Page 6 of Tortured Hearts
That’s why Owen’s nuts are in such a twist to leave Providence tonight.
Because of me, the “Deadpan Don” had hisown ass mounted to the wall for once. I grabbed the brass ring and handed my father to the FBI on a silver platter. But they fucking dropped it, and now, we’re screwed. A Marchesi doesn’t forgive, and he certainly doesn’t forget. He tortures and gets even. Now that I know who’sreally been running Providence, the risks have tripled. For me, for Owen, for Henry, andespeciallyfor Becca.
“Gianni…” The sound of my name drags me out of the past, planting my feet back on the asphalt. “You’re a ticking time bomb.” The corners of Henry’s mouth creases with frustration. “The longer you stick around delaying the inevitable, the more leverage you’re giving him. He targeted one woman to get your attention. Don’t think he won’t play the same card twice.”
The hatred rushing through my veins stills. Myfather orchestrated Victoria’s murder because I refused to play by his rules. His counterattack toward Becca won’t be as merciful. He’ll torture her until she begs for death, then gift wrap and hand-deliver what’s left.
“Fine,” I relent. “Let’s go.”
But just as I turn to reach for the door handle, Henry snatches the keys out of my hand. “I’m driving,” he announces, slipping in front of me and opening the driver’s side door.
In one wide step, we’re chest to chest, my hands clenched by my side to keep from wrapping one around his neck. “The hell you are.”
He meets my hardened stare. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is my job. So will you please let me do it instead of going off half-cocked and getting us both killed?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before ducking his head and sliding behind the wheel.
Once we get where we’re going, I’m going to throat punch this bastard.
Glaring at him, I round the hood and yank the passenger side door open. “You’re a fucking dick, you know that?”
He starts the ignition, his focus never leaving the windshield. “About time you noticed.”
I’ve never been one for pointless conversation, but ten minutes is a long stretch of silence, especially when riding shotgun in your own car. Every thirty seconds, or so, I side eye Henry to see if he’s blinked, but it’s like he froze the moment we left the docks.
Leaning toward the dashboard, I crank up the volume on the radio. “So, where is he meeting us?”
He turns it back down, his starecemented on the windshield. “Who?”
“Owen,” I say, reaching for the dial again.That gets his attention.He glances at me, irritation flaring in his eyes as I turn it up as loud as it’ll go. “I assume he arranged a meetup for all of us.”
Henry is quiet for a moment, returning his hand to the wheel and attention to the road. “Don’t worry about it. Just know it’s far away from Providence.”
Anytime someone tells you not to worry about something, it should be theonlydamn thing you worry about. I’m not a man who settles for vague, half-assed answers. However, I’m also not a man who yells “fire” until I’ve seen the flames for myself.
Provided I’m not the one who lit the match.
I’m sifting through hours of conversations for something to debunk this growing unease, when I hear a wail that reignites the pounding in my chest.Sirens.My head snaps up in time to catch the flashing red lights of three firetrucks as they speed past us.
“What the hell?” Henry murmurs.
My blood runs cold. Four months fade away, and I’m right there again. I taste the ash in the air. I smell the lingering stench of smoke and ammonia. I see the crime scene tape outline. Then, I’m dragged away from that destroyed street corner and slammed back inside the car.
That’s when I know what’s felt “off” all day.
“Turn the car around.”
Henry lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
“I’m serious, Starling. Turn around and follow those trucks.”
“What the…?” He stares at me for a beat before shaking his head. “On second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want toknow.”
“Henry—”
“Forget it.” He holds his hand up. “I’m not chasing firetrucks back to a place I’m busting my ass to get you away from.”
“Then let me put it another way.” Drawing my gun, I shove the muzzle against his temple. “Turn the fucking car around, or I’ll pull this trigger and do it myself.”
All the color drains from his face. “Threatening a U.S. Marshal is a death sentence.”
