Tormented Diamonds (Marchesi Empire Book 3), page 19
“Is there more, or is this a choose-your-own-adventure type of story?” Unfortunately, the intent is stronger than the result, leaving my tone thin and reedy.
“Ledger had proof your father was on the take and very aware of the shipments going out of the port,” he continues, his confidence escalating with his volume. “Now, here’s where it gets interesting. The operation appears to be run by an Irishman named Declan Flynn, someone both your father and Callahan had extensive contact with. Does the name ring a bell?”
His voice becomes hollow and distant.
Declan Flynn.
Dagger.
The man who killed my family and tried to take my life twice.
“Mrs. Marchesi?”
I look up, my vision cloudy. “No. I’ve never heard that name before.”
“Really?” Gibbs tilts his head, disbelief plastered across his ruddy face. “Because Flynn disappeared from Providence just days before the car crash that took Leo Castellini’s life. The same crash that nearly took yours. I’ve read the report. That wasn’t an accident. Open your eyes, Mrs. Marchesi. This is how the mob operates. Your husband is part of it, and you’ll be next if you don’t take the lifeline we’re offering you.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. This so-called “lifeline” is the same trap they set for Gianni with his father—douse him in kerosene and hand him a match. But there’s one glaring difference they didn’t count on…
My faith in Gianni.
I flip the card against my palm and curl my fingers around it. “Not only am I unfamiliar with the names you’ve mentioned, but I assure you, my husband played no part in my father’s death, including leaving this so-called card at the scene. Furthermore,” I say, adrenaline driving up my voice another octave. “If you had any concrete evidence against either of us, we would’ve already been arrested.”
Gibbs drops his palms on the table. “Maybe we’re giving you the opportunity to do the right thing.”
Or to hang myself.
Everything in that folder is circumstantial at best. Their desperation has them throwing handfuls of shit at the wall to see what sticks. They can’t go after him directly, so they’re taking back roads. While I’m insulted they think I’d entertain their offer, I need to keep them dangling on the line long enough to let Gianni know.
“Am I being charged?” I hold my breath, waiting for another arrow to fly. When they say nothing, I push back from the table and rise to my feet. “Then, we’re done here.”
“You have twenty-four hours to decide,” he warns crisply. “After that, the offer expires, and we’re declaring war on both of you.”
“Get in line,” I mumble, stalking toward the door.
Cupping my hands under the faucet, I splash another handful of water on my face. It doesn’t help. I’m still replaying every minute of what happened in that room, counting every punishing thud of my heart as it slams against my ribcage.
Declan Flynn.
Even though I already knew his name, it threw me to hear it spoken so casually. It sounded so jarringly normal. I guess I imagined a more sinister name for the monster who tormented my days and haunted my nights.
I wonder if knowing his name all those years ago would’ve changed anything, or if it would’ve only amplified the fear. It’s the supernatural feel of monsters that keeps them in the dark. It’s when they’re revealed to be normal, day-walking humans that the real terror sets in.
Bowing my head, I watch the water drip from my chin into the sink. “Declan Flynn,” I whisper. “You’re not my monster anymore. I’m yours.”
An insistent vibration has me wiping my hand on my jeans and dragging my phone from my back pocket. I don’t know why I’m bothering to read the text. I already know what it says.
Where are you?
I’m surprised it took this long for him to lose his shit.
Stopped by the bathroom. I’m on my way.
Three dots bounce on the screen before his paranoia strikes a new chord.
Leave through the side door. Got a bad feeling about the front.
Taz’s “bad feelings” had us circling the block for half an hour earlier for no good reason. Still, after what happened with Leo and my dad, I trust his instinct over mine.
What happened to “one way in, one way out?”
There’s a momentary pause, and then…
Do you want a ride home, or not?
I roll my eyes. I swear it takes all of twenty-four hours for new recruits in Gianni’s inner circle to start acting like him. Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I turn the water off and stare into the mirror above the sink. They weren’t kidding when they said tragedy changes you. I don’t even resemble Becca Brennan anymore. Becca Marchesi is like the dirty side of a flipped coin.
I want the woman in the mirror to tell me this thirst for blood doesn’t make me a villain. I want it to be okay to be a loyal, intelligent, compassionate woman who steps over lines when she has to. I want her to tell me I can have it all.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I give a half-hearted swipe at the mascara under my eyes and walk out of the bathroom into a quiet hallway. I don’t know where I’m going, but most all police stations follow the same floor plan, so I go with my gut and take a left down an even narrower hallway.
Okay, maybe not.
I’m about to turn around when I see a thin sliver of glass at the end of the hallway. Thank God. Foregoing the light footsteps, I sprint toward the door, the combined silence and solitude settling like a rock in my stomach.
“If this sets off some kind of alarm, I’m shoving that phone up your ass.” Blowing out a shaky breath, I turn the knob and throw all my weight against the door. Unfortunately, I overestimated Montclair police’s idea of security, and it gives way with a simple click, sending me tumbling over the threshold into a hard chest. “Jesus, Taz. Are you trying to get me shot?”
