Page 34 of Tortured Hearts
Nearly met his maker and still a dick. It’s irritating how much I appreciate that now.
Before I can respond, a second messageappears.
Meet me at Louie’s Deli at five p.m.
A quick glance at the time has me biting back a curse. That’s cutting it close. I don’t know how I’m going to connect all these damn dots with Anton watching me like a scorned wife.
Unfortunately, the best shot I have is to fall in line.
This shit is really getting old.
“Gianni.” I glance up to find Anton snapping his fingers in my face. “I’m talking to you.”
“Yeah. Suit. Got it.” I shove my phone in my pocket. “So are you going to tell me the name of this place, or do I find out as the sign melts off the frontage?”
“Cucciola’sTrattoriain Hackensack, a family operation on the verge of bankruptcy.”
Unsurprising. The only small business thriving in New Jersey are the ones my father has by the balls. Those who cling to their principles get broken bones and an insurance claim.
“Glad to see some things never change.”
“Onlysomethings,” he murmurs.What kind of thinly veiled bullshit is that?Before I can call him on it, he starts toward the doorway.
“He betrayed me first, you know.” Which, byLa Cosa Nostrastandards, doesn’t validate shit, not that I care. My father earned his first strike with me when I was thirteen and his second with Victoria. I took action to prevent a third, yet here we are.
Pausing, he turns and cuts me a hard glare. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
There’s a sharp edge to his voice, an emphasis and urgency that feels off. I don’t like it, so I keep my eyes on him, watching every move he makes. That’s why, when he dips his hand inside his jacket pocket, mine curls into a fist. I’d preferto not fight a man who’s been more of a father to me than my own, but if it comes down to it, I won’t hesitate to break his neck.
Just as I go to swing, his hand reappears holding my gun, not the Providence PD-issued one he took from me, butmygun, a custom piece worth eighteen-thousand dollars. A spade-engraved, one-of-a-kind he gave to me on my twenty-first birthday.
The day his godson became a made man.
“How far are you willing to go to determine the outcome, Gianni?” he repeats as he places it on the table next to my phone before walking out the door.
Hackensack, New Jersey
Sliding my sunglasses down with my index finger, I stare at the rundown building across the street. “Nice place. I always like my meals with a complimentary side of Hep C.”
Cucciola’sTrattoriais more than a health code violation. It’s a monument to the dangers of virtue signaling. It’s obvious Marcello is letting this place rot to send a message. The busted windows and rotted wood frame have tragic morality written all over them.
Anton flings off his seat belt, side-eyeing me as he swings his door open. “How that doctor put up with you for eight weeks, I’ll never know.”
Because I gave her no choice.
Pushing my sunglasses back up my nose, I step out of the car and straighten my suit jacket before crossing the street. We walk inside to a drastic improvement. There’s no crystal or polished silver, but there are white linen tablecloths, and the floor is so clean you could eat offit. Which might be necessary after the bank liquidates all his assets.
“Amico mio. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
I slip my hand under my jacket as a man with a half-circle of black hair strides out from two swinging doors.
Anton’s gaze shifts to where my hand rests on my concealed gun and discreetly shakes his head. “Plans changed.”
“I see.” The man turns a sharp eye to me. “That appears to be happening a lot lately.”
I tuck my sunglasses in my pocket. “I don’t remember hearing him ask for your opinion.”
“Gianni Marchesi,” he says, his words dripping with venom.“In the flesh.”
