Page 19 of Tortured Hearts
“You’re not a reckless criminal, Gianni,” the older officer intervenes. “So why not work with us rather than against us?”
Because one of “us” is a paid trick pony of the man the FBI keep letting slip through their fingers. The same one who’s been riding shotgun on all this chaos. As of right now, only two marshals and my psychiatrist know his reach has crossed multiple state lines, and I want to keep it that way. Alerting everyone that my father has found me is one thing, but once that siren wails, the echo travels for miles. After I disgraced the sacredomertàoath, the rulers of the Five Families will be out for blood.
“I’m still waiting for that lawyer.”
The younger one shoves a stack of papers off the table, his chair scraping across the floor as he abruptly stands. “Fuck it. Call the public defender. I’m tired of this.”
His mentor shakes his head and goes to stand when the door opens, and George Reese reappears. All that hot air from earlier has deflated. His bloodshot eyes sag at the corners while heavy black circles stain the skin underneath. If I didn’t hate the man so much, I might actually feel bad for him.
“Where is she?” I demand.
He faces the two officers, his hands clenched by his side. “My daughter would like to give a statement.”
My palms hit the table, and I leap from my chair. “Like hell she will.”
Reese turns a hard glare my way. “Sit down, or I’ll throw you in a holding cell.”
Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. Lock me up. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But I can’t save Becca from herself while trapped in a cage.
Clenching my teeth, I lower into my chair and turn my attention to the two smiling idiots across the table. “You can’t take a statement from her.”
“And why is that, Marchesi?” The younger one tilts his blond head, his New England drawl getting heavier now that he thinks he has me backed into a corner. “Is there something you don’t want her to say?”
“Yes, because she’s pumped full of painkillers, and I don’t want anything compromising her medical license.”
The older officer’s lips peel back to reveal a set of stark white veneers way too big for his face. “That’s rich coming from the mobster who screwed his therapist … in more ways than one.” He lets out a little snide chuckle, and I swear, if my hands weren’t cuffed, I’d knock every single horse tooth down his throat. “But don’t worry, Gianni; dealing with us is a lot safer than dealing withLa Cosa Nostra. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Enough,” Reese interjects. “She’s in interrogation room five. I’ll stay with him while you’re gone.”
Just what I wanted, a heart-to-heart with Daddy Dearest.
The two officers exchange glances, then rise from their chairs in silent unity and walk out of the room with renewed vigor. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
Reese closes the door behind them, avoidingmy gaze as he collapses into an empty chair. There’s a long stretch of silence where I think he’s met his quota of insults and accusations for the day, and I might get a moment of peace. But then, he clasps his hands in front of him and calmly asks the one question I can’t answer. “Why her?”
Because she’s brilliant.
Because she challenges me in ways no one has ever dared.
Because underneath all that brokenness lies a darkness that calls to mine.
Because karma is a sadistic bitch.
I say none of those things because he doesn’t want that kind of honesty. He wants a black and white answer so he can wrap it in logic and prejudice and justify his hatred for the very thing he’s become.
But if I have to drown in this quicksand, so does he.
“Because she’s Becca.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I disagree, and the fact you can’t see what lies beyond those words should tell you a hell of a lot more aboutyourrelationship with Becca than mine.”
He bristles, a rush of crimson staining his cheeks. “Are you done?”
I assume he doesn’t really want an answer, especially when he tips his head back and closes his eyes. I’m not insulted. It’s never a pretty reflection when someone shoves a mirror in front of your face.
Sometimes, there’s more truth to be found in silence than in any interrogation.