“The first shot punishes the sinner,” a heavily accented voice answers, “but it’s the second that pays the sin.”
I freeze, too shocked to move, too shocked to run, too shocked to do anything but look up with icy detachment into the face of my reckoning.
Red hair. Little eyes. Big teeth.
“I’ve waited a long time for this, Rebecca.” Grabbing my shoulders, he slams me against the brick wall. I feel the crushing impact of my skull bouncing off the bricks, and then everything turns red.
Chapter Twenty-Three
GIANNI
Iwalk into my office at the club to find Anton sitting in the only non-folding metal chair at the card table, his face redder than the tacky decor.
“You fucking lit up the Chop House?” he snaps.
I close the door and stare at him until he stands. “You said the other day it was drawing too many eyes.” Crossing the room, I drop into my seat. “That it was time to move locations and let Paulie pocket the insurance money.”
“Yeah, but…”
“It served its purpose, Anton.” I gesture to the chair across from me. He fists his hands, eventually dropping into it with a reluctant huff. “Besides, we’ve gotten too sloppy lately. There was enough stained concrete lining that place to put us away for a couple of lifetimes.”
He drags his half-empty drink across the table. “I take it Liam Callahan was in there.”
I shrug. “Parts of him.”
The glass stops halfway to his mouth. “Tell me you didn’t drop an ace.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
He tips his head back and groans. “Gianni…”
“Calm down. I dropped it in the line of fire.” I know what’s coming, so I lift my hand before he opens his mouth. “It went up in flames before it landed. You want to tell me what’s got you so wound up?”
His eyebrows lift. “Have you not checked your phone?”
“No. I was fucking my wife.”
“Okay, first, that’s too much information,” he says, hastily. “Second, you might want to look at your texts.”
And by the sound of his voice, I also might want a drink.
Claiming his, I drag it back across the table and down a good third before pulling my phone from my pocket and scrolling through my new messages.
When I hit Owen’s, I stiffen.
There are no words, just a single link that’s eerily familiar to the one that ignited this whole shit show. My molars clamp together as I click on it, then stare as the scanned image of a birth certificate flashes onto the screen.
“I’ll be damned.”
It’s more pathetic than shocking. I want to be furious, but it’s all too poetic. This whole fucking plot twist caps off what’s turned out to be two decades of “Daddy-issue” fallout.
Patrick O’Shea
Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York
Birth Mother: Mona Riordan
Birth Father: Emmett O’Shea
Jesus.
O’Shea … Saddler … Starling…
It seems our duplicitous late marshal had a hat trick of personalities that would’ve lit stars in Becca’s eyes.
I don’t know the details of how Owen got his hands on Saddler’s birth records, and I don’t care to. However, it appears while I was auctioning off ports to Alejandro Carrera’s asshole son, my favorite marshal was in New York committing felony identity theft…
And uprooting some dysfunctional family trees.
“Saddler’s birth father was Flynn’s fucking half-brother?”
“Didn’t see that coming; did you?” he deadpans.
I roll my eyes up at him, my fingers clenched around my phone. “Is that a real question or are you trying to get your tongue ripped out of your asshole?”
He starts to counter, then wisely changes his mind. “As we suspected, Henry Saddler was a wannabe who never was,” Anton says, rerouting us back on topic. “It seems he always knew his birth father was the former second-in-command of the Rogue, but that meant very little when his birth mother was the whore ‘dear old Dad’ got pregnant and forced out of town.”
“You’ve talked to Owen?”
He nods like it’s a ridiculous question. “He sent the text two hours ago, Gianni.”
Christ, I don’t know what day it is, much less the time.
I drain the rest of his drink and change the subject. “I take it Henry was a little salty about that.”
“If by salty, you mean going the other route, getting himself a shiny Marshal’s badge, then, yeah. However, Emmett’s illegitimate half-brother, Declan, kept his ear to the ground after Alejandro Carrera hooked him up, and when Marcello got arrested, he made a call to his bastard nephew…”
“Who was all too eager to dip that badge in my blood,” I finish. “That’s why Saddler’s phone pinged. He and Flynn were family.”
He shrugs. “In a skeletons-in-the-closet, only-recognized-when-one’s-useful, sell-each-other-down-the-river, Cain-and-Abel type of way, but yeah, still family.”
The rest of the story is self-explanatory. Saddler got himself on my Witness Protection detail and started painting my existence with a shit-covered brush. Too bad he’s dead. I’d enjoy listening to his uncle relay how few fucks he gave about him before watching them both burn.
“Speaking of Flynn,” Anton hedges, letting the words hang a beat before adding, “Do we have any updates?”
“Not yet. I’ve sent men to Providence with instructions to wait for him should he be stupid enough to return. It’s just a precaution. I’m confident he has no intention of leaving Jersey empty-handed. His whole identity was based around my father and this trafficking ring. It validated him and gave him power. Without it, he’s a desperate nobody who blames Becca for his downfall. In his mind, she’s the source of all his misfortune; he should’ve killed her twenty-two years ago.”
