Page 20 of Tortured Hearts
Chapter Seven
BECCA
My father tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Talk to me, Becca.”
“What would you like me to say?” I gaze out the passenger side window of his car. It’s late. After spending over an hour arguing with those two pompous officers, I lost all track of time. However, judging by the moon and lack of traffic, I’m guessing it’s close to midnight.
“You could tell me what happened with the officers.”
I shoot a narrowed glance across the console. “Chief Reese, are you asking me to violate a suspect’s constitutional right to a fair trial?”
His posture stiffens. “No, of course not.”
I stare straight ahead and sulk. It’s not like a word I said mattered, anyway. Explaining to those officers how Gianni risked his life to save mine went in one ear and out the other. Asfar as they were concerned, I was just the brainless psychiatrist who fell victim to Gianni Marchesi’s false charm and convincing lies.
“He was on his way out of town,” he says tightly. “Did he tell you that?” I flinch, my fingers clenching the sides of my seat. My father reaches across the car and takes my hand, his touch as unbalanced as the ties that bind us. “Becca, open your eyes. You were in a near fatal fire not long after I exposed him for being the lying, cold-blooded murderer he really is.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Not talking about it is what landed you in the hospital,” he counters sharply.
“You don’t know him like I do.”
“You don’t know him at all, or what his family does to someone like…” Gritting his teeth, he drops my hand before shoving his into his graying hair. “For God’s sake, the man lured his girlfriend into a building, then set it on fire. Sound familiar?”
I round my shoulders, the hit as physical as if it had come from his fist. But I refuse to let him gaslight me. “Gianni didn’t do this to me. Like it or not, a criminal walked through literal fire to save my life. I felt him carry me out of that building.” I hold his stare, daring a response. “Are you going to convince me I didn’t seehim, too?”
His walls shoot up like fireworks. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“And I don’t like that you’re avoiding my questions.” Not like it’s a new occurrence, but at least here, I have him cornered. Bracing one hand on the dashboard, I turn and face him. “So why don’t you be straight with me, for once? You can start by explaining why you barged into my hospital room, uninvited.”
“You’ve been through a lot. This isn’t the time for?—”
“For what, honesty? It’s never beenthe time. Not when I was watching my mother die. Not when I was cutting you out of my life. Sure as hell not when I was getting involved with a mobster. So whenwillit be time, Dad, during my eulogy?”
Thick silence fills the car as he pulls into the rear parking lot of my condo. I stare through the windshield at the boarded-up window. It’s been less than thirty hours since my life imploded, yet it already feels like another lifetime … anotherme.
I sigh. “You always say when there are two sides to a story, search the middle for the truth.” I gesture down at the traces of soot on my body, my voice shaking. “Look at what twenty-two years of searching has gotten me, Dad. Thisismy middle; step up or leave.”
There it is. My line in the sand. I’m done being left in the dark by men trying to “protect” me. If they won’t let me fight my own battles, I’ll create new ones.
“Nothing in life is ever a coincidence, Becca,” he says solemnly. “Actions always show a pattern.”
Time rewinds. I hear us hurling accusations about secrets, lies, privacy, and a phone call.
“At my office, you said you made a few calls to someone about Gianni. It was my mother’s killer, wasn't it?” I clasp my hands to keep them from shaking. “He owns you, and you told him everything.”
“No. I called his mouthpiece. Crawling tothatbastard would’ve been a last resort.” His fingers flex around the wheel, his knuckles paling. “Christ, Becca, why would I open a direct line to the man after doing everything in my power to keep you away from his son?”
“What did you just say?” But one look at his raw expression and I already know. I can read between the lines. I just don’t want to see the truth that’s buried there.
“Marcello Marchesi controls Providence,” he says, a chill settling inside the car. “That’s the man responsiblefor your mother’s murder.”
I grip the dashboard, my body folding forward as his words hit their mark. “That’s impossible. I heard Mom’s killer say ‘bullets and blades’ in anIrishaccent. He had a rose and dagger tattoo. TheRoguetattoo.”
“The Rogue did kill your mother, Becca, but it was under Marchesi’s command.”
Two decades of deception crumble beneath my feet. “No more lies,” I say, my breath catching. “For once tell me the whole truth.”
