Page 29 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)
GIANNI
I push open the door to the control room, what little soul I have in shreds. I’ve taken bullets that caused less damage than watching Becca fall apart in my arms. Walking away after coming down her throat nearly pushed my willpower to its limits, but once I read that two-word text, I had no choice.
“It’s about damn time,” Anton calls out from behind.
I glance over my shoulder, ice in my veins. “You want to rephrase that?”
His jaw flexes, the lines around his eyes creasing.
But the disheveled look doesn’t stop at his face.
His suit is untucked and wrinkled, and his hair looks like the aftermath of a hurricane.
An hour ago, he operated like a sniper in a sandstorm.
Now, he looks like he got swept up in one and spat out.
Which means shit is worse than I thought.
“Now’s not the time to ignore texts, Gianni. ”
“You knew I was with Becca.”
“Which is why you know I wouldn’t interrupt unless there was a code red.”
Code red .
Two words meaning retreat and regroup or fuck around and find out. Four months ago, I would’ve seen them and walked out of that basement immediately. Then a stubborn psychiatrist got inside my head and mind fucked the shit out of it.
“I was de-escalating the situation,” I clip, irritated we’re even having this conversation. “Do I need to remind you what happened while we were sipping wine in Hackensack?”
He bristles. “No. But it seems you need a reminder of the blood we spilled in retaliation.” When I lunge forward, he lifts his hand, his gaze flicking around the small room. “That’s not a jab. It's a problem, a big one.”
I stiffen. “I thought you cleaned it up?”
“I did. Saddler isn’t the issue. It’s Marcello.” There’s a slight tic in his jaw as he slides his hands in his pockets. “I got a call from Bobby. There’s a black Escalade with no tags parked outside Cucciola’s .”
I’d be more shocked if there wasn’t. “When did it arrive?”
“About a half hour ago.”
“Marcello’s paranoid, so he’s laying as much guilt on my shoulders as he can before pulling the trigger.”
Anton lets out a rough exhale. “He’s blowing him up.”
I nod. “And counting on an inferno linked to Victoria’s family tracing back to me.”
“Still, it’s a quick and convenient turnaround. There’s no way he could know we’ve veered off course, unless…”
I raise an eyebrow. “You thinking it could’ve come from Staten Island?”
His gaze sharpens. “No. Toscano bleeds red, white, and green. Besides, once he makes a decision, it’s set in stone. Maybe those two pieces-of-shit feds tracked you?”
“Unlikely, but I suppose anything is possible.” A volatile truth that could change the distribution of weight on a dime. “Speaking of pieces of shit, where is my father?”
“Still in Newark padding his alibi. He’s forcing our hand with this, Gianni,” he says, dragging his palm across his chin. “We’re going to have to make a counterplay.”
A move this big is a risk. One that’ll end in either total payout or painful death. I’ve never backed down from a challenge, but this is different. It’s not just my life on the line.
I walked out of that basement intending to stretch enough Band-Aids over enough bullet holes for Becca to believe in Johnny Malone one last time.
But that was before my father’s paranoia took center stage.
Now, there’s a code red. There are complications and roadblocks.
There are diversions to create and fires to set.
“Marcello sent his men there with bombs,” I say, hatred chipping at my composure. “Let’s make sure they detonate.”
“Are you sure?”
I glance down at my watch. 9:38 p.m . My father never lights up the sky until at least eleven. If he wants a show, I’ll give him one. “Get Paulie on the phone, and tell him he’s being inducted trial by fire.”
Anton’s eyes widen. He knows I’ve done everything in my power to keep my oldest friend’s blood off the prayer card, but I don’t have that luxury anymore. Paulie can be trusted to get the job done, but once he does, that’s it. He’s in with no way out.
What blood binds only death breaks.
“Warn Sartorre what’s about to happen,” I continue. “Tell him to leave through the back room and go home, now .”
