Page 34 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

E xhausted, I stop pacing for the first time in hours and stare at the card in my hand.

The one Gianni tucked into my dress. The ace of spades.

I knew what it was even before looking at it.

I shiver, but it’s not from the cold. There’s something ominous in the air tonight—an icy warning licking my skin like the tempting tongue of the Devil himself.

My finger trembles as I trail it across the watch on my wrist. With every tick of the second hand, it feels heavier, a weight confined to these walls and me along with it. But there’s also something in that burden that begs to be freed, a lifetime of darkness yearning for a breath.

My wrist shakes, and the final seconds wither away.

Three.

Two.

One .

Midnight.

Heart pounding, I tear across the basement toward the door, holding the key to my freedom in my hand.

The one Gianni taped to the inside of the playing card, a move as ingenious as it is terrifying.

The analytical part of me can’t help but wonder if this is a trap—that the minute I unlock that door, I’ll stare down the barrel of a gun.

But with time slipping through my fingers, I have no choice but to ignore my head and lead with my heart.

With a deep breath, I insert the key into the lock and turn it until it clicks.

Opening the door, I listen for the smallest sound, only to be greeted by silence.

The hallway is so dark and cold I almost step back into captivity.

But the psychiatrist in me knows it’s a trick of the mind, fear weighing the risk of the unknown.

I can do this .

Cautiously, I listen for the guard, but there’s nothing. Then, a surge of adrenaline erupts, and I run, each step faster than the last until my foot slips, sending me crashing to the floor. Biting back a scream, I fling my arms in front of me, my hands taking the brunt of my fall.

Right next to a body.

For a moment, I can’t move. My chest squeezes, and my pulse roars in my ears. But inside all the chaos, I hear the faint tick of my watch’s second hand.

Tick. Run.

Tock. Live.

“The second this hits midnight, unlock the door, and run like hell. Don’t look back, Becca … no matter what.”

Holding tightly to Gianni’s words, I crawl up a steep flight of stairs and fling a second door open.

Fear manifests footsteps behind me as I turn right, but I force myself to keep going.

Digging my nails into my palms, I run down the hallway toward the door he mentioned.

The closer it gets, the tighter my chest constricts.

My freedom is right there, calling to me from the other side like a forbidden siren.

A few more steps and all this will be over.

My breathing picks up.

My heart pounds.

My pace doubles.

I’m going to make it.

I reach for the door handle … and then I hear them.

Voices. Shouting. Gunfire.

Him .

It’s as if my feet are no longer mine. They turn in the opposite direction of freedom and carry me up two flights of stairs toward a shadowy office at the end of the hall. Panic screams for me to run through the open door, but something holds me rooted in place.

Intuition? Fear? Acute self-preservation?

I have no idea. All I know is I’m operating on autopilot.

For the first time, I’m thankful to have lost my shoes during my involuntary cross-state transit. I inch closer, silently searching for Gianni and straining to make out words. Then, I hear an unfamiliar, commanding voice that chills me to the bone.

“...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.”

At least three or four men stand inside the room, with one on the ground. My heart lurches into my throat until I hear a raspy voice from the floor.

“What the fuck did you do?”

It’s Marcello. My shoulders drop, and my muscles relax.

It’s not him. It’s not Gianni.

I’m drowning in such a huge wave of relief that I don’t realize he’s speaking at first. Then, I hear the smooth, arrogant sway of his voice, and I’m immediately drawn in, watching as he bends down to be eye-to-eye with Marcello.

But there’s something different, too … something frighteningly cold.

“...Instead of taking matters into my own hands, I took them to Staten Island. So you see, Marcello, there is no ‘next move.’ I’ve already been crowned at the end of the board. Checkmate, bitch.”

When he aims his gun between Marcello’s eyes, I can’t breathe. I’m frozen in a suspended state of shock.

Marcello lowers his head with a raucous laugh. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’ve always had it in me. However, unlike you, I only play games I know I can win. It’s over. You lost.”

There’s a string of violent curses, and I watch horrified as Marcello attempts to commando crawl to the door like a slug on hot asphalt.

Gianni doesn’t bother following. He just stands there like the king of the castle.

Eventually, his father gives up and slumps against a bookcase. “Anton will kill you for this.”

Who the hell is Anton?

Gianni shrugs. “He can try.”

“You’re weak, Giovanni. You couldn’t take me down alone, so you enlisted help.” He collapses onto his side, his eyes full of resigned hatred. “We may share blood, but we are not the same.”

Flashing a lethal smile, Gianni steps forward and crushes a smoldering cigar under his shoe. “You’re right. I’m so much fucking worse.”

Then, he pulls the trigger—over and over and over. A rising tide of echoed voices envelopes me from behind me, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. All that exists is those five words … and the one that’s been si tting on my tongue.

“Gianni!”

I don’t realize I’ve screamed his name out loud until all five men turn my way.

In an instant, Gianni’s icy demeanor turns to rage.

We lock eyes, and for a heartbeat, I see Johnny Malone in all his broken, intricate parts, and my body unfreezes.

Everything becomes fluid, and I’m rushing toward him when I see him glance over my head and dip his chin.

Then, a strong arm hooks around my waist from behind, and I’m pulled off my feet against a hard chest.

“Let me go!” I scream, frantically kicking at the air. “Gianni!”

But he’s lost in a growing sea of chaos. Men flood in from everywhere, guns drawn, only staggering to a halt when the four men in the office with Gianni step forward.

