Page 22 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

T here’s a quiet click, and then dim light floods the pitch-black room.

I hear the footsteps but don’t bother lifting my head.

I know who it is. The scent of burnt pine and spice dominates the tiny room.

It clouds the sensible side of me, sparking to life the parts that ache for his touch.

The parts that need Johnny Malone to take me in his arms and tell me he won’t let anyone hurt me.

Even if it’s a lie.

“Becca, I…” All movement stops. I feel his eyes on me, but I’m too busy watching the single overhead bulb cast shadows on the floor to meet them. “My God.” He traces my swollen cheek. “ Scusami se sono cosí , cara mia. ”

Forgive me for who I am.

He’s said the words so many times they’re all but tattooed on my skin as well. I don’t want to forgive him. I want to blame him for all that I endured while he did nothing.

Because he was probably with her.

I draw back. “Go away.”

“You know me better than that.”

Pushing off the floor, I slump against the wall and face him.

He’s on his haunches, poised above me with his head lowered like a predator whose personalities got mangled together in a head-on collision.

“And who would that be … Johnny or Gianni?” I look away, the weight of the answer too heavy to shoulder. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

He cups my chin, gently turning it toward him. The moment our eyes meet, the corners of his mouth curve up, causing an infuriating involuntary flutter in my stomach. “Avoiding your own questions now, Doc?”

“No. It was rhetorical,” I snap, hating the way my body reacts to him with the fire of a thousand suns. “However, you appear to be avoiding quite a lot, like telling me about your fiancée, for instance.”

He slowly rises to his feet, his eyes darkening. “Where did you hear that?”

Oh, God. It’s true.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell, it doesn’t. If you drop a line in the water, it means you have a knife behind your back ready to deliver the kill shot. So, let’s hear it.”

I climb to my feet. “There you go again, demanding answers while giving none. Well, throw up all the shields you want, Marchesi. I know your game. I spent eight weeks dissecting every move, so let me clue you in on something you don’t know.

” I close the space between us. “Your eyes give you away. When you’re nervous, when you’re anxious, when you’re feeling one sliver of human fucking emotion, your pupils dilate into black holes of involuntary honesty. ”

He drives his hand into my hair, twisting the strands around his fingers so hard my eyes water. I’m provoking him on purpose. I want his anger. I want him to make me hate him so my heart will stop needing him, stop wanting him, stop aching for him.

Instead, he lets go and palms the back of his neck. “It was Marcello.”

I nod. “He told me you had a fiancée before arriving in Providence. That you’ve always had one.

” I emphasize the last part because fuck him for making me his mistress.

Flashing a brittle smile, I fluff the hem of my dirty dress.

“I hope the bride-to-be will forgive me for wearing white. I dressed for a kidnapping, not my lover’s wedding. ”

He lets out a dry laugh. “The bastard can’t win on his own, so he divides the enemy.”

“So it’s true.”

“No, not in the way you think. Eight months ago, he announced I was marrying the Connecticut boss’s daughter without bothering to ask me. Cathalina and I weren’t in love. Hell, we were barely in like . But things like that aren’t important when money’s on the line.”

The tightness in my chest eases. “So it was an arranged marriage.”

“It never got that far. I refused to bend to my father’s power-hungry whim, not only because I was seeing someone, but because I wasn’t about to be a pawn in his quest for world domination.

” His expression hardens, my anger evaporating as I watch the pain play out across his face.

“You know the story from there. He found out about Victoria, and things spiraled out of control fast. In the end, he forced my hand. He took her life, so I took his freedom.”

“Gianni…”

He saws his teeth, ignoring the incessant and very obvious buzzing coming from his pocket. “But Marcello doesn’t lose and move on. He gets even.”

“That’s why I almost burned to death … and why I’m here.”

“Partly. That son of a bitch knew all he had to do was dangle your safety in front of me, and I’d come running.

” He hooks my gaze, those onyx eyes swallowing me whole.

“But that wasn’t enough. His favorite pastime is finding sadistic ways to destroy people.

He knew the deepest cut he could inflict on me went through you, so that’s where he aimed his blade. ”

It feels like there’s a heavy weight on my shoulders. “That’s the reason you were so cold before. You were supposed to hurt me. He wanted you to watch me break.”

The weight triples at his slow nod. “I couldn’t do it.

That’s why I’ve kept you at arm’s length.

