Page 5 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

J ohnny is facing away from me, his arms braced on either side of the doorframe.

His body is tense, every muscle retaliating against a confrontation he obviously didn’t expect.

But then, he turns, and his eyes hold all my attention.

They’re red and glassy, as if he’s defied sleep only to walk through a dust storm.

His soot-smudged cheeks, hard-set jaw, and heavy brow give him the appearance of a tortured soul who’s straddling two worlds. Then, my gaze drops, and I see the gun.

I should be shocked, horrified, appalled, and whatever other adjective an intellectual like me is supposed to feel after waking up to find her lover holding a gun. Instead, I stare at it, oddly at peace with how natural it looks. As if it’s been there all along.

Tucked in his palm…

Hidden in plain sight …

Flipping through his fingers at every appointment…

“Becca.”

At his rough murmur of my name, I lift my gaze to his face and the tight pull of his black eyebrows.

I try to mute my expression, but it’s a wasted effort.

He’s a master at coaxing every emotion to the surface, especially when he clenches his jaw and looks down at his hand.

The longer he stares, the more his head bows.

Whether it’s in shame, hate, or resignation, I don’t know.

The energy radiating off him is different.

Then, the curtain drops, and detachment spills across his face as he tucks the gun under his shirt. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” I’m about to redirect back to the gun when I notice the wires. They’re everywhere along with an incessant beeping noise. “Where am I?” I try to lift my head, but it feels like a cracked bowling ball. I squint as the noise gets louder. “And what’s that sound?”

He exhales a labored breath. “The hospital. You’re hooked up to machines monitoring your vitals. That sound is your heartbeat, and it gets louder the more you do, so unless you want this room filled with white coats, I suggest you try to keep calm.”

Hospital? Why am I…?

Then, it all comes rushing back.

The fire.

Someone sent my office building up in flames, ensuring I burned along with it. I remember my father storming into my office, and there being a heated confrontation that twisted his and Johnny’s accusations into one big coil of deceit. After that, things get distorted.

But I know someone carried me out of the blaze. A knot tightens in my stomach as my gaze falls to Johnny. A touch I’d know anywhere. “You carried me out of that fire.” When he simply nods, I add, “Why?”

“Is that a real question?”

“It’s an honest one. But I suppose you aren’t familiar with that word, huh, Gianni ?” He winces, that stoic veneer cracking. “That’s your name, isn’t it; Gianni Marchesi, prince of the underworld?”

I should be furious, but I’m not. In fact, being forced to face the truth is almost comforting. I’ve spent eight weeks staring at nine out of ten puzzle pieces, only to have the last one finally click into place.

Gianni. Johnny . The two names blend, making strange, yet perfect sense.

He scrubs his hand down his face. “Becca, now?—”

“‘Isn’t the time’, right? Well, I’m sick of hearing that from everyone.” Ignoring the vise-clamp around my chest, I wiggle my arms until I’ve propped myself up onto my elbows. It’s not eye to eye, but it’ll have to do. “So why don’t you be straight with me, for once?”

He slides a narrowed gaze at Henry, who I’d forgotten was even in the room.

After blinking through a few awkward beats of silence, our third wheel rises to his feet.

“Right. I uh, have a thing out in the… I’ll just be…

” His eyes bounce back and forth between us before he throws his hands up and shuffles toward the door.

“Fuck it, I don’t get paid enough for this shit. ”

I watch the door close behind him. “You should get better friends, Mr. Marchesi. The ones assigned to you leave a lot to be desired.”

“Just Gianni will be fine,” he says tightly. “I take it you heard our conversation.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“I thought you were unconscious.”

“And I thought you were a belligerent ex-firefighter. It seems we’ve assumed a lot of incorrect things about each other. ”

“Becca, you’ll never understand what all I’ve done for you. I…” He tips his head back. “So, you know Henry’s a marshal.”

“Yeah.” I tsk sarcastically. “A badge and bullet coalition, what is this world coming to? The next thing you know, psychiatrists will be manipulated into screwing their patients.” I flash a strained smile. “Oh, wait…”

Gianni doesn’t recoil. He simply stands there, his gaze settling on me. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, just use me. You’re an arsonist, but the ‘disgraced firefighter’ was a backstory you used to protect yourself from other men just like you.” I hurl one heated accusation after another, knowing the risk, yet not giving a shit. I’m too hurt. “The FBI relocated you to Providence.”

“Yes,” he says, with such cool indifference, I want to take a hammer to it.

I grit my teeth. “Yes, to what?”

“To all of it. I’ll wear every sin you want to paint me with, Becca.

” My heart lurches as he steps closer. “Except for using you.” He leans forward, the scent of burnt pine paralyzing me as he braces his hand next to my pillow.

