Page 33 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

“Isn’t it obvious why ? I enjoy toying with you.

” He chuckles to himself, the sound as deep as his pockets.

“You knew how this was going to end from the moment you stormed uninvited into my poker game.” Pulling his cigar from his lips, he blows out a cloud of smoke.

“As Henry said, you heard what you wanted to hear.”

I’m so fucking tired of that goddamn phrase. All I want to do is skip to the end, but Becca’s life is riding on me staying in control. Bottling my rage, I glance over his bald head to the ornate grandfather clock standing tall behind him.

11:49 p.m.

My pulse syncs with the second hand of the clock, each tick a cocked gun. “And how long was I supposed to go along with your delusion?”

“It’s all a moot point now, isn’t it?” He rubs his chin as if there’s anything between his ears but a bloated ego and questionable intelligence. “Once again, you threw everything away over a woman.”

I check the clock a third time.

11:52 p.m.

Not as long as she keeps her promise.

Marcello pushes away from his desk and stands, two slow strides bringing us less than five feet apart, his wide smile begging for a bullet. “I’ve always warned you women make a man weak. Treat them like the expendable holes they are, and you’ll live longer.”

His words sever the last thread of my patience.

He’s the only man so inadequate he has to flaunt his misogyny like a goddamn technicolor coat.

“None of this was about Victoria or Becca. It’s about you thinking you’re smarter than everyone.

For twelve weeks, you’ve followed every move I’ve made with a smoking gun.

” I hold his stare, anticipation rising like a pot of boiling water.

“But there’s one thing you didn’t count on. ”

“And what’s that?”

I step forward until we’re face-to-face, anticipation drilling through my skin. “A wolf hiding among your herd of mindless sheep.” The taunt is vague and open-ended by design.

“Your desperation is showing.”

“And you’re really digging your heels into the role of dumb asshole, so let me expedite this for you…

In all your self-congratulation, did you ever stop to consider the source of my information?

That the walls of your inner circle had to have cracked for me to walk into your club already knowing about your little Providence sideshow? ”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Then explain how I know that all the shell companies were put in my name the day you got out of jail. What broken link in your chain of command do you suppose could’ve given me that kind of information?”

“Saddler,” Marcello hisses, his face hardening. “That fucking traitor.”

I smile, the irony in those words too poetic.

I wasn’t going there, but his assumption presents an opportunity too tempting to pass up.

As satisfying as it would be to watch him die with the shock of Anton’s mutiny smeared across his bloated face, letting him lay the blame on Henry seems like a more appropriate ending for two men who played both sides.

The ace of spades may be the ultimate fuck you, but denial of truth is the final one.

“It turns out Henry’s secrets went on the auction block pretty quickly when he started losing a game of ‘truth or torture.’ What do you say you and I play our own game?” Drawing my gun from its holster, I level it between his eyes. “It’s called, ‘What Happens Next’.”

For a man who has a loaded Glock aimed at his head, my father doesn’t flinch. Instead, he pulls his gun and points it at me. “She cried for you, you know. When Henry attacked her, she screamed out your name.”

I block the image trying to force its way into my head. “I’ll give you three guesses. Each wrong answer will cost you a limb.”

“I only wish you could crawl back from Hell to watch what’s about to happen to her.” Closing his eyes, he inhales whatever fucked-up excitement those words invoke before opening them with a smirk. “You could say it’s twenty-two years in the making.”

The grandfather clock explodes, chiming out the midnight hour.

Showtime.

“Sorry. I’m afraid that ‘indulging your delusional bullshit’ is the wrong answer.

” Aiming the gun at his kneecap, I pull the trigger.

He drops to the floor with a howl, his cigar skidding across the marble along with his gun.

Kicking it across the room, I stare at the blood pooling at his feet.

“You have two more guesses. Think carefully, Marcello. You only have one knee left, and no one to push your wheelchair.”

“ Vai a cagare! ”

I feign a wince. “Ooooh, tough luck.” Another pull on the trigger, and his other kneecap shatters. “While many would like for you to ‘eat shit and die,’ you’re now ‘oh’ for two.”

He rolls to his side, blood pouring from his wounds. “I’m going to make you wish you were never born!”

“You’re thirty-five years too late. Also, you still haven’t answered the question. What happens next, Dad ?”

“Killing me won’t stop what’s already in motion. You think the tide turned for you ‘a few days ago?’” He lets out a rattled laugh. “Boy, you’ve been a part of this story much longer than that. I have plants everywhere. Ones you’d never dream are plotting against you.”

Likewise.

“It’s true, you’ve done a shit job of cleaning up after yourself. While poor Henry is resting in pieces, you’ve left the other offshore account holders very much alive to contradict your story.” I click my tongue. “There’s that god complex fucking everything up for you again.”

“Wrong. They’re all dead.”

“Then why is there fear in those words?”

“That’s not fear, boy, that’s shame at having such an idiot for a son…” He glares at me, nostrils flaring. “Once word gets to the Authority, they’ll make an example out of you, so think carefully about your next move.”

“Actually, Marcello, you have that backward,” comes a voice from the doorway.

Fuck. Me.

For once, the element of surprise catches us both in a one-two punch. The room falls deathly silent as we both turn toward the door where Toscano stands along with the other three members of the Authority … and they’re not ha ppy.

My father has the nerve to laugh. “Benito, your timing is impeccable, old friend. The traitor has arrived. Take him out.”

However, all that confidence short-circuits when four guns draw, then aim at his chest.

Who’s the trapped rat, now?

One by one, he meets the eyes of the remaining bosses of the Five Families, reality finally sinking in. “What is this?”

Toscano is the only one to speak. “It’s the end of the line, Marcello, for you and your twenty-year deception.”

I expect a last-ditch Hail Mary attempt at pinning his sin on me. Instead, he slumps onto his side, a fascinating mix of disgust and resignation on his face. “You’re all betraying your oaths.”

“No, we’re honoring them,” Toscano counters flatly. “You’ve forsaken the Five Families for personal gain, Marchesi. You no longer have a place among us. Ciò che il sangue lega, solo la morte spezza.”

What blood binds only death breaks.

My father’s complexion turns the color of spoiled milk as he glares at me with hatred. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I ‘learned a thing or two.’ Isn’t that what you wanted?

” I lean down on my haunches, ensuring the icy smile on my face is the last thing he sees.

“The answer to ‘What Happens Next’ is you realize I took a move from your playbook. Instead of taking matters into my own hands, I took them to Staten Island. So you see, Marcello, there’s no ‘next move.’ I’ve already been crowned at the end of the board.

” I aim the gun right between his eyes. “Checkmate, bitch.”