Page 16 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

GIANNI

B obby Sartorre’s hostility makes sense now. I have his family’s blood on my hands.

A bomb goes off inside me. Marcello. That fucking sadistic bastard.

I lower my hand. “I’m not hurting Victoria’s family.”

Anton gives me an empty stare. “Nobody said you had to.”

“Then why bring me here, if not to…?” I narrow my eyes.

He knows what I’m reaching for, but he’s not reacting.

He’s just sitting there sipping wine like a spectator in his own circus.

“Are you seriously trying to insinuate he doesn’t know who Sartorre is?

It’s obvious he sent me here as a ‘fuck you.’”

“Of course he did. He knows exactly who Bobby is, just not where his allegiance lies.” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he picks up a slice of bread and points it at me.

“The key to longevity is using situations and people to your advantage. Have you ever heard the saying, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’” He waits for my cautious nod before adding, “Maybe your father should’ve looked it up before sending me to Hackensack a few months ago. ”

I’ll be damned.

“You could’ve given me a heads-up.”

“Cars and houses can be bugged,” he says between chews.

Considering the only thing I found in mine that resembled a weapon was a fucking butter knife, he has a point. Until I have my place swept, it’s a hotbed for blackmail.

“So Sartorre is in on whatever this is?”

He dips his chin.

“The man who wants ‘revenge, retribution, and restitution’ is trusting the man who dropped the first match not to do it again?”

“You think I’m playing you, don’t you?” Cursing, he tosses the bread into the basket and jabs his finger across the table.

“ Che cazzo , Gianni? I was there when you were born. I looked your mother in her eyes and promised to look out for you. I knew this whole thing went deeper than Marcello framing you for murder because he didn’t get his way.

” He exhales a low breath. “I didn’t know it went all the way to Hell. ”

“So you knew he was dipping his dick in Providence.”

He leans close, his gaze sharp. “Who do you think sent Owen Holmes that link?”

I don’t know what kind of response I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

I never questioned how Owen came into possession of the link.

After it revealed regular deposits made from Rose and Dagger Holdings and Tesora International into an offshore account in Reese’s name, logic took a backseat to rage.

Tesora was what my father used to call my mother. In normal relationships, “darling” would be a term of endearment, but it was the name he used before unleashing the monster.

The moment I saw it, I knew who owned George Reese and Providence.

“Start talking, Anton.”

“I stole Marcello’s laptop before the feds could get to it and started digging,” he says.

“The more closets I pried opened, the more skeletons fell out. After his arrest, I found a hidden file protected by a wall of encryption. I have a contact who specializes in less-than-ethical IT work, so I enlisted his help.”

“Let me guess, he discovered Rose and Dagger Holdings and Tesora International.”

“Among others.”

These constant plot twists are really starting to piss me off.

I jerk my tie loose as the walls inch closer. “How many fucking shell companies is he using to launder his dirty money?”

“At least three, maybe more. All set up by figureheads across the globe who populated them with a bunch of straw men. Little to no regulation of foreign financial institutions makes illegal enterprise a hot commodity.”

“No one pays more for discretion than a criminal,” I say, the words sounding much calmer than the intent behind them. “But I’m guessing there’s more to the story.”

He sips his wine before pulling back more of the curtain.

“It was the regular payouts from the shells to four offshore accounts that caught my contact’s eye.

He bypassed the encryption on two of them and found money being funneled from Rose and Dagger Holdings and Tesora International into the Providence police chief’s pocket. ”

It seems Marcello was layering his money laundering. How entrepreneurial of him.

“That must have been around the time Owen uncovered Reese’s Cayman Islands account,” I say, more to myself than him. “He’d been poking around his finances for days when deposits from Rose and Dagger tripped his alarm.”

I can still see him in my living room the night I turned Dice and his sidekick into overdone Irish kebabs.

Blood drained from his face as I told him how Becca’s attacker had a rose and dagger tattoo.

He’d assumed Reese was being controlled by the Rogue.

If only he’d seen past the veil, she wouldn’t be here right now.

“You said your contact bypassed the encryption on two accounts,” I say. “We know one belongs to Reese. Let me guess; the other links to Saddler.”

Anton’s stare never wavers. “The one and only. Unfortunately, the other two accounts have more intricate codes beyond his expertise.”

“I’m still not hearing the how and why this revelation led to me. Two dirty law enforcement officers point to a conspiracy, not a trap.” I lean close and tighten the rope. “What aren’t you telling me, Anton?”

He hits me with a deadpan stare. “My contact called me the day of Marcello’s release to tell me it was all gone. Decades of transactions were erased, and all the shells had been put in your name.”

I freeze. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“It’s a setup, Gianni. Once I knew your father’s endgame, I followed Saddler’s paper trail to Providence.” He rolls the wine glass stem between his thumb and index finger. “I had a fifty-fifty shot that the other marshal wasn’t a sellout, so I took a chance and clued him in.”

“Yeah, with a filtered and watered-down version.” I lock eyes with him across the table. “Why send him the link in a burner email with some cryptic note to have me ‘read between the lines?’ Why not tell him I was being set up by my father and framed by a dirty marshal?”