I knew if I let myself…” He tips his head back, and I watch the slow roll of his Adam’s apple.

“It’s all or nothing with you, Becca. There’s no in between.

The wall I put up was for you. I was biding my time and playing a role.

” Lowering his chin, he pins me with a stare that burns straight through my soul.

“It fucking killed me to see you look at me like a … a…”

“A villain?” I say, exposing the word for what it is, him .

“Yeah.”

I blow out a slow breath. “That’s a lot to take in.”

“I know, but you have to believe me when I say this whole fiancée thing is just a ploy to hide his real intentions.”

I don’t ask what those are. The truth is written all over his face.

“I’ve never in the past, nor do I now, have any feelings or intentions toward Cathalina Damiano,” he assures me vehemently. “I do, however, have a plan to get us both out of this. I’m just stalling until all the pieces fall into place.”

Damn him. Against my better judgment, I believe him.

“Now would probably be a great time to share it.”

“I’m still working through the details,” he hedges, adding quickly, “but soon; I promise. I won’t let him hurt you. Trust me.”

There are a few awkward beats of silence where neither of us knows what to say. But then, I catch him staring at me, the fire in his eyes chilling me for all the wrong reasons. There’s more than desire behind that stare; there’s rage.

That’s the moment I know why he’s here.

“You know what Henry…” I draw in a stuttered breath, the words lodged somewhere between shame and regret. “I swear, I tried…”

He takes a firm hold of my shoulders. “Becca, look at me.”

Instead, I collapse against his chest with a shattered cry. His arms fold around in between sobs. “Where were you? I called for you, and you never came.”

Keeping one arm around my waist, he gently tips my chin. “Henry Saddler will never hurt you again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Dead men commit no sins.”

My stomach lurches. “Gianni, did you…?”

“Not yet, but very fucking soon.” The cold delivery of his confession should appall me, but it doesn’t. I’m relieved. God, maybe my soul really is as dark as his. He traces the bruise on my cheek. “You know what happens to those who touch what’s mine.”

I wish I could tell him that violence won’t solve anything, but the woman who believed that perished in that office fire. This one, the one who was abducted, abused, and branded, craves the type of justice laws don’t provide.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Gianni.”

“You don’t have to be. You’re so much stronger than you realize, butterfly. But until you find your way out of your jar, I’ll be your wings. I’ll be your sword.” His arms tighten around me. “I’ll bloody my hands so you never have to.”

It’s exactly what I need to hear from him. Such a dichotomy from the man who walked into my basement prison a few hours ago, but I’m too broken to care. I desperately need something solid to hold on to, and this is the Gianni that anchors me to Johnny Malone.

“Kiss me.”

His mouth is on mine without another word, one hand sinking into my hair while the other rakes possessively down my spine.

After what I just went through, his dominance should feel like an invasion, but it doesn’t.

Gianni’s lips are the only familiarity in an existence riddled with chaos. He’s comfort. He’s safety. He’s home.

I don’t care that he lied.

I don’t care who he is.

I don’t care where we are.

I need to lose myself in a reality that isn’t the one I’m living.

I deepen the kiss, pushing the edge of Gianni’s control. I know he’s holding back, and it pisses me off. I don’t want to be coddled. I want a sense of normality…

I want Johnny and Becca.

“Doc…” he murmurs against my lips.

I wrap my arms around his neck and press against him. A low growl rumbles in his throat, and the kiss turns rough, his tongue demanding ownership of something I no longer control. I groan as the hand on my spine drops low and squeezes my ass, the evidence of his arousal hard against my stomach.

I throw my head back, images of violence, blood, and sex racing through my veins. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it’s all getting muddled into one craving. I need the feeling of Henry’s hands off my skin. “Take me,” I whisper. “Turn his bruises into yours.”

His muscles tense “I won’t be your monster, Becca.”

He thinks I’m forcing him into a role that’s not his all so I can fight back.

Maybe I am. But not in the way he thinks.

“I decide who marks my skin,” I say firmly. “I choose you, Gianni Marchesi. Mark me. Hurt me. Help me take my power back.”

“Becca…”

“Please.” The word comes out whispered. A broken plea.

The intent on Gianni’s face shatters, then slams back into place with something harder and much darker. His fingers trace my throat, then tighten around it. “Red.”

“What?” The word comes out garbled. Like we’re both drowning in syrupy slow motion.