Page 28 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

W hen you sit in the same place long enough, time becomes inconsequential. You stop wondering how many hours have passed. You even forget how long it’s been since your last sip of water. It all becomes one never-ending blur of nothingness.

That’s where I am when the door opens—caught in a spinning circle of nothing. No thought. No hope. Just me, a cold, dirty floor, and endless time.

I roll my cheek away from the wall to see Gianni standing there as stone-faced as he was when he left.

He’s in different clothes now, the battle of his personalities bleeding outward.

Johnny is present in the fitted dark jeans and boots, but from the waist up, it’s all Gianni wearing the expensive-looking gray button-up and slicked back hair.

I feel like the change of clothes should be important, but the part of me that processes thought can’t bother to care. Maybe it’s because deep down, I know the criminality of the answer and hearing it would make me face my part in it.

Yet I still push away from the wall. I still rise to my feet. I still face him with my chin lifted and my shoulders straight. “You came back.”

“I told you I would.”

He did. Part of me didn’t believe him, or maybe it wanted to, but a lifetime of disappointment in men shifted it into protective mode.

My fingers twist by my side, the unspoken question hanging between us like a rusted hook. I want to voice it, but every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

For a woman so skilled with words, I’m dragging the barrel.

Gianni stalks toward me, his predatory nature swallowing all the air in the room as he moves. Once we’re inches apart, he doesn’t touch me. He holds me hostage with that lethal stare. The one that drags a woman so deep she begs to drown. “No mercy.”

That’s all he says. Two words that convey everything.

The shoulders I’ve been holding so proudly fold forward, my lungs deflating in a rush of air. I should be horrified at how little regard he has for human life. Instead, those feelings turn inward. I want to care, but the truth is I don’t.

I’m glad Henry Saddler is dead.

I close my eyes. “No mercy.”

Christ, who am I? What have I become?

I feel the warmth of Gianni’s palms on my cheeks. “Becca, look at me.”

My eyes flutter open to find a different look in his. He’s still all mobster, but there’s a brittle edge to it. One that’s red-rimmed and underlined with dark circles, almost as if there’s a burden on his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

“What?” I ask, my voice shallow. “What aren’t you telling me? Is Henry not dead?”

“He’s dead.” His hold on my face tightens. It’s as if he’s afraid I’m going to slip away and disappear. “There’s no way I’d risk him getting to you a third time.”

I stiffen. “A third?” My heart catapults into my throat as he steps back, his lips flattening in a tight line. “Gianni?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls his phone from his pocket, his eyebrows knitting together as he stares at the screen.

“Gianni, answer me.”

There’s a beat of tangled silence, then he lifts his head, and my stomach drops. The conflict I see in his eyes is more frightening than his darkness ever was. “Henry was the one who attacked you in that parking garage,” he says, pocketing his phone.

“No.” I point a shaking finger at him. “You killed that man in Providence. I saw his face on the news.”

“I killed a man in Providence, but he wasn’t the one who hurt you.”

“I know what I saw.” I shove at his chest, but there’s no power behind it. I’m spiraling. Sinking. Slipping behind the glass. “I fought him. I tore his mask. That man had?—”

“Red hair,” he finishes, gripping my flailing arms. “I know.”

My vision blurs as images of my courthouse attacker and Henry flash through my mind, then merge.

I shake my head, trying to force them apart.

“No. The man who attacked me had the same rose and dagger tattoo on his chest that my mother’s killer had on his arm.

The same one that’s on me . A marshal wouldn’t have that.

” I search Gianni’s face for a hint of validation, but all I find is something that looks a lot like pity.

“What?” I snap. “For God’s sake, just say it. ”

“Becca, he had the tattoo. I saw it with my own eyes. Plus, he knew things only someone who was there could’ve known.

Things I didn’t even know.” The conviction in his voice hits like a wrecking ball.

“He knew you were attacked on the fourth level of the parking garage. He knew you were wearing spandex leggings and a lime green shirt.”

More bile crawls up my throat with every word. “No…”

“The bastard knew he wasn’t leaving that warehouse alive, so he detonated as many bombs as possible.” Pausing, he inhales through his nose. “He claimed to have mentioned me by name. He said, ‘ask her what I said when she begged me to let her go.’”

Closing my eyes, I force myself back into that parking garage. I feel the wind being knocked out of me as I’m crushed against my car. I feel his hot breath against my ear as I plead with him.

“I won’t say anything. I haven’t seen your face. I don’t know anything about you.”

“Maybe not, but I know all about you, Becca.”

I remember thinking those words sounded familiar, but before I could place them, he shoved me to the concrete. Then my mind spins further back, and I hear a less volatile conversation as I’m steered through the Port of Providence warehouse.

“You know I’m not really Johnny’s friend, right?”

“I know all about you, Becca…”

Oh, God. It was him.

I bring a shaking hand to my mouth. “That man you killed was innocent, and I condemned him to…” Death. I freeze, and in between all the static, I hear him again—the man with the small eyes and big teeth.

“ Bullets and blades, Rebecca. The first shot punishes the sinner, but it’s the second that pays the sin .”

It’s me. I’m the second shot. That’s why he left me alive all those years ago. I was a long-term mind fuck they watched from afar. They didn’t have to intervene. Leave a pot of water on the stove long enough, and eventually, it’ll boil over.

