Tormented Diamonds (Marchesi Empire Book 3), page 8
Oh my God.
My breath seizes in my chest as tears roll down the side of my nose. I want nothing more than to roll over and take him in my arms—to tell him I love him, too, and promise love is enough to win this war.
But it’d be a lie.
I have no clue if it’s enough, or when the smoke clears, if we’ll be just two more casualties to be replaced and forgotten. So, I hold tight to his confession, keeping mine tucked inside as silence falls behind me, and sleep claims us both.
And for the first night in years, I dream of nothing…
No bullets and blades.
No roses and daggers.
No small eyes and big teeth.
Just love.
Chapter Nine
BECCA
For three days, Anton and Owen have kept their distance, their attention occupied by whatever new task Gianni has commanded. Even the soldiers he’s instructed to hover over me stay hidden away in the shadows.
We’ve settled into a comfortable, albeit unorthodox, routine where Gianni attends meetings at all hours of the day and night, while I pass the time searching the internet for newly published psychology journals. If I narrow my eyes enough, I can almost convince myself we’re ordinary newlyweds, settling into mundane married life.
But nothing about this life is ordinary or mundane. Like a river, it ebbs and flows, until it forms an inevitable current, and on the cusp of the fourth day, I find myself wading upstream in a riptide of shit.
We sit at opposite ends of the dinner table in silence, a heavy weight stretching between us. I don’t know why things feel so somber. Nothing’s happened. It’s just a feeling—a loaded anticipation that sits heavy on my shoulders. I try to match Gianni’s staunch, hardline energy, but after twenty minutes of stilted reticence, I can’t take it anymore.
“You’re quiet tonight,” I murmur.
“I could say the same about you.” He nods to where I’m mindlessly pushing chicken around my plate. “Plus, you’ve barely touched your food. Are you sick?”
“No. Just not that hungry.”
“You weren’t hungry for lunch or breakfast, either. If you’re not sick, then…” He trails off, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re pregnant.”
“No, I’m not pregnant,” I clip, the horror etched in his face pissing me off more than the accusation. “But I’m glad to know how much it offends you. Hey, here’s an idea… If you’re so worried about it, how about wear a condom?”
“That’s not what—”
“Forget it.” I shove a piece of chicken in my mouth, only to stiffen as the shrill sound of the doorbell chime explodes throughout the house. I meet Gianni’s stony stare, almost choking when I notice him gripping his fork like a weapon.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
I shake my head, the small bite of food settling in my stomach like a rock. “You?”
“No.” He pushes back from the table and stands, his casual gray button-up and dark slacks hugging every inch of his sculpted body as he strides toward me. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” At my indifferent nod, he takes my chin in his hand, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m not offended, Becca. I’m practical and realistic. There’s a difference.”
I hold my tight-lipped smile until he leaves the room, then tip my head back and slump into my chair. I hate this. I hate pretending there’s not a gnawing feeling of dread in my stomach, and I really hate acting as if I haven’t been tip-toeing around, waiting for the floor to cave in. But it’s the silence that’s existed since Henry’s phone pinged that I loathe the most. It has Gianni operating on a hairpin trigger. Everything sets him off these days, which...
At the muffled sound of shouting, I snap my head up, instinct driving me to my feet.
Oh, God. Is it the Authority? Do they know Gianni talked to the feds?
Keeping my eyes on the archway, I brush my hand across the table until it lands on the bread tray. With trembling fingers, I grip the handle of the knife, then slip it around my back.
My pulse races.
My heart thumps.
My breath quickens.
Then, the shouting gets louder, the voices clearer.
“...going to find her … have to shoot me to stop me…”
“...don’t threaten me with a good time … badge doesn’t permit trespassing…”
“...lied to save your ass … see you in hell…”
No, it can’t be… But it is, and the moment he appears in the archway, fists-clenched and red faced, I know a guillotine just fell on our bubble.
“Dad?”
“Becca…” He exhales my name like a prayer. “You’re safe.”
“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He swings a pointed finger behind him where Gianni leans against the frame, his arms folded across his chest like the ringmaster of his own circus. “Because this lying, piece of shit manipulated me into letting him ‘save you.’” His bitter laugh scrapes across my already raw nerves. “What a line. I should’ve known the only thing a Marchesi cares about is saving his own ass.”
“That’s a little unfair,” Gianni mutters.
“You want to talk about unfair…?” The tension between them escalates as my father gets in his face. “Eleven days, you kept me in the dark, not knowing if she was alive or dead. I let you walk free, and you couldn’t bother to pick up the fucking phone.”
“Believe it or not, I was protecting both of you.”
“You were protecting yourself. But I’m here now, and I’m making damn sure that whatever this is”—he twirls his finger between Gianni and me—“is over.”
“Does this mean I don’t get to call you Dad?”
I grit my teeth. “Not helping.”
My father jabs his finger at Gianni’s chest. “The only thing you can call is a lawyer because I’m putting you away for the rest of your life, you sack of shit.”
“Now, that’s just poor planning, Georgie. I’m pretty sure that strategy is where the saying, ‘sinking the ship to kill the captain’ originated.” Gianni caps off the taunt with a condescending wink.
