Page 9 of Tortured Hearts (Marchesi Empire #2)

BECCA

M y father tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Talk to me, Becca.”

“What would you like me to say?” I gaze out the passenger side window of his car. It’s late. After spending over an hour arguing with those two pompous officers, I lost all track of time. However, judging by the moon and lack of traffic, I’m guessing it’s close to midnight.

“You could tell me what happened with the officers.”

I shoot a narrowed glance across the console. “Chief Reese, are you asking me to violate a suspect’s constitutional right to a fair trial?”

His posture stiffens. “No, of course not.”

I stare straight ahead and sulk. It’s not like a word I said mattered, anyway.

Explaining to those officers how Gianni risked his life to save mine went in one ear and out the other.

As far as they were concerned, I was just the brainless psychiatrist who fell victim to Gianni Marchesi’s false charm and convincing lies.

“He was on his way out of town,” he says tightly.

“Did he tell you that?” I flinch, my fingers clenching the sides of my seat.

My father reaches across the car and takes my hand, his touch as unbalanced as the ties that bind us.

“Becca, open your eyes. You were in a near fatal fire not long after I exposed him for being the lying, cold-blooded murderer he really is.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Not talking about it is what landed you in the hospital,” he counters sharply.

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“You don’t know him at all, or what his family does to someone like…” Gritting his teeth, he drops my hand before shoving his into his graying hair. “For God’s sake, the man lured his girlfriend into a building, then set it on fire. Sound familiar?”

I round my shoulders, the hit as physical as if it had come from his fist. But I refuse to let him gaslight me.

“Gianni didn’t do this to me. Like it or not, a criminal walked through literal fire to save my life.

I felt him carry me out of that building.

” I hold his stare, daring a response. “Are you going to convince me I didn’t see him , too? ”

His walls shoot up like fireworks. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“And I don’t like that you’re avoiding my questions.

” Not like it’s a new occurrence, but at least here, I have him cornered.

Bracing one hand on the dashboard, I turn and face him.

“So why don’t you be straight with me, for once?

You can start by explaining why you barged into my hospital room, uninvited. ”

“You’ve been through a lot. This isn’t the time for?—”

“For what, honesty? It’s never been the time. Not when I was watching my mother die. Not when I was cutting you out of my life. Sure as hell not when I was getting involved with a mobster. So when will it be time, Dad, during my eulogy?”

Thick silence fills the car as he pulls into the rear parking lot of my condo. I stare through the windshield at the boarded-up window. It’s been less than thirty hours since my life imploded, yet it already feels like another lifetime … another me .

I sigh. “You always say when there are two sides to a story, search the middle for the truth.” I gesture down at the traces of soot on my body, my voice shaking. “Look at what twenty-two years of searching has gotten me, Dad. This is my middle; step up or leave.”

There it is. My line in the sand. I’m done being left in the dark by men trying to “protect” me. If they won’t let me fight my own battles, I’ll create new ones.

“Nothing in life is ever a coincidence, Becca,” he says solemnly. “Actions always show a pattern.”

Time rewinds. I hear us hurling accusations about secrets, lies, privacy, and a phone call.

“At my office, you said you made a few calls to someone about Gianni. It was my mother’s killer, wasn't it?” I clasp my hands to keep them from shaking. “He owns you, and you told him everything.”

“No. I called his mouthpiece. Crawling to that bastard would’ve been a last resort.” His fingers flex around the wheel, his knuckles paling. “Christ, Becca, why would I open a direct line to the man after doing everything in my power to keep you away from his son?”

“What did you just say?” But one look at his raw expression and I already know. I can read between the lines. I just don’t want to see the truth that’s buried there.

“Marcello Marchesi controls Providence,” he says, a chill settling inside the car. “That’s the man responsible for your mother’s murder.”

I grip the dashboard, my body folding forward as his words hit their mark. “That’s impossible. I heard Mom’s killer say ‘bullets and blades’ in an Irish accent. He had a rose and dagger tattoo. The Rogue tattoo.”

“The Rogue did kill your mother, Becca, but it was under Marchesi’s command.”

Two decades of deception crumble beneath my feet. “No more lies,” I say, my breath catching. “For once tell me the whole truth.”

A strained lull hangs in the air, a thin thread stretched so tight I wait for the snap. But then, the sound of a weary sigh seeps through the cracks.

“Twenty-two years ago, the Rogue was the most powerful alliance on the East Coast. Then, the Italians came in and exterminated the entire lot of them. Unfortunately, they pulled the trigger without sticking around to count the bullets, and Marcello Marchesi took advantage of their negligence.” He shrugs.

“While the powers-that-be stood around congratulating themselves, the king of New Jersey rounded up the surviving Providence Rogue and started pulling strings.”

“Why?” Such a simple question with such a loaded answer.

“Money. Power. Greed. They make smart people do illogical things.”

“Does that include you?”

His gaze is fierce, as if daring to question his integrity is an insult. “I ran the department’s organized crime task force. My job was to bring down men like Marchesi.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He clasps his hands in his lap and stares down at them.

“For months, Marchesi used the Rogue as a shield, hiding behind a symbol of fear and the Irishman who tried buying me. When that failed, he stepped out from behind the curtain and threatened your mother, personally.” His shoulders slump, the weight of those words nearly crushing him.