My father destroyed his life protecting me from murderers, only for me to become one.

My knees buckle, and Gianni’s arms hook around before I hit the floor. “No, Doc,” he soothes. “That Irish bastard condemned himself long before you came along.”

I fight his hold, but it’s a useless battle. I’m like a rag doll ripped at the seams. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“This is real.” My thrashing stills as he wraps a hand around the back of my neck. “We’re real. You’re mine, Becca. Do you understand what that means?” I nod, and his grip tightens. “I need to hear the words, cara mia .”

I know what he wants, and as fractured as I am, I’m helpless against the truth.

“Once I let the Devil in, he’ll never leave.”

“I’ll protect you. I’ll kill for you. I’ll bleed for you.

” His grip tightens, imprinting the promise on my skin.

“But I’ll never let you go. Not even death can separate us.

” He slides his thumb under my chin, then tips my head back, lowering his mouth until our lips are only a whisper apart. “No matter what happens.”

My eyes drift close, and I wait for the kiss that’s somehow both poison and salve.

The moment I feel his mouth on mine, the pain numbs, and all I feel is him.

The more broken my moan, the harder he kisses.

It’s messy. It’s careless. It’s illogical.

But it’s also the only sense I have in this trapped existence, so I give in to it.

I grip his back, a low growl rumbling in his chest as my nails dig into his skin through his shirt. “I’m a violent man, Becca,” he counters against my lips. “I butchered a man a couple of hours ago without an ounce of remorse. That part of me will never change.”

I pull away, my anger flaring at the distance in his eyes.

He’s trying to force hate from me.

Jesus, caring for this man is like balancing on the broken end of a see-saw.

“I’m not asking you to change anything,” I grit out. “I don’t know how much time either of us has left, and I don’t want to spend it fighting, all right?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I turn halfway around when I feel him palm the back of my neck, his fingers sinking deep into my skin as he spins me toward him and slams his mouth onto mine. The harder I try not to respond, the more insistent he becomes until I break…

Fully, completely, irrevocably.

The whimper he coaxes out shatters as he walks me backward and presses me against the wall.

I’m lost, drowning as he draws me into his fiery control, his hard cock pressing against me.

The logical part of me says to pump the brakes and see how this plays out …

that letting him inside me twice while being held captive is already at the short end of sanity.

But I’m tired of darkness.

I’m tired of silence.

The only time I’m not drowning inside my head is when we’re together.

Gianni spilled blood for me. His demons are at the surface, his body fighting to keep them contained.

I open my eyes and take in the hard set of his jaw and taut corded muscles in his neck.

He’s been pushed to his limit, a killer on the verge of a violent explosion.

The least I could do is push him over the edge.

I sink to my knees, holding his darkening stare as I reach for the button on his jeans.

His hand clamps around my wrist, stilling it. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing at the moment.”

“I’m serious, Becca. The destruction running through my veins hasn’t calmed.” He stares down at me, his clenched teeth causing a vein in his neck to throb. “There’s no line between sex and violence for me right now.”

I consider his words … then dare them.

“In this room, I trusted you to bring me back from the edge. It’s your turn to trust me.”

His grip loosens. It’s not a concession. Gianni is at war with himself, but I don’t give him time to fire another shot. Unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, I reach inside his boxers and pull out his thick cock. This won’t take much effort. He’s already hard, pre-cum beading on his swollen tip.

“Becca, I… Fuuuuck !” His palm slams against the wall as I take him as deeply in my mouth as I can, while fisting him at the root.

Three seconds in, I’m gagging.

Christ, I forgot how big he is.

But Gianni has already slipped behind the curtain. His demons are front and center and hungry for blood. “Finish what you started, Dr. Brennan,” he grits out, his hand winding around my hair, holding my head in place as he pistons his hips. “Make me come.”

His roughness and cold words should scare me, but they don’t.

Instead, I tighten my suction and relax my throat, forcing him deeper. I pump him with my hand, determined to keep my word and force the man I care about back to the surface.

Above me, Gianni’s palm curls into a fist, and he pounds it over and over against the wall. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” I risk a glance up and find his eyes closed, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, the line between them sinking deeper as I hollow my cheeks and flatten my tongue.

The power he returned hours ago triples. I’m doing this to him. I’m bringing the mafia heir to his knees. My eyes water, and my jaw aches, but I don’t stop.

Not when he thrusts frantically into my mouth.

Not when my lungs scream for air.

“Goddamn it,” he rasps. “I’m coming, and you’re going to swallow it all. Do you hear me, Becca? Every … fucking … drop.”

His body jerks, a shudder tearing through him as he erupts down my throat. It comes hot, fast, and forceful. I try, but I can’t swallow it all, and it spills out of the corners of my mouth and dribbles down my chin.

Holy shit.

My chest burns. I need air.

Pulling away, I drag in gulps of oxygen, my blurry, watery vision slowly clearing as my pulse returns to normal. When I’m finally back on solid ground, the pressure on my hair is gone, and I open my eyes to see Gianni already dressed, his hand sliding into his pocket again.

I’m still regaining my equilibrium as he pulls out his phone and stares at the screen, his expression hardening. “I have to go.” He’s across the room before I can blink, the scent of spice and burnt pine drifting away with him.

Ten minutes later, I’m still kneeling on the concrete, silent and confused, with no clue what the hell just happened.