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and I don’t care. I’ve had it with their bickering. This is no longer a confrontation. It’s a testosterone-fueled clash of egos.
I slide the knife onto the table, then sprint across the dining room and step between them, my arms splayed out like a referee. “Enough, both of you!”
My father doesn’t take his eyes off Gianni. “I won’t let this criminal continue to manipulate and use my daughter!”
“Then, it’s a good thing she’s my wife, so you can fucking—”
“I said, enough!” God, it’s like talking to children. “Dad, I’m willing to hear you out, but Gianni’s right. I’m his wife, and this is his house. If you can’t respect that, then you can leave.”
As my father sputters out an unintelligible response, Gianni stands taller, a cocky smirk plastered across his face. “Well said, Doc. I believe that—”
“I’m not finished,” I say, with a sharp glare. “You’ve got to meet him halfway. He’s my father, not one of your soldiers. If you can’t be courteous, then be quiet, or he and I will have this conversation somewhere less hostile.” I glance between them. “Are we all clear?”
“Fine,” my father reluctantly mutters.
Gianni dips his chin, but the fire in his eyes tells me I’ll pay dearly for this later.
“Good. Now, let’s go into the living room where we can sit and talk like civilized adults.”
Walking between them, I make my way down the hall, too nervous to look back and see if they’re following. However, after entering the living area, I turn to see them lumbering a few steps behind, sour-faced and silent. Not exactly how I imagined this going, but I’ll take it.
I sit on the farthest side of the couch, unsurprised when Gianni claims the space next to me. It’s a tactical move that forces my father into the wingback chair to my left.
Leave it to him to find a loophole in being a dick.
I scrub my palms up and down my jeans and try to piece together an approach that won’t incite a brawl. Considering my father’s entrance, I figure the best place to start is the obvious. “I assume you saw the newscast.”
His jaw tics. “You mean the national broadcast where I found out the man I entrusted to return my daughter to me had not only manipulated her into marrying him, but had also assumed control of the criminal empire that tried to kill her in the first damn place? Yeah, I saw it.”
“Dad, I’ve already told you he didn’t—”
“Reese, listen to me,” Gianni says, silencing me mid-sentence. “When I left Providence, the only agenda I had was protecting Becca. But with La Cosa Nostra, you can’t focus on only fighting the moment you’re in. Five minutes later, everything can shift, and you either shift with it or fall victim to it.”
It’s not just his words that steal my breath. It’s the fierce conviction in his voice as he delivers them and the assured, stern lift of his chin. I might have fallen in lust with the unserious, sarcastic man of five minutes ago, but this is the man I fell in love with.
My father isn’t so impressed. “You expect me to believe you trapped my little girl into a lifetime of looking over her shoulder, for her?”
“Frankly, Chief, I don’t give a shriveled fuck what you believe. I know what you think of me, and I don’t care to waste my time convincing you otherwise. I’m Marcello Marchesi’s son. I’ve lived my entire life under a cloud of judgment.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?”
Gianni’s stare hardens. “No, Reese, that makes me feel sorry for you.”
“Me?” My father laughs, but it doesn’t drip the same superiority as before. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Your hatred blinds you. You only see me as a lowlife criminal and a killer without a soul.” My heart skips a beat as he points to me. “But she doesn’t. She never did. Your daughter accepted me, even when I gave her every reason not to. She fought for me as Johnny Malone, and then, when she found out the truth of who I was—when all my secrets dragged her into their darkness—she fucking fought harder. That’s strength, Chief. So, don’t sit there insinuating Becca is so weak that she had the ring on her finger put there unwillingly. Your daughter chose this life, and she chose me. If you can’t see that, then it’s you who needs to take a hard look in the mirror.”
I’m speechless, not only by Gianni’s passionate words of support, but by the stunned look on my father’s face. Whatever knife Gianni threw hit his intended target, sinking in hard and deep. I want to show my appreciation, but I know my husband too well for that. The only thing he despises more than vulnerability is someone calling attention to it.
Which is why all I offer is a soft smile.
My father turns to me with a stricken look on his face. “Is this true?”
I glance at Gianni, a silent question in my eyes.
Can I tell him?
His answer comes with a slight dip of his chin.
Exhaling nervously, I straighten my spine. “Yes. I love Gianni, and I married him willingly…” His face morphs into a mix of confusion and suspended belief as I twist my fingers in my lap. “However…”
His cop eyes sharpen. “However?”
“However, there were extenuating circumstances that forced things to, uh, speed up.”
“What sort of circumstances?”
Knowing he’s going to lose his shit makes this ten times harder. Our relationship may be dysfunctional, but he still deserves more than half-assed answers. “I kind of saw something I wasn’t supposed to.”
His shoulders slump. “Oh, Becca…”
“It’s my fault,” I say, quickly intercepting any blame he might try shifting beside me. “Gianni tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. There are people here who…” I swallow hard, attempting to word this in a way that lets him understand without making him an accessory after the fact. “...don’t appreciate outsiders intruding on their ‘meetings.’ So they ensure said outsiders never make the same mistake again. The only way Gianni could prevent them from eliminating me from all ‘meetings’ was to ensure I had a permanent seat at the table.”