“And risk you murdering Saddler and confronting Marcello with the only leverage I had against him?” Staunch indignation clouds his face.

“I said I took a gamble on Holmes, not that I threw a bullet in the chamber and gave it a spin.” Fair enough.

He’s right about me, and Owen is so “by-the-book” he probably would’ve called in a fucking report.

“I needed to tell you in person, and I knew once you saw that link, that hot temper of yours would drive you across state lines.” He frowns.

“I just didn’t plan on Marcello turning your girl into a wildcard. ”

That makes two of us.

“He tattooed a fucking rose and dagger on her while she was unconscious,” I say tightly.

“I know.”

“What’s his angle?”

“No clue. But nothing Marcello does is without benefit to him.”

Sartorre comes barreling into the room with a tray overflowing with plates of lasagna, exiting just as quickly. Anton grabs his fork and digs in with gusto while I brood over the one question still gnawing at me.

Eventually, he glances up from his plate, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that look for?”

“ Why would he do this?” I ask. “Revenge is a weak and shortsighted justification for imploding an operation he’s spent two decades building.”

“No, it’s a fringe benefit,” he says bluntly. “Rumor has it the Authority heard talk of shipments going out of the Port of Providence. My guess is he got spooked, which makes sense, considering my contact also uncovered transactions to and from the Carreras.”

Of course, there are.

“The Mexican cartel,” I mutter. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because Marcello and Alejandro Carrera are kindred spirits cut from the same putrid cloth,” he huffs.

“They’d sell their own mothers if it’d turn a profit.

Your father saw the writing on the wall once the rumor mill started turning.

He knew he had to unload his pet project.

You being there gave him the perfect excuse, means, and opportunity. ”

“Letting him kill two birds with one stone.” Knowing my father put the shell companies in my name only days ago confirms he’s using me as a scapegoat, which speeds up the sand in Becca’s hourglass.

“There’s one more thing.” Fatigue pulls at the corners of Anton’s eyes as he refills his glass. “That ‘oath renewal’ bullshit is a trap. He’s called an emergency Authority meeting for tomorrow night.”

All the pieces snap together into one severely demented puzzle.

“That’s how he’s ‘restoring the Marchesi name.’ He’s going to play mafia savior while claiming a front-row seat to the silencing of his son and his sin.” I drag my tongue across the front of my teeth. “So, what’s our plan?”

He stabs his fork into his lasagna. “What happened to that brilliant murder suicide strategy you stormed in with a few hours ago? You know that taking out a boss without approval is a death sentence.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You weren’t thinking at all.” He scowls. “There’s only one way to derail an Authority back door. Walk through the front.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m serious,” he says, shoving more pasta in his mouth. “The only way to win is to use Marcello’s tactics against him. If he wants an execution, let’s give him one. All we need is permission.”

“For what, a license to kill?” At his solemn nod, I nearly drop my glass. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Why waste time fighting from the bottom when we can strike from the top?”

“How about because I broke omertà and talked to the feds?” Getting nothing but a blank stare, I add, “Best case scenario, we’d walk out wearing our balls as neckties.”

“You’re forgetting we have leverage. The Authority doesn’t know Marcello broke the moratorium on Rhode Island. Betrayal of one of their own isn’t a good look. I’d say it’s something they’d go to extreme lengths to silence.”

“Yeah, if we had solid proof. The only thing we have backing up our claim includes payouts made by two shell corporations that are now in my name. The odds aren’t in our favor.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have this.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen twice, then slides it across the table.

If I wasn’t so fucking relieved at what I see, I’d punch him for the dramatic lead-up. “I thought you said the original files were gone and ‘decades of transactions were erased.’”

He shrugs. “I never said we didn’t have a backup.”

“You sandbagging prick.” It’s a good plan. Likely to backfire, but still good. “So, you think the Authority will forgive our sins if we ensure Marcello pays for his.”

“Forgive is a strong word. I’d say they’re more likely to overlook them.” He shifts forward, his stare as sharp as his tone. “We don’t have time to think this through. Either way, Authority bullets are going to fly. You decide whether to fire them or take them.”

Damn it, he’s right. No matter what I do, I’m going to end up at the wrong end of the Authority’s gun. At least by taking the fight to the source, I control my fate.

Go big or go to Hell.

“I assume you have a trusted contact in New York?”

He arches an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

I think we’re about to walk into the lion’s den wearing fucking meat suits.

“What’s the lead time for an Authority sit-down?”

“Usually, a couple of days, but Marcello expedited things by calling his meeting. All four bosses are in New York.”

How generous. I’ll have to remember to thank him before killing him.

“Speaking of your boss,” I say, watching for any shift in composure. Anton may be a temporary ally, but he’s still my father’s underboss. “I assume an unscheduled trip to Staten Island won’t go over well.”

“Leave Marcello to me.”

“Meaning?”

He bristles. “Meaning leave him to me.”

He’s lucky I need him. This cocky attitude is several levels above tolerable.

“Fuck it. Make the call.” I finish my wine, my face stretching into a slow smile. “Looks like we’re headed to New York.”