Page 30 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

I slump against the cold concrete wall, Gianni’s confession still haunting me.

“Henry was the one who attacked you in that parking garage.”

My heart knows it’s the truth, but my head refuses to give in. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Since crossing paths with Gianni, lies and truth have become indistinguishable. Evil isn’t so one-dimensional. Virtue isn’t so transparent. Sins aren’t so black and white.

“Sin is an irreversible stain on the soul,” I murmur.

Gianni’s words.

I remember him telling me during one of our more volatile sessions. He claimed sins follow you like a black cloud. You can’t outrun them. They’re a permanent part of who you are. He tried escaping his only for them to create more collateral damage .

That’s what scares me most of all, not Gianni or Marcello or the pain both have the power to inflict, but that with every tick of the clock, there’s a new sin. Eventually, I’m going to look in the mirror and see more stains than skin, and that’s a reality I’m not ready to face.

I push away from the wall with a sigh and begin another circle around the room when I hear the click of a lock. Looking up, I find Gianni on the landing in a black tailored suit, his palms braced casually on the railing.

“It seems my butterfly has found her wings.”

Just the sound of his voice kicks my heart into a furious tempo, a deadly siren’s call that lures me in, then buries me alive. I’ve fought the Devil all my life, only to fall in love with him.

I hold his stare. “Where have you been?”

“Taking care of something.”

“That’s not an answer.”

My composure bends and twists as he slowly makes his way down the stairs. “I disagree. You asked where I was, and I told you. Specifics weren’t part of the request.”

If the situation wasn’t so tense, I’d laugh. The easy banter, the slow, lethal smirk that lures you in, then buries you alive… Johnny is slipping through his cracks, and he doesn’t even realize it.

“Playing the semantics game again?” I fold my arms across my chest and watch as he descends the final step, the stretched space between us collapsing. “How regressive of you.”

He chuckles. “There she is. It’s good to see you again, Dr. Brennan.”

“Is it?” I step back, my concrete cage morphing into familiar colorless walls. “That woman was supposed to be intimidated by you. Instead, she ruined your psychiatric destructive streak, and here we are.” I punctuate the point with a sweeping gesture around the room.

“I could’ve turned the tables at any moment, Becca.” His gaze darkens. “Believe me, I had every reason to. I tried to walk away from you so many times.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Two more steps and the blaze in his eyes combusts. “Because I fucking trusted you. Now it’s your turn.”

“You toss that word around rather freely for a man who walked out on me ten seconds after having his dick in my mouth.”

“Goddamn it, that was an emergency, Doc.”

I force out a sour laugh. “There’s always an excuse.”

“Because there’s always a fucking outside source coming between us.” He glides his palm up my neck and cups my jaw. “Other than the name and background I had to use, tell me one time I’ve lied to you.”

I open my mouth, ready to tick off his deceptions, only nothing comes out. Instead, thinly veiled warnings flash through my mind.

“I’m no hero, Becca. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that.”

“So don’t paint me as some fucking shiny hero with a kink in his cape.”

He may have skirted around the truth. He may have stretched so many holes it became unrecognizable. But in the end, no, Gianni Marchesi never lied to me.

“I hate you,” I murmur.

“No, you don’t. You hate the fact you want to hate me but can’t. Know why?”

“Does it matter? You’ll tell me, regardless.”

“Because you’ve realized that truth and honesty are idealistic fallacies only demanded by liars.

” The twin flames in his eyes ignite, and I lose my breath.

It’s back. That hooded dominance. The uncaged, rawness that’s thinned every line I’ve ever drawn.

“Because that clear-cut line between love and hate no longer exists,” he continues, his voice dropping another octave.

“I claimed your body, your soul, and your mind, then freed them through darkness. You can’t hate me, Becca, because you are me. ”

It feels as if he’s reached into the deepest, vilest part of me and pulled it inside out.

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? You’re the psychiatrist, here. Weren’t you the one always insisting the mind is the greatest manipulator of all?

” Crooking his index finger, he skims it from my chin down the length of my neck.

“Turn that mirror around, Dr. Brennan. Do you feel how your pulse races when I touch you? That’s not morality, cara mia .

So ask yourself… Are you vilifying me because of who I am or how I make you feel? ”

In all my years as a psychiatrist, I’ve never had someone steal my weapons only to fire them back at me. Shaken, I bat his hand away. “Let me go.”

