Page 37 of Tortured Hearts
That makes two of us.
“He tattooed a fucking rose and dagger on her while she was unconscious,” I say tightly.
“I know.”
“What’s his angle?”
“No clue. But nothing Marcello does is without benefit to him.”
Sartorre comes barreling into the room with a tray overflowing with plates of lasagna, exiting just as quickly. Anton grabs his fork and digs in with gusto while I brood over the one question still gnawing at me.
Eventually, he glances up from his plate, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that look for?”
“Whywould he do this?” I ask. “Revenge is a weak and shortsighted justification for imploding an operation he’s spent two decades building.”
“No, it’s a fringe benefit,” he says bluntly. “Rumor has it the Authority heard talk of shipments going out of the Port of Providence. My guess is he got spooked, which makes sense, considering my contact also uncovered transactions to and from the Carreras.”
Of course, there are.
“The Mexican cartel,” I mutter. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because Marcello and Alejandro Carreraare kindred spirits cut from the same putrid cloth,” he huffs. “They’d sell their own mothers if it’d turn a profit. Your father saw the writing on the wall once the rumor mill started turning. He knew he had to unload his pet project. You being there gave him the perfect excuse, means, and opportunity.”
“Letting him kill two birds with one stone.” Knowing my father put the shell companies in my name only days ago confirms he’s using me as a scapegoat, which speeds up the sand in Becca’s hourglass.
“There’s one more thing.” Fatigue pulls at the corners of Anton’s eyes as he refills his glass. “That ‘oath renewal’ bullshit is a trap. He’s called an emergency Authority meeting for tomorrow night.”
All the pieces snap together into one severely demented puzzle.
“That’s how he’s ‘restoring the Marchesi name.’ He’s going to play mafia savior while claiming a front-row seat to the silencing of his sonandhis sin.” I drag my tongue across the front of my teeth. “So, what’s ourplan?”
He stabs his fork into his lasagna. “What happened to that brilliant murder suicide strategy you stormed in with a few hours ago? You know that taking out a boss without approval is a death sentence.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You weren’t thinking at all.” He scowls. “There’s only one way to derail an Authority back door. Walk through the front.”
“Yeah right.”
“I’m serious,” he says, shoving more pasta in his mouth. “The only way to win is to use Marcello’s tactics against him. If he wants an execution, let’s give him one. All we need is permission.”
“For what, a license to kill?” At his solemn nod, I nearly drop my glass. “Have you lost your fuckingmind?”
“Why waste time fighting from the bottom when we can strike from the top?”
“How about because I brokeomertàand talked to the feds?” Getting nothing but a blank stare, I add, “Best case scenario, we’d walk out wearing our balls as neckties.”
“You’re forgetting we have leverage. The Authority doesn’t know Marcello broke the moratorium on Rhode Island. Betrayal of one of their own isn’t a good look. I’d say it’s something they’d go to extreme lengths to silence.”
“Yeah, if we had solid proof. The only thing we have backing up our claim includes payouts made by two shell corporations that are now inmyname. The odds aren’t in our favor.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have this.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen twice, then slides it across the table.
If I wasn’t so fucking relieved at what I see, I’d punch him for the dramatic lead-up. “I thought you said the original files were gone and ‘decades of transactions were erased.’”
He shrugs. “I never said we didn’t have a backup.”
“You sandbagging prick.” It’s a good plan. Likely to backfire, but still good. “So, you think the Authority will forgive our sins if we ensure Marcello pays for his.”