“Everyone stand down,” announces the one with the commanding voice.

The way he effortlessly controls the room is so intimidating, even I stop struggling.

“What happened here tonight was Authority sanctioned. Marcello was a traitor who betrayed the Five Families and everyone here. As of now, Gianni Marchesi is the new boss of the Marchesi family. Anyone who has a problem with that can step forward now.”

No one does. In fact, one by one, the men kneel, bow their heads, and pledge their allegiance. “Loyalty and honor to Gianni Marchesi. Ciò che il sangue lega, solo la morte spezza.”

I watch, horrified as Gianni steps forward and accepts their oaths with that emotionless mask firmly in place. “ Ciò che il sangue lega, solo la morte spezza.”

This wasn’t an escape. It was a planned takeover. This is why he freed me, so he could murder his father and ascend his bloody throne. This is his ultimate fuck you.

The bleak nothingness I felt in that tiny room crawls up my spine. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. I swing my arms and legs like out-of-sync helicopter blades, but all it gets me is more constriction and a few Italian curses.

Then, we start moving … deeper into the house, down more and more stairs.

“Gianni!” My lips form his name before my ears hear a sound that’s all too familiar.

Rapid gunfire.

No.

No!

“Gianni!” I struggle against the iron-like grip on my arms. “Let me go, goddamn it!”

“Calm down, Dr. Brennan,” a firm voice says behind me.

“No! He’s still in there. I have to help him.”

“I can’t let you do that. Gianni’s orders.”

My heart contracts. What? Why? Confusion melts into irritation as the harder I fight, the tighter the hands hold me. I’m rabid now, shaking from shock, fear, and denial.

He hauls me through a side door. “I said calm down , Dr. Brennan. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee you’ll make it out of here alive.”

“Is that a threat?” I hiss, because why wouldn’t I challenge another kidnapper? It’s worked out so well for me thus far.

“No, it’s a fact,” he growls in my ear. I can hear his patience thinning, which means so is my luck. “Those men in there aren’t socialites. They’re mob bosses, and you’re an unwelcome, uninvited enemy. Why the hell do you think Gianni wanted you to run?”

My jaw drops. “You’re with him?” The minute he sets me on my feet, I whirl around to find yet another older man with gray hair and tired eyes. “Wait, are you Anton?”

He gives me a flat stare. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be dragging you out of here. I’d be carrying your body.” Wrapping that iron hook of his around my upper arm, he not-so-gently nudges me forward. “Now, move.”

We’re halfway across the estate when I hear the rush of footsteps behind us. “I was waiting on the east lawn when I heard shouting,” another man says. “What the hell happened?”

Anton nods to me, his grip tightening. “She happened.”

“I have a name, for god’s sake, it’s…” I trail off as the familiarity in the other man’s voice slams a fist into my gut. “ You …” I hiss, twisting so hard Anton releases me. More lies. More betrayal. Clenching my fists, I spin around, ready to swing. “Owen Holmes.”

He looks different. Blond stubble dusts across what I remember to be a clean-shaven face, but it’s his eyes that steal my breath. The curious, amused spark that had stared back at me that day at his office is now as dark as the night sky.

“Actually, it’s Owen Henley,” he states flatly. “U.S. Marshal.”

U.S. Marshal.

The words land hard, sending me stumbling into quicksand.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Anton instructs, pushing me toward him. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

I hear his retreating steps, but I don’t turn to look. I’m too consumed with the man in front of me. “Are you going to hurt me, too?” It’s a ridiculous question. No monster warns you before ripping out your throat. “Like your friend, Henry?”

The harried glaze in his eyes curdles. “Henry Saddler was no friend of mine. He was a disgrace to the badge. He deserved what he got and more.” For reasons I can’t explain, I believe him.

But trust doesn’t cleanse lies. “Look, I promise to explain everything…” He stares over my head at the now silent estate.

“But now’s not the time. The police will be here any minute. ”

“Good. Maybe they’ll make some sense of all this.”

“The cops are the least of your problems,” he clips. “You’re an outsider, Dr. Brennan, and as of thirty seconds ago, a witness. As far as the men in that room are concerned, you owe a blood debt. They won’t stop until it’s paid.”

But it’s not my life that holds all my fear.

“Is Gianni dead?” The words sound flat and robotic.

Owen’s silence lasts a bit too long, but I’m too heartbroken and numb to care. After everything that’s happened, it’s easier to assume the worst of people than to bother looking for the best. “Gianni can take care of himself,” he says cautiously.

I’m so overwhelmed it doesn’t occur to me to be concerned at how unbothered he is.

I let him lead me to a plain black sedan parked two streets away where he ushers me into the back seat just as Anton returns wearing a tight expression.

The doors close, and the two men murmur in hushed tones.

I don’t bother eavesdropping. I’ve had enough truth for one day.

Bowing my head, I reach inside the bodice of my dress and pull out the ace of spades, gripping it tightly in my hand as Gianni’s harsh words ring in my ears.

“Are you going to kill me, too, Gianni?”

“No. You’ll go home as long as you behave.”

Home is a place that holds nothing for me but a broken heart, a destroyed practice, and a foundation of lies. As the estate fades away in the distance, one thing becomes painfully clear…

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Good.” Anton catches my eye in the rearview mirror, his jaw tight. “Because as of now, you have a new one.”