I speak the words firmly, but as usual, he sees through them to the scared little girl who desperately wants to be saved. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Then take me out of here yourself,” I plead, my heart sinking. “You keep telling me the Devil never leaves, but does that vow last forever or until my last breath?”

“Becca—”

“I want to hate you,” I choke out. “Not for who or what you are, but because even after all you’ve put me through this still bleeds your name.” I clutch at the fabric covering my heart. “It still aches for you. It still lo…” My breath shudders as I inhale that forbidden word.

His arctic expression turns molten. “It still… what ?”

He’s right; truth is an ugly reflection.

“It still longs to trust you,” I say instead, “and that’s a bridge riddled with so many cracks it should’ve already collapsed.” I shake my head, unshed tears burning my eyes. “So if you want me to believe in you—if you truly care about me like you claim to—you need to set me free.”

“You still don’t see it, do you?” The muscles in his jaw tic as he stalks toward me. I stumble backward, but it’s useless. There’s nowhere to go. My back is literally against the wall. “My beautiful butterfly, what did I warn you I’d do once I caught you?”

“Tear off my wings.” It’s a threat I always knew would someday come to fruition. “So that’s what you want? Me, broken and helpless?”

“No, strong and transformed.” He slides his hand through my hair, the low tone of his natural Jersey drawl sparking a dangerously familiar melody. “What does a wingless creature have to do to rise from the ashes?”

I’m about to launch a sarcastic counterstrike when his question sinks its roots deep inside my mind, ripping through my pride to reveal a truth that’s been there all along.

One he made clear in our final moments in that hospital room.

“Tomorrow will never come without putting an end to today.”

“It has to ignite into flames,” I whisper, tipping my head back in a silent offering.

“The moment you surrendered to me, you became me, Becca.” His grip tightens, the delicious hint of pain diluting my fear as he brushes his lips down the side of my neck. “You’re not a helpless butterfly anymore. You’re a fucking phoenix.”

“Fire.” I breathe the word like a prayer. “It always comes back to fire.”

The thought consumes me as his mouth crashes against mine. “Fire is death.” Kiss. “Fire is rebirth.” Kiss. “Fire is ours.”

The words sear into me as our passion explodes, and I melt against him, inhaling the scent of destruction. I’m done trying to convince myself we’re shards of broken glass instead of missing pieces from the same puzzle.

Because dark can’t exist without light.

And two severed hearts can’t love without hate.

“Let me prove it to you,” he says heatedly.

“Then you’ll let me go?”

He nods. “Then I’ll let you go.”

But something in his voice feels off.

It feels final.

I wrap one arm around his waist and slide the other down the front of his pants, inhaling his groan as I palm his hard cock. His desire is the one truth he could never hide from me. When I give it a squeeze, he chokes out a harsh string of Italian and slams his palm against the wall.

“ Ogni parte di me appartiene a te, anche nella morte .”

He doesn’t translate, and I don’t ask. Maybe it’s because he’s everywhere, his lips owning my mouth while his hands memorize my skin. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want the truth to steal their beauty.

Pulling back, I hold his stare. “Take me, Gianni Marchesi. Make me yours forever.”

However long that lasts.

In an explosion of lust and loss, he pushes us flush against the wall, nothing between us but raw desire and a ticking clock. Keeping one hand tangled in my hair, he bunches the hem of my dress in his fist and hands it to me. “Hold this, and don’t let go.”

A wicked smile stretches across his face as he slides his hand under my dress and winds the thin string resting on my hip around his fist. In one vicious tug, my panties rip, then he’s on his knees, and my world implodes.

The moment his tongue slips inside, my eyes roll back in my head.

Unbalanced, I sink my fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots as he fucks me with his mouth.

I’ve never teetered so close to the edge, unsure whether to fight for my life or beg for death. Gianni lashes at my clit as if punishing it for untold sins, licking and sucking until I’m trembling on the crest of another powerful orgasm.

“Oh, God!”

“Not God.” His fingers dig deep into my thighs. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

My hips buck as I implode. “Gianni!”

As I struggle to breathe, he rises to his feet, licking my arousal off his lips. Instead of driving into me, he stands motionless, his rigid cock battling his still-buttoned jeans as I grip my dress. “We can stop here. You’re in control.”

Pretty words from a filthy mouth.

“I want you inside me.” Entwining my fingers around his neck, I pull him close.