“You were supposed to be a pretty decoration. I was supposed to sit in your chair once a week and play a role.”

“So what happened?”

“ You happened. You fucking changed everything. I wasn’t supposed to find you so goddamn addictive. I wasn’t supposed to want you, and I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to care about you.”

“You act like that’s a bad thing.”

His lip curls. “You tell me. You’re the one lying in a hospital bed.” My wince doesn’t stop him. “You’ve read the articles. The objects of my affection don’t have the longest life span.”

I blink, his taunt unlocking another memory.

One that releases a flood of fear and jealousy that sends my insides plummeting.

He’s talking about her. Victoria Fiero, the woman who died in that restaurant fire.

While part of me wants to know the truth, the part that’s been dragged over an emotional razor is too raw to hear it.

So I stare at the sheet and say nothing.

“Last night, you said that just because people do bad things, it doesn’t make them bad people,” he says, breaking the silence. “Do you still believe that?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s doing what he does best, twisting a vulnerable moment and using it against me. I glance up to return the favor, only to be swept away by the storm brewing in his dark, hypnotic eyes.

Fate is a cruel, heartless bitch.

Even as our world caves in, the fire between us still smolders.

“You’re not being fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair, Doc. You can’t claim the moral high ground and talk out of both sides of your mouth.” He leans so close I can feel his breath across my face. “So all cards are on the table, Dr. Brennan. You need to stand by your words or climb off that pedestal.”

I lie there, opening and closing my mouth like a hooked fish.

Damn it. He’s infuriatingly shrewd when he wants to be.

“I know you’re Torch,” I say, dropping my last piece of armor.

“You set fires and get off on it. Those confessions in my office weren’t an act.

Truth has a way of bleeding into lies, and that part of you was always there.

But, in answer to your question, yes, I still believe the bad things you’ve done don’t automatically make you a bad person. ”

He shifts closer. “Why?”

“Because I know you didn’t set the fire at my office.”

“I didn’t take you as the ‘blind faith’ type.”

“I’m not. I heard Henry say you were with him when the fire broke out.”

He scowls. “Glad he could clear that up for you.”

“Don’t get sanctimonious with me. In case you haven’t noticed, your moral high ground is a broken step stool.

” But I deflate as our familiar banter falls flat within the sterile walls of my hospital room.

Tilting my head back, I exhale and stare at the ceiling.

“Henry only validated what I already knew. I never doubted you. You risked your life to save me, and…you’re you . ”

“And who would that be, cara mia …Johnny Malone, Gianni Marchesi, or Torch?” He pauses between each name as if it’s some sort of test.

“All of them. None of them. It doesn’t really matter.

” Mirroring his cool indifference, I level my gaze back on him.

“You can wrap a box with as many ribbons as you want, but it doesn’t change what’s inside.

That’s the man I know, and while he’s capable of a lot of things, hurting me isn’t one of them.

” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “Well, physically at least.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I may be a psychiatrist, Gianni Marchesi, but you’re an emotional terrorist. I never know what’s up or down or real or fake with you, and last night…” I swallow against the ball of uncertainty lodged in my throat. “Was it real or just part of the blueprint?”

“What do you believe?”

I slump into the pillows. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“It was real, Doc,” he says, running his fingers along my jaw. “Everything between us is real.”

What I wouldn’t give for those words to be true.

I hug my arms to my chest. “Real would’ve been you not skipping out before dawn.

Walking away while I was asleep was a coward’s move.

You knew once the sun came up, my phone would ring, so you made sure you weren’t around when it did.

I know you didn’t like Jack, but he was my friend.

” Just mentioning his name makes my chest ache.

“Was?” Gianni pulls his hand back, a vertical line slicing between his eyebrows. “Ledger’s dead?”

“Don’t do that… ‘All cards on the table,’ remember?” I slide him a sharp gaze, then toss the bomb and brace for impact. “They found him burned to death in Narragansett Bay. Witnesses saw you two arguing at the docks Tuesday evening around the time of his death.”

“Are you accusing me of murder?”

“Does it matter?” I counter flatly. “My father has written your name in his blood. Just add it to all the other bad decisions he’s made.”

I grip the sheets as he leans close again, this time pressing a palm on either side of my head and caging me to the bed. “What other bad decisions has he made?”

I lick my lips, the thinly veiled challenge in those words forcing all the air from my lungs. “Ones that indebted him to the wrong people.”

“And who would that be?”

I hesitate. Once I give the darkness a voice, there’ll be no place to run, no place to hide. All my black and white will turn red. But the longer I stare at Gianni, the more I see through all the layers of gloss between us and realize they’ve been red all long.

“The same ones who murdered my mother,” I say softly.