Chapter Seventeen
BECCA
B obby’s note sits in the middle of the table like a thrown grenade.
“Where did you get that?” I ask, trying for an unbothered tone that overshoots its mark.
Gianni gives me a flat stare. “Stuffed in the pocket of your jeans. You know, the ones the hospital had to cut off you due to them being covered in blood and gasoline?”
“You had no right to go behind my back.”
“That’s an incredibly large stone you’re throwing there, beloved.
After all, you can imagine the thoughts that ran through my ‘fucked-up head’ when I saw a written offer for assistance should my wife ever make the not-at-all-suicidal decision to run from the mob.
So, tell me, what did you and Bobby Sartorre discuss that led to that? ”
I twist my hands in my lap. “Nothing much. He was nice … until he realized who I was.”
I wait for the lid to blow on his composure.
Instead, he leaves me wobbling on a tightrope as he takes a long, leisurely drink, his only reaction coming from the white-knuckled grip on his glass.
“A pleasant experience, isn’t it? Kind of like skipping barefoot across a field of broken glass.
Did he provide all the answers you wanted? ”
More like created a dozen more questions.
“Not really. He seemed rattled. You know, considering I bear an uncanny resemblance to his late niece, Victoria.” I watch for the slightest twinge of tension or alarm, only to get stonewalled with that same blank stare as he calmly sips his drink.
“Why are you and Anton so concerned with your dead girlfriend’s uncle? ”
“My business with Sartorre has nothing to do with Victoria.” At my simultaneous brow lift and chin dip, he sighs.
“Okay, it does, but in a six-degrees of separation type of way. There’s too much backstory to explain, half of which I still question.
But the short and long of it is, Anton found a loophole in Sartorre’s rage and crawled through it.
Seems the chance to nail Marcello to his inverted cross overpowered his grudge against me. ”
“Are you saying he’s been helping you?”
“More so Anton than me, but yes, in a hostile, pain-in-the-ass kind of way. But you’re deflecting.” He taps the paper with his finger. “The note, Doc.”
“I’m not deflecting. I’m not looking for a way out, Gianni. I’m trying to understand why a man who’s working with you and not against you would warn me that ‘the Marchesis are a cancer who’ll take everything from me, then when I’m no longer useful, destroy what’s left.’”
“Because I owe a blood debt to his family that he’s worried you’ ll end up paying.”
“You won’t let that happen.”
The glass pauses at his lips. “You sound awfully confident for a woman who had to be pried out of her car by the jaws of life.”
For once, I have nothing to say. He’s right, and I hate the cloud that settles over me.
“Speaking of which,” he says, drawing my eyes back on him. “I have a question about the accident, if you’re up for it.”
“Will it help find the guy who did it?”
“Possibly.”
“Then, okay.”
I watch as he downs what little whiskey remains in his glass and sets it on the table. “Are you sure it was the same man who killed your mother?”
“Of course. Why? Do you not believe me?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that something’s off,” he says, his forehead creasing. “Like how did he find your location so accurately? Why that stretch of the highway? Why that moment? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. But I swear to you, Gianni. It’s him.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see him earlier?”
“No. The only people in the restaurant were an elderly couple and…” I pause, the grumpy man in the corner crowding his way into my mind. “A man sitting by himself in a far corner booth. He had his back to us, so I didn’t pay attention.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
“Only that he radiated hostility … and that he was wearing a brown Carhartt-type jacket and a trucker hat…” That ugly green cap flashes through my mind, along with the strands of greasy hair sticking out the bottom … and my blood runs cold. “It was him.”
“Are you sure?”
“He had red hair sticking out from under his hat and…” I swallow, unsure if I’m going to black out or vomit. “He made me uncomfortable. Like that feeling that crawls up your back and you don’t know why. Now I know.”
“The son of a bitch has been right under our noses the whole time,” Gianni says darkly. “He’s been watching and taunting us like mice.”
“Are you saying he followed me there?”
He nods. “And waited for you to leave.”
“Why not attack on the way there? Why wait?”
“Because he’s a sadistic fuck. As one, I can tell you, I’d seize the opportunity for intel. He probably figured once Reese got you away from me, you’d tell him something useful.”
I freeze, his flippant delivery taking a sharp turn through my chest. Oh, God. He heard me telling my father to leave Providence, which means he also heard his destination. “You have to get someone to check on my dad,” I plead, panic rising in my throat. “Please, I’m begging you.”
He must see something in my eyes that registers because he doesn’t hesitate. Without a word, he pulls his phone from his pocket, his fingers flying over the keypad as he types. “I’ll have Paulie there in a couple of hours.”
His quick action and calm assurance eases my panic, but there’s still a part of me that’s tired of relying on other people to fight my battles for me.
“You want to stop being a victim? Start thinking like a predator. If you don’t, you’ll never live a moment of peace.”
As my father’s warning filters through my head, I lower my hands into my lap.
I hadn’t planned on this. My promise was a placating white lie delivered with crossed fingers and good intentions.
But weights keep crashing onto my shoulders, leaving me all but crawling on my hands and knees. “I want a gun.”
Gianni’s manic typing comes to a dead stop, and he tilts his chin toward me. “Have you ever shot one before?”
“I’m a cop’s daughter. What do you think?”
He’s silent for a moment, and I prepare myself for another rejection only for him to jerk out a curt nod. “I’ll get you a gun and teach you to shoot on one condition.”
“Gianni, I just said I know how to?—”
His eyes flash. “Firing a bullet at a paper silhouette and firing one at a human are two very different things, Becca. That silhouette isn’t fucking shooting back.