Page 6 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

G ianni’s razor-sharp gaze holds me at knifepoint. “You said you overheard Henry and me talking. What exactly did you hear, cara mia ?”

My mouth goes dry. “Why does it matter?”

“Just answer the question.”

I want to double down and ask again, but something tells me I don’t want the answer.

I’m not sure if that makes me a coward or a survivalist, but I’ve had the floor drop out from under me too many times in the last twenty-four hours to care.

Plus, if this is what it takes to swerve away from the Irish road we’re traveling down, then so be it.

“Just that Henry is a marshal, and you were leaving on a revenge mission,” I say, unsure if the tight press of his lips is from relief or suspicion. I’m more concerned with the loaded elephant in the room. “Speaking of which, there was a gun in your hand.”

“That’s because I plan to use it.”

“Johnny…” I grit my teeth at how easily his alias falls from my lips. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to calling him Gianni. I’m not sure I even want to. However, if he hears my mistake, he doesn’t call me out on it. He’s too busy stomping holes in the tile.

“What do you want me to say? That I didn’t start your office fire, but I know who did? That you weren’t a target so much as a message? That I was headed across state lines to settle several scores? Because they’re all true.”

“I heard Henry call what you’re planning to do ‘suicide.’”

“Henry’s dramatic.”

“ Gianni …” My calm use of his name brings his furious pacing to a dead stop.

Sitting up, I climb to my knees, leaving a cascade of wires dangling behind me.

“It’s over. The lies, the secrecy, the keeping me in the dark for my own good—it’s all over.

It didn’t work.” I gesture around the room.

“This is where it got us. So if you ever cared about me, don’t shut me out. ”

As we stare at each other in a battle of wills, I worry the last remaining threads between us are snapping. But then, he palms the back of his neck, and the hostile tension in the room thins.

“The condensed version is that my father didn’t get his way, so he retaliated by manipulating me into murder.

I got revenge by turning against him. He went to jail, and I went into Witness Protection.

But nothing is ever black and white, and nobody’s hands are ever clean.

Evidence went missing, and he walked. It didn’t take long for him to find me”—his guarded gaze falls on me—“and then you.”

I recoil, my head spinning. “Are you suggesting your father tried to kill me?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying it.” Holding my stare, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a playing card. “Henry found this at the scene of the fire.”

It’s dirty and torn, but unmistakable.

“The ace of spades,” I murmur.

“There’s only one person who’d railroad me with my own signature.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “I guess ripping my heart out wasn’t enough. He wants to see me rot behind bars, too.”

That’s when I see the smudged word scrawled along the top. “ Infame ?”

“Traitor,” he translates, his lips peeling back in a jaded sneer. “The bastard was never one for mincing words. That’s why I left last night, and why I’m leaving now. As long as I’m in your life, it’ll continue to be in danger. I won’t let you pay for any more of my sins.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“The hell it’s not.” He’s at my side in a heartbeat, his fingers curled around the back of my neck.

My breath hitches as he drags his thumb along my jaw, pressing hard enough under my chin to force my head back.

“I’m not Johnny Malone anymore, Doc. I’m Gianni Marchesi, and you’re in my world now.

There are no laws, and that order you’re so fond of doesn’t exist. I found you lying in the middle of an inferno, for Christ’s sake. I thought I was too late.”

“But you weren’t.”

“ This time,” he stresses. “But what about the next one? Because there will be a next time, Becca. Do you think my father will just cut his losses? That’s not how it works.

Tomorrow doesn’t come without putting an end to today.

” The grave reality of those words wash over me as his other hand cups my cheek, his tone softening. “I have to go.”

I know he does. I always knew the path he walked led away from me. That’s why I fought him so hard. That’s also why it’s this moment when all the lies and accusations fade away. They mean nothing when I’m watching the only color in my life slip through my fingers.

“Come back to me.” The words sound so soft, I’m not sure if I said them at all.

When his lips crash onto mine, I know the answer.

The kiss is hungry and desperate and tastes a lot like goodbye.

I don’t want to accept it, because that paints the final brushstroke of our forbidden story.

But the moment we locked eyes in that courtroom hallway, I became lost to him.

So, instead of fighting it, I coil my arms around his neck and memorize everything.

The scent of burnt pine that somehow still clings to him despite all the soot and ash.

The dominant touch that knows how to push my boundaries without crossing the line.

The deep, possessive voice that chases away all my monsters.

“Johnny…” I groan against his mouth.

“Gianni,” he commands, his grip on my neck tightening. “Say it and mean it.”

“Gianni.” The name rolls off my tongue as if it’s been there all along.

It’s like listening to the first act of a play with your eyes closed, then watching the second with your ears covered.

Either way, it’s the same script. Knowing who he really is should change how I feel about him, but it doesn’t.

If anything, it fans the flame even higher.

“Becca, I got here as fast as I…” My eyes widen as my father’s voice trails off, his expression turning to stone when Gianni casually turns around, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb with a smirk. “What the hell is he doing here?” he hisses.

I grip the sides of the bed. “ He was the one who?—”

“Forget it.” My father slices his hand through the air.

“I don’t care. It just saves me the trouble of tracking the bastard down.

” I’m not shocked he’s refusing to listen to me.

It’s the hallmark of our relationship. However, my plastic facade crumbles when he pushes a button on his radio, his eyes never leaving Gianni.

“I need all officers at Providence Hope to report to room 328 for a 10-38.”

“What are you doing?” I sputter. “What’s happening?”

Gianni just stands there, his smirk widening. “‘Man with a gun’ call. Nice touch. Bet mine’s bigger than yours.”

My father presses the button again, his glare hardening. “Suspect is being charged in connection to the office fire on Fenwick Drive.”

