Page 8 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

GIANNI

W hat the hell was she thinking?

My Providence PD babysitters’ constant chatter fades into the background as my head fills with the image of her standing outside that door, desperate, determined, and depleted with no fucking clue what she was doing.

Reese and his sidekicks were an hour into their interrogation when the door opened and an older man with gray hair and a matching porn-stache shuffled into the room like he had a bomb strapped to his chest. With a few mumbled words, the chief went from having the upper hand to having a breakdown.

Then, I saw Becca standing in the doorway, and my vision went black.

That was over an hour ago. They refuse to tell me anything, and my mind won’t stop spinning. I keep imagining the worst, which is making me even more of an asshole.

“You seem awfully worked up over the chief’s daughter, Gianni,” the younger officer muses. “She’s a pretty girl. Kinda reminds me of someone. Does she remind you of someone, Banks?”

His older and grayer partner smiles. “Now that you mention it, I believe she does. Same hair. Same eyes. Same modus operandi of destroying both.”

“Are you two finished?”

“Why? Something we say hit a nerve?”

“No. You both just really suck at innuendos, and I have a low tolerance for stupidity.”

The young, over-eager officer clenches his fists and leans forward. “And we have a low tolerance for murders, especially when they involve one of our own.”

I stare at his pudgy, round face, wondering what it’d feel like against my fist. “I’m going to say this one more time—I didn’t kill Ledger. I didn’t set that fire, and I’ve never, nor would I ever , hurt Becca Brennan.”

His smug “mentor” lifts a brown folder from the table and waves it in the air.

“That’d be easier to believe if I didn’t have this report regarding a call about gunfire at the Port of Providence.

It says you were brought in for questioning…

” He flips through a few pages, then looks up with a smile.

“Well, would you look at that? It was by Ledger, himself.”

“Did you two read the report or just pick out a few big words that got your dicks hard? Because if you had, you would’ve seen that I was cleared.”

I’d bother to read their nametags if I actually gave a shit.

After a few seconds of straight silence, I’m wondering if I should bang my cuffs against the table to get his attention when the younger one clears his throat.

“Reese has an eyewitness who saw you arguing with Jack Ledger before he went missing and was eventually found burned beyond recognition. That’s strike one.

His daughter’s office building was set on fire, a place you show up with a gun to play hero.

That’s strike two. If all that wasn’t enough, you then bypassed all his security and snuck into her room, once again with a gun, to finish the job.

You know what happens with that third strike, don’t you? ”

“I get a bigger bat?”

“No, smartass, you get twenty to life.”

This guy’s Napoleon complex is out of control. I’ve been letting him lob half-assed insults here and there, but if he keeps swinging those tiny walnuts around, they’re going to get flattened under my boot.

“You’re not a reckless criminal, Gianni,” the older officer intervenes. “So why not work with us rather than against us?”

Because one of “us” is a paid trick pony of the man the FBI keep letting slip through their fingers.

The same one who’s been riding shotgun on all this chaos.

As of right now, only two marshals and my psychiatrist know his reach has crossed multiple state lines, and I want to keep it that way.

Alerting everyone that my father has found me is one thing, but once that siren wails, the echo travels for miles.

After I disgraced the sacred omertà oath, the rulers of the Five Families will be out for blood.

“I’m still waiting for that lawyer.”

The younger one shoves a stack of papers off the table, his chair scraping across the floor as he abruptly stands. “Fuck it. Call the public defender. I’m tired of this.”

His mentor shakes his head and goes to stand when the door opens, and George Reese reappears. All that hot air from earlier has deflated. His bloodshot eyes sag at the corners while heavy black circles stain the skin underneath. If I didn’t hate the man so much, I might actually feel bad for him.

“Where is she?” I demand .

He faces the two officers, his hands clenched by his side. “My daughter would like to give a statement.”

My palms hit the table, and I leap from my chair. “Like hell she will.”

Reese turns a hard glare my way. “Sit down, or I’ll throw you in a holding cell.”

Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. Lock me up. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But I can’t save Becca from herself while trapped in a cage.

Clenching my teeth, I lower into my chair and turn my attention to the two smiling idiots across the table. “You can’t take a statement from her.”

“And why is that, Marchesi?” The younger one tilts his blond head, his New England drawl getting heavier now that he thinks he has me backed into a corner. “Is there something you don’t want her to say?”

“Yes, because she’s pumped full of painkillers, and I don’t want anything compromising her medical license.”

The older officer’s lips peel back to reveal a set of stark white veneers way too big for his face.

“That’s rich coming from the mobster who screwed his therapist …

in more ways than one.” He lets out a little snide chuckle, and I swear, if my hands weren’t cuffed, I’d knock every single horse tooth down his throat.

“But don’t worry, Gianni; dealing with us is a lot safer than dealing with La Cosa Nostra . You, of all people, should know that.”

“Enough,” Reese interjects. “She’s in interrogation room five. I’ll stay with him while you’re gone.”

Just what I wanted, a heart-to-heart with Daddy Dearest.

The two officers exchange glances, then rise from their chairs in silent unity and walk out of the room with renewed vigor. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.

Reese closes the door behind them, avoiding my gaze as he collapses into an empty chair.

There’s a long stretch of silence where I think he’s met his quota of insults and accusations for the day, and I might get a moment of peace.

But then, he clasps his hands in front of him and calmly asks the one question I can’t answer. “Why her?”

Because she’s brilliant.

Because she challenges me in ways no one has ever dared.

Because underneath all that brokenness lies a darkness that calls to mine.

Because karma is a sadistic bitch.

I say none of those things because he doesn’t want that kind of honesty. He wants a black and white answer so he can wrap it in logic and prejudice and justify his hatred for the very thing he’s become.

But if I have to drown in this quicksand, so does he.

“Because she’s Becca.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I disagree, and the fact you can’t see what lies beyond those words should tell you a hell of a lot more about your relationship with Becca than mine.”

He bristles, a rush of crimson staining his cheeks. “Are you done?”

I assume he doesn’t really want an answer, especially when he tips his head back and closes his eyes. I’m not insulted. It’s never a pretty reflection when someone shoves a mirror in front of your face.

Sometimes, there’s more truth to be found in silence than in any interrogation.