He braces his palms on the control table and drops his head. “I’m tired of cleaning up bodies.”
“Then you chose the wrong profession. ”
I wait for a smartass comeback. Instead, he lets out a low chuckle and pushes off the table with a resigned breath. He opens his mouth to say something, then stops and tilts his head, his gaze lowered. “Is that your watch?”
I glance down at the watch hanging out of my pocket. Shit. I forgot I shoved it in there after my visit with Becca turned into a five-alarm fire. Avoiding his stare, I reach down and tuck it back in. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
“Only because you keep a lot of secrets.” I’m about to steer the conversation away from the damn watch when he does it himself.
“Which reminds me…” He pushes a button on the control board, and a monitor above my head flares to life.
“I had my contact do some digging into the late Dice. Turns out his real name was Cillian Doyle, a lifetime resident and menace in Providence.”
“I take it he has a colorful rap sheet.”
“From what he said, it was longer than War and Peace . Robbery, theft, assault; you name it, he did it, but no direct ties to the Rogue.” I watch as another button ignites a live feed of the entrance to the estate, his hands sliding into his pocket as he studies the screen.
It’s never acknowledged, but we both know he’s watching for Marcello.
Looks like someone learned not to trust phone trackers.
“What about his family, any brothers or sisters?”
“No siblings. His parents are dead, but they appeared to be normal, blue-collar people. His mother was a postal worker, and his father worked as a mechanic.”
“So your typical criminal breeding ground.” Anton’s thin-lipped stare says he’s not in the mood for jokes. “Any random offshore accounts hiding in his tax returns?” Judging by the solemn look on his face, I’m guessing not. “And he still can’t get into those last two accounts?”
He shakes his head, finally breaking his one-sided stare down with the front gate. “Apparently, they have some kind of external string code encryption. He’s good, Gianni, not a magician.”
Well, he needs to learn some abracadabra shit quick because if we don’t cut every root of this operation, he’s going to pull an indictment out of his hat instead of a rabbit.
“All these assholes have red hair and the same goddamn tattoo. The same one that’s now on Becca. Either there’s a shitty tattoo artist in Providence with a hard-on for that design, or it’s a symbol for something. If not the Rogue, then what?”
“Considering two of those three men are compost, answering that requires tracking down this Dagger person.” He shrugs. “Find the killer, find the key.”
I force a slow inhale through clenched teeth.
“One murderous bastard at a time.” I tilt my head at the closed door.
“Go make the call to Paulie, then get word to Toscano there’s been a change in plans, and Marcello is going up in flames tonight.
” When he hesitates, I brace my hand against the wall. “What?”
“Fire, really? Considering we’re defying a direct order, don’t you think it’d be in our best interest to follow at least one of Toscano’s stipulations?”
“Ah, yes, not to give the feds ammunition by blotting Marcello’s demise with Torch ink. Unfortunately, I’m confident ‘crossing state lines with a police-issued gun’ provided all the reasonable doubt they’ll need to charge me with Deadpan’s demise.”
“You’re on thin ice with them, Gianni. Pulling the trigger early might break it.”
As long as Owen does his job, I don’t care. Marcello and I can battle it out in Hell.
“I’ve survived worse.”
We’re locked in a silent showdown when he finally dips his chin. “You’re the boss.”
“That’s right. I am the boss,” I mutter as he disappears around the corner. “The lit match that’s going to burn this fucking empire to the ground.”
Becca once accused me of letting my ego control my actions. “You can’t stand to lose, Johnny Malone. Everything in your world has to happen on your terms or not at all.”
No statement has ever proven to be so accurate and yet so wrong.
She was right. I can’t stand to lose—until it’s the only way to win. I’m the stain on Becca’s soul. As long as I’m in her life, it’ll always be there, darkening her path and destroying her peace. The only way she’ll ever be free of it is to be free of me.
That’s why I’ll play my role to perfection, and when the smoke clears, Becca Brennan’s glass jar will break.