Before I can open my mouth, two uniformed men rush through the door, guns drawn, and the monitors attached to my chest kick into overdrive. As the room fills with the chaotic chirp of my racing heart, everyone stares, but nobody moves.

Then all hell breaks loose.

“Cuff him.”

The two officers rush toward Gianni, one jerking his arms behind his back while the other locks a pair of steel handcuffs around his wrists.

This can’t be happening.

I watch in horror as my father walks slowly toward Gianni. “Giovanni Marchesi, you are under arrest for first degree arson and the murder of Detective Jackson Ledger. You have the right to remain silent…”

“Dad, stop!” I climb off the bed, only for the wires to pull me back. “You can’t do this.”

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Another step and the smile on his face broadens. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Dad!” I scream, frantically ripping off wires and leads.

“Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?” They’re face to face now, mutual hate simmering between them as my father taunts him with the upper hand. But Gianni just stands there, completely unbothered. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“Stay the hell out of this, Becca.”

Gianni’s expression darkens. “Don’t speak to her like that again.”

“Is that a threat, Marchesi?”

“It’s a warning.”

They glare daggers at each other. Just as I’m about to intervene, Dad tips his head toward the door. “Get him out of my sight.”

Panic tears through me as I watch them drag Gianni away. They can’t lock him up. They might as well shine a spotlight over him and light a runway to his cell. “Gianni…” I call out, my voice catching.

He grounds his feet in the doorway and glances over his shoulder. “It’s just a jar, butterfly. Sooner or later, they all break.”

Then he’s gone.

“Are you proud of yourself?” I hiss as my father follows them out. “Will your ‘silent partner’ give you a sticker for a job well done?”

He stills in the doorway. “You’ll never understand what all I’ve done for you.”

I let out an acidic laugh. “Funny. Gianni said the same thing. Given your shared love of illegal enterprises, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

He turns toward me, his fingers curling around the doorframe. “Lower your voice.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I’m done with the whole ‘being seen and not heard’ thing,” I say, anger cutting through my rolling anxiety. “In fact, I’m about to be incredibly vocal about a lot of unpleasant shit if you don’t let him go.”

“So this is what he’s turned you into … a heartless blackmailer?”

“No, that was you. He just polished the edges.”

I’m not sure what either of us thinks slinging insults will accomplish, but I’m too far gone to analyze it. All I know is that I want to inflict as much pain as I’m in.

He tightens his grip on the doorframe, my strings pulling taut. “You do what you have to, Becca,” he challenges. “Swing that blade but know my throat won’t be the only one you cut.”

I clench my fists, hating that he's right. I hate that the only way to save Gianni is to destroy him. I hate that the only ace I hold is a death card. Christ. It really is the ultimate fuck you. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

He turns his back to me, his rigid posture melting. “I don’t expect you to. But as long as you’re safe, I can live with it.” He closes the door, and once again, I’m alone.

I stare at the blank walls, shaking with rage. If my father thinks he’s going to control my life, he’s mistaken. Gritting my teeth, I take hold of the needle in my arm and pull.

“Rebecca Brennan?”

I glance up at the doorway where an older man wearing a white coat and a permanently pinched face stands, clipboard in hand. “Yes?”

I expect a follow-up. Instead, he invites himself inside and nods to the IV tube clenched in my hand. “I’m pretty sure that works better when it’s in your vein.”

I don’t answer because I’m pretty sure he won’t like my explanation.

“I’m Dr. Powell,” he carries on. “I apologize for my late arrival, but maneuvering around the added security has been challenging.”

I pull the oxygen tube over my head and roll my eyes. “Chief Reese seems to think my safety is a national concern.”

“Well, your health is mine,” he counters, “which other than a bit of smoke inhalation and a minor concussion, is doing remarkably well.” He gives me a sharp look that bores into me.

“You were lucky, Miss Brennan. Another thirty seconds, and there would’ve been a different outcome.

That being said, I see no reason not to discharge you first thing in the morning. ”

That’s too late. By then, there’s no telling what “truth” my father will have bent to fit his narrative. Gianni walked through literal fire for me. The least I can do is walk out of this hospital for him.

Tossing the tube on the bed, I swing my legs off the side, my gaze landing on a side table where my glasses lay slightly bent, sporting a not-so-functional crack down the side of one lens. Screw it. Quickly slipping them on, I reach for the hospital phone. “That won’t work.”

He scurries around the corner, his hand landing on the receiver. “You nearly lost your life tonight, Miss Brennan. I’m sure risking a setback is something you want to avoid.”

“That’s my choice.”

He puffs out his chest, those credentials on his badge inflating his confidence. “I can’t let you leave.”

I’m done playing by everyone else’s rules.

Taking my hand off the phone, I rise to my feet.

“My father is the chief of police, a man with access to information most people wouldn’t want to become public.

We all have closed doors in our pasts, Dr. Powell.

If yours opened, how many skeletons would fall out? ”

He visibly deflates. It’s as if I took a scalpel and popped a hole in his sanctimonious balloon. “I’ll get your discharge papers ready.”

I nod. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, if you wouldn’ t mind, please see yourself out. I have a phone call to make.”

He wastes no time in leaving. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll have my father run a background check on him. There’s definitely something there worth tucking in my back pocket.

But right now, I have to get Gianni out of the corner he’s shoved him in.

Exhaling wearily, I cradle the phone in my hands and dial the only person I can think of.

It only takes her two rings to pick up. “Hello?”

“Meredith, it’s Becca…”

“Dr. Brennan!” she screeches, her monotone voice pitched high enough to break glass. “Oh my God. How?—?”

“No time for questions. I need you to bring a change of clothes to Providence Hope Hospital, room three twenty-eight, and then I’ll need a ride downtown.” I close my eyes and sink onto the bed. “Please, hurry.”