He’ll have to get through me, first.
“What about Becca?”
Here’s where Anton pops a blood vessel.
“She’s at the police station.”
His face goes from white to red to purple. “What the fuck—?”
“I’m the one who cleared it,” I say crisply. “So watch your tone. They want her to make an official statement about her father. If she didn’t go, it’d just draw more suspicion.”
I guess he’s learned not to beat a dead horse because he doesn’t offer any further rebuttal other than a muttered, “I’m surprised you didn’t demand to escort her in yourself.”
Not from lack of trying…
“Right. Because that wouldn’t cause a paparazzi feeding frenzy. It’s fine. I’ve tripled security at the club and house and sent a message for Taz to bring her here the minute she leaves.” At his annoying smirk, I grab his glass and flip him off while stalking to the bar. “It’s not that I don’t trust him. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t be with her. But no one can protect her like me, so until Flynn is dead, I want her by my side.”
I check my texts again.
Nothing.
Cursing under my breath, I pull up the GPS tracker on my phone, my jaw clenching when I see Becca’s location still pinging at the Montclair Police Station. The longer I stare at it the more it mocks me.
Fuck it. I’ll go get her myself.
I storm across the room and open the door, only to nearly plow into the wide-eyed woman blocking my path. “Cathalina,” I say, forcing her name through gritted teeth. “Why the fuck are you always in my way?”
Before she can answer, Tony, my head bouncer appears behind her, his face twisted in rage. “I told you no one gets back here without permission,” he growls, clamping his hand around the arm she has cradled to her chest. “Boss, I’m sorry. I told her the—”
“I know the damn rules.” Planting her heels, Cathalina grabs the door frame and turns a pleading gaze on me. “Gianni knows I wouldn’t break them if it wasn’t important.”
This is turning into a habit I’m ending right now.
“It’s fine, Tony,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets. “This won’t take long.”
He gives me a curt nod, barely giving her time to move her hand before shutting the door with a heated glare.
“You have five minutes, Cat.” Turning, I walk across the room and slide my glass off the card table.
“I don’t know how to say this, Gianni...”
“Preferably, as quickly as possible,” I mutter, lifting my drink to my mouth.
“I think I know who’s after Becca.”
I spin around, my knuckles white against the glass. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Blowing out a shaky breath, she pulls her arm away from her chest to reveal a legal-sized envelope clenched in her hand. “When I showed up at your house on your wedding night, I told you I’d overheard my father on the phone. That wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the only time it happened.”
I slide my other hand down to my holster. “What are you involved in, Cathalina?”
She watches my every move but doesn’t bother countering. “After talking to you, and after what happened to Becca…” She shakes her head, her grip on the envelope tightening. “Things didn’t feel right. My father was getting increasingly paranoid, and I had a bad feeling, so I stopped following instructions and started questioning them. That led me to this.” Her fingers tremble as she hands me the envelope.
I stare at it. “I’m done playing chess on other people’s boards, Cat. What is it?”
“Proof of my father’s lies,” she says flatly.
At that, I abandon my glass and grab the envelope. The moment I look inside, I have to breathe several times to keep from pinning her to the wall by her throat. “These are Carmine’s financial records.” Not just any financial records, either. They’re the statements from an encrypted Cayman Islands bank account, featuring deposits from both Rose and Dagger Holdings and Tesora International.
She gives me a solemn nod. “My father sent me away to college to get me out of his hair. I have a feeling my degree in computer science is about to make him regret that.”
I flip through the pages, my mind spinning.
Holy shit.
This is everything we need to wipe the slate clean. No wonder the Connecticut boss has been so quiet and on-edge. Anton was right about him. But that doesn’t explain how Carmine’s daughter knows who’s after Becca or that Rose and Dagger links to my father’s Providence operation.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you know about this before my wedding night?”
She stares silently at the floor.
“I’m going to give you one chance to come completely clean. After that, your name moves into a column I promise you don’t want it in.”
When she looks up, there are tears in her eyes. “I overheard bits and pieces a couple times before that, but it wasn’t until you came back that things got intense. That’s why I started digging into his finances.”
“And Becca?” I ask sharply.
“My father’s paranoia escalated a few days ago. I only got one side of the conversation, but from what I gathered, he was talking to one of Marcello’s contacts from Providence. It seems your father didn’t tell either of them he was framing you for the operation, so mine used it as leverage. He contacted this man after your wedding and promised him Becca in return for getting rid of you.”
“The fucking coward knew the writing was on the wall.” Turning, I slam the envelope on the table so hard it rattles. “Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”
“I’m being used, and I want no part of it. I won’t have another woman’s blood on my hands.”
I snap my chin over my shoulder. “What do you mean another?”
Her shoulders curl inward as if she’s trying to disappear. But she can’t. She’s standing at the mouth of Hell, and the only way out is through a wall of fire. “You have to understand, Gianni, I never meant for it to happen.”
Dark energy vibrates off me as I slowly erase the distance between us. “The truth, now.”
