Page 77 of Tortured Hearts
At least three or four men stand inside the room, with one on the ground. My heart lurches into my throat until I hear a raspy voice from the floor.
“What the fuck did you do?”
It’s Marcello. My shoulders drop, and my muscles relax.
It’s not him. It’s not Gianni.
I’m drowning in such a huge wave of reliefthat I don’t realize he’s speaking at first. Then, I hear the smooth, arrogant sway of his voice, and I’m immediately drawn in, watching as he bends down to be eye-to-eye with Marcello.
But there’s something different, too … something frighteningly cold.
“...Instead of taking matters into my own hands, I took them to Staten Island. So you see, Marcello, there is no ‘next move.’ I’ve already been crowned at the end of the board. Checkmate, bitch.”
When he aims his gun between Marcello’s eyes, I can’t breathe. I’m frozen in a suspended state of shock.
Marcello lowers his head with a raucous laugh. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’ve always had it in me. However, unlike you, I only play games I know I can win. It’s over. You lost.”
There’s a string of violent curses, and I watch horrified as Marcello attempts to commando crawl to the door like a slug on hot asphalt. Gianni doesn’t bother following. He just stands there like the king of the castle. Eventually, his father gives up and slumps against a bookcase. “Anton will kill you for this.”
Who the hell is Anton?
Gianni shrugs. “He can try.”
“You’re weak, Giovanni. You couldn’t take me down alone, so you enlisted help.” He collapses onto his side, his eyes full of resigned hatred. “We may share blood, but we are not the same.”
Flashing a lethal smile, Gianni steps forward and crushes a smoldering cigar under his shoe. “You’re right. I’m so much fucking worse.”
Then, he pulls the trigger—over and over and over. A rising tide of echoed voices envelopes me from behind me, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. All that exists is those five words … and the one that’s been sitting on my tongue.
“Gianni!”
I don’t realize I’ve screamed his name out loud until all five men turn my way. In an instant, Gianni’s icy demeanor turns to rage. We lock eyes, and for a heartbeat, I see Johnny Malone in all his broken, intricate parts, and my body unfreezes. Everything becomes fluid, and I’m rushing toward him when I see him glance over my head and dip his chin. Then, a strong arm hooks around my waist from behind, and I’m pulled off my feet against a hard chest.
“Let me go!” I scream, frantically kicking at the air. “Gianni!”
But he’s lost in a growing sea of chaos. Men flood in from everywhere, guns drawn, only staggering to a halt when the four men in the office with Gianni step forward.
“Everyone stand down,” announces the one with the commanding voice. The way he effortlessly controls the room is so intimidating, even I stop struggling. “What happened here tonight was Authority sanctioned. Marcello was a traitor who betrayed the Five Families and everyone here. As of now, Gianni Marchesi is the new boss of the Marchesi family. Anyone who has a problem with that can step forward now.”
No one does. In fact, one by one, the men kneel, bow their heads, and pledge their allegiance. “Loyalty and honor to Gianni Marchesi.Ciò che il sangue lega, solo la morte spezza.”
I watch, horrified as Gianni steps forward and accepts their oaths with that emotionless mask firmly in place. “Ciò che il sangue lega, solo la morte spezza.”
This wasn’t an escape. It was a planned takeover. This is why he freed me, so he could murder his father and ascend his bloody throne.Thisis his ultimate fuck you.
The bleak nothingness I felt in that tiny room crawls up my spine. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. I swing my arms and legs like out-of-sync helicopter blades, but allit gets me is more constriction and a few Italian curses.
Then, we start moving … deeper into the house, down more and more stairs.
“Gianni!” My lips form his name before my ears hear a sound that’s all too familiar.
Rapid gunfire.
No.
No!