I ignore the stab of guilt from glossing over the part where Gianni saved his life, as well. Maybe it’s a mistake to keep it from him, but the last thing I want to do is become the reason my father has to look over his shoulder, too.
The weathered lines in his face deepen. “This is all my fault.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Why? Why?” he repeats, his face reddening again. “You’re paying the consequences for my sins, Becca. Don’t you see? If I’d only quit the force and moved you and your mother far away from Providence when Marcello first started making threats, none of this would’ve happened. Carol would still be alive, you wouldn’t be married to a goddamn mob boss, and my family wouldn’t have suffered for my weakness.”
“That’s not true.” We both turn to find Gianni standing beside the couch, staring out the window with his hands clenched by his side. “It would’ve simply delayed it.”
My father stiffens. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Marcello’s offers weren’t multiple choice. He would’ve hunted you relentlessly until there was nowhere else to run.” Gianni glances over his shoulder, his expression sullen. “The only thing that would’ve been different is all three of you would be dead.”
My father curses under his breath and drags his hand over his thinning hair. “So, how did you gain so much influence with these ‘people?’ From what I heard, you stabbed them in their backs before turning yours.”
Gianni remains surprisingly calm. “It’s amazing what sins people will forgive when you present them with a bigger one.”
“I assume you’re referring to your father’s covert Providence activities.”
He nods. “I’ve been tasked with dismantling them … which brings me to an important stone wall I’ve run into. Since you’re here, maybe you can help tear it down.”
“What would I know that’d be of use to someone like you?”
“Do you know the name of the man Marcello had running Providence?”
“Dagger,” my father quips so matter-of-factly, my chest squeezes.
“Yes, we know that.” Gianni’s narrowed gaze seeks mine as he steps closer, a quick flare of his nostrils the only outward sign of his impatience. “I need more than an unimaginative moniker.”
“I don’t know his real name. The man murdered my wife, Marchesi. It’s not like we had a standing tee time, for Christ’s sake.”
“Think harder, Reese. We need identifying details.”
Dad gives him a glassy stare. “He was tall with red hair, beady eyes, and horse teeth.”
Each word is an ax swing to the chest.
Just like that, I’m back in my parents’ living room, kneeling over my mother’s body.
“I know what he fucking looks like, too. I need a name or a location.” The sharp edge in Gianni’s tone pulls me back from the darkness. As the haze clears, I notice he’s talking to my father, but keeping his eyes on me … watching, protecting. “It’s not just Becca’s—”
“I’d really like to speak to my father alone, if you don’t mind,” I say in one rushed breath.
He arches a dark, slanted eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
I hope this doesn’t blow up in my face, but I’m tired of spinning in the same tired circle.
I clear my throat, my heart beating like a chaotic drumline. “You mentioned earlier you needed to check in with some people. Why don’t you do that and give Dad and me some time to catch up?”
He gives me a hard stare, which I answer with a silent plea to let me handle this. It feels like my heart is going to hammer through my chest until he clenches his jaw and lets out a defeated exhale that lets me know while he isn’t happy, and it’s taking everything he has to walk away, he’s doing it anyway … for me.
“Right, thanks for reminding me,” he says, his clenched teeth trapped behind his strained smile. I nod pleasantly as his gaze shifts between my father and me. “I have my phone if you need anything. I can be here in minutes. If not, don’t forget I have no less than ten men circling the perimeter who can intervene immediately.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Giving me one last volatile look, he walks out the door, leaving the two of us in uncomfortable silence.
After moments of fidgeting, my father turns to me, all the hostility drained from his face. “Okay, he’s gone. You can tell me the truth, now.”
I sigh. Same old Dad; hears everything, but listens to nothing. “I already have.”
He stares at me, his eyes narrowing. “Christ, you really love him, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“If we hurry, we can make it through Connecticut before he realizes you’re gone.”
I smile. His weak delivery tells me he knows it’s a useless offer, but I don’t fault him for trying. In fact, in some dysfunctional way, it may be the first time I’ve truly felt like his daughter instead of a piece of depreciating real estate. However, his Hail Mary gives me an idea. One I know I’m going to catch infinite hell for. “Would you settle for Hackensack?”
Chapter Ten
BECCA
Hackensack, New Jersey
“You plan on telling me why we drove all the way to Hackensack to eat at a dump?”
I look up from my menu to find my father staring at me, his eyebrows lowered and pinched together. “A friend recommended it.”
“Are you sure they’re your friend?” He glances around the near empty restaurant, an elderly couple and an anti-social man huddled over his plate our only companions. “Maybe this is their way of getting rid of you.”
“Stop being such an elitist. Some of the best restaurants have unassuming exteriors.”
A valid argument if the exterior of Cucciola’s Trattoria hadn’t already bypassed unassuming and landed in something straight out of a B-grade horror movie. He’s right. It really is a dump, which cranks the coils of suspicion even tighter.
