey bottle, then tips his chin at Anton, who moves from behind me like a sniper. “Escort my son to the estate and reunite him with the good doctor, then drive him home.”

Hard pass.

Sending me to the house I haven’t occupied in months isn’t a concession. It’s ensuring I don’t have further access to Becca. “I have a car.”

“If you’re referring to that unsightly piece of shit you left outside my club, I’ve done you the favor of having it towed.

” Muffled pop music blares over dead silence as he stands and buttons his suit jacket.

“Oh, and one more thing … I suggest you leave Dr. Brennan with the clear impression that anything between you has run its course. We wouldn’t want to give her any false hope, no w, would we? ”

It has nothing to do with false hope. Just as I knew forcing him to rot behind bars would be his personal hell, he knows forcing me to carve emotional scars into Becca is mine.

“When are you going to learn, Gianni, I always win.” Winking with the black calm of a psychopath, he strolls out the door.

Not this time.

It only takes one match to burn an entire forest, no matter how many trees are in the way.

I catch Anton’s eye as I stand, our gazes locking.

My father’s diabolical bullshit may be on full display, but his second-in-command is one loose thread I can’t figure out.

So I wait until he turns away before retrieving my phone from inside my jacket and stealing a glance at the newest text on the screen.

You’re giving me an ulcer, you know that?

Huh. It seems dead men can talk.