“I believed having the law on my side would protect us. I was wrong.”

Small eyes. Big teeth.

“This Irishman…” I swallow. “He’s the one who killed Mom?”

He nods.

I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “What’s his name?”

His jaw tightens. “Dagger.”

“Dagger, what ?”

“Just Dagger,” he repeats. “That’s all he ever went by. After Carol died, I swore I’d do whatever it took to keep him and Marchesi away from you. Even if it meant shielding you from yourself.”

All the years of lies and manipulation make sense.

“You made me believe I didn’t hear those words or see that tattoo to protect me.”

He nods, still unable to meet my eyes. “It killed me to accept blood money from the man who destroyed our family, but I’d already lost your mother.

I knew if Marchesi found out you could ID anything that linked to him, he’d return and follow through on his threat to…

” He frowns again, something dark and painful clouding his face.

“Let’s just say it worked, at least until his son showed up. ”

“Are you insinuating Gianni knew all of this? That he was a part of it?”

“No. Yes.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. He sank his teeth pretty hard into the Rogue theory at that diner. Then again, I’ve learned to take nothing about a Marchesi at face value. They’re masters of manipulation.”

“I don’t care whose blood runs in his veins,” I insist. “Gianni wouldn’t do that.”

“No? In the last few weeks, three people have posed a threat to his father’s secret operation. As of today, the only ones still breathing are in this car.”

The pressure in my chest triples. “You’re talking about Jack.”

“I was trying to spare you more pain, but you refuse to…” He sighs, those horizontal lines darting across his forehead again. “Yes, I’m talking about Jack.”

“Did he know about this Dagger person?”

“No,” he snaps. “I may be a disgrace to the badge, but I’d never intentionally drag one of my own down with me.

” The fierce conviction he has in those words is so proudly misguided, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“He started getting suspicious after you two met at that diner. I warned him to let it go, but he wouldn’t listen. It was just a matter of time.”

I grip the door handle as Jack’s final warning filters through my head.

“Your father thinks he knows who your mystery patient is, and I hope to God for your sake he’s wrong.”

“You sent him to get intel on Gianni. You knew he had feelings for me, and you used it against him.”

“Only because you refused to talk to me,” he says, his defenses rising. “I had to get through to you somehow. How was I supposed to know he’d take it too far?”

“Because you taught him to!” Flinging the door open, I slam my feet on the asphalt and stomp toward my condo.

I can hear his muttered curse behind me, but I don’t turn around.

I let him chase me until we both reach the front door, and even then, I stand with my back to him, fighting tears.

“You wound him up and turned your back on him.”

“I won’t apologize for doing everything in my power to protect you.”

I glare at him over my shoulder. “Don’t you see the hypocrisy in that? Your vendetta against Gianni isn’t because of who he is… It’s because you share the same agenda, and he’s the one ticking off all the boxes.”

Spinning back around, I punch in the security code on the keypad next to the door.

As usual, when forced to face his own sins, he falls mute.

Frustrated, I shove the door open, then lock it behind me, not bothering with the light switch.

Maybe it’s because I know the moment I let in the light, everything about today becomes real, and I’ll be forced to face it.

Or maybe you’re afraid to look down and see the red stain on your feet.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, then slowly drag them down my face. I used to be afraid of the dark. Now, all I want is to disappear inside of it.

Same habit. Different extreme.

Maybe a long, hot shower will wash away this feeling of dread.

My limbs feel like lead as I shuffle across the living room.

There’s a static in the air I can’t explain.

Kind of like hearing the roar of traffic, yet still standing in the middle of the intersection, spinning in circles.

Hopefully, by the time the water turns cold, I’ll have made sense of the chaos my life has become.

I’m almost to my bedroom when a creaking noise from behind sends my hand flying to my chest and my heart into my throat.

Cold dread pools in my veins as I stand frozen, listening for …

what , I don’t know. A mouse? A ghost? Both?

At the moment, I’d take a demon rodent over what I fear is the most likely source.

I’m regretting that decision not to turn on the lights. I feel like that idiot in horror movies everyone hates. The one who’d trust the blanket of silence I’m currently under.

But I don’t. One stupid mistake is enough.

I need a weapon. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I lift my foot off the floor, reach back for my shoe, and bite back a curse.

Of all times not to be wearing stilettos…

Removing my sandal, I tighten my fingers around the arch and turn, ready to swing.

I never get the chance. I’m blindsided from the opposite direction and yanked against a hard chest, a cloth slammed over my face. The sandal falls from my hand at the first hint of its sickeningly sweet scent.

Chloroform.

Holding my breath, I swing my elbow backward and stomp my foot. Both connect, and I hear a deep groan as the arm around my waist loosens. Seizing the opportunity, I lunge forward, a move that sends both of us tumbling to the ground.

I’m spinning faster and faster, cars coming from every direction.

I claw the floor trying to crawl out from under my attacker’s heavy weight, but it’s like being pinned by a mountain. I open my mouth to scream only to fall silent when he swings an arm in front of my face.

“Going somewhere?”

I still, the familiarity of those words slamming a fist into my gut. Trapped between a wall of shock and spiraling rage, I clench my fists, one word escaping my lips before they’re crushed behind the darkness of the cloth. “ You …”