Page 13 of Tortured Hearts
I hesitate. Once I give the darkness a voice, there’ll be no place to run, no place to hide. All my black and white will turn red. But the longer I stare at Gianni, the more I see through all the layers of gloss between us and realize they’ve been red all long.
“The same ones who murdered my mother,” I say softly.
Chapter Four
BECCA
Gianni’s razor-sharp gaze holds me at knifepoint. “You said you overheard Henry and me talking. What exactly did you hear,cara mia?”
My mouth goes dry. “Why does it matter?”
“Just answer the question.”
I want to double down and ask again, but something tells me I don’t want the answer. I’m not sure if that makes me a coward or a survivalist, but I’ve had the floor drop out from under me too many times in the last twenty-four hours to care. Plus, if this is what it takes to swerve away from the Irish road we’re traveling down, then so be it.
“Just that Henry is a marshal, and you were leaving on a revenge mission,” I say, unsure if the tight press of his lips is from relief or suspicion. I’m more concerned with the loaded elephant in the room. “Speaking of which, there was a gun inyour hand.”
“That’s because I plan to use it.”
“Johnny…” I grit my teeth at how easily his alias falls from my lips. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to calling him Gianni. I’m not sure I even want to. However, if he hears my mistake, he doesn’t call me out on it. He’s too busy stomping holes in the tile.
“What do you want me to say? That I didn’t start your office fire, but I know who did? That you weren’t a target so much as a message? That I was headed across state lines to settle several scores? Because they’re all true.”
“I heard Henry call what you’re planning to do ‘suicide.’”
“Henry’s dramatic.”
“Gianni…” My calm use of his name brings his furious pacing to a dead stop. Sitting up, I climb to my knees, leaving a cascade of wires dangling behind me. “It’s over. The lies, the secrecy, the keeping me in the dark for my own good—it’s all over. It didn’t work.” I gesture around the room. “This is where it got us. So if you ever cared about me, don’t shut me out.”
As we stare at each other in a battle of wills, I worry the last remaining threads between us are snapping. But then, he palms the back of his neck, and the hostile tension in the room thins.
“The condensed version is that my father didn’t get his way, so he retaliated by manipulating me into murder. I got revenge by turning against him. He went to jail, and I went into Witness Protection. But nothing is ever black and white, and nobody’s hands are ever clean. Evidence went missing, and he walked. It didn’t take long for him to find me”—his guarded gaze falls on me—“and then you.”
I recoil, my head spinning. “Are you suggesting your father triedto kill me?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying it.” Holding my stare, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a playing card. “Henry found this at the scene of the fire.”
It’s dirty and torn, but unmistakable.
“The ace of spades,” I murmur.
“There’s only one person who’d railroad me with my own signature.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “I guess ripping my heart out wasn’t enough. He wants to see me rot behind bars, too.”
That’s when I see the smudged word scrawled along the top. “Infame?”
“Traitor,” he translates, his lips peeling back in a jaded sneer. “The bastard was never one for mincing words. That’s why I left last night, and why I’m leaving now. As long as I’m in your life, it’ll continue to be in danger. I won’t let you pay for any more of my sins.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
“The hell it’s not.” He’s at my side in a heartbeat, his fingers curled around the back of my neck. My breath hitches as he drags his thumb along my jaw, pressing hard enough under my chin to force my head back. “I’m not Johnny Malone anymore, Doc. I’m Gianni Marchesi, and you’re in my world now. There are no laws, and that order you’re so fond of doesn’t exist. I found you lying in the middle of an inferno, for Christ’s sake. I thought I was too late.”
“But you weren’t.”
“Thistime,” he stresses. “But what about the next one? Because there will be a next time, Becca. Do you think my father will just cut his losses? That’s not how it works. Tomorrow doesn’t come without putting an end to today.” The grave reality of those words wash over me as his other hand cups my cheek, his tone softening. “I have to go.”
I know he does. I always knew the path hewalked led away from me. That’s why I fought him so hard. That’s also why it’s this moment when all the lies and accusations fade away. They mean nothing when I’m watching the only color in my life slip through my fingers.
“Come back to me.” The words sound so soft, I’m not sure if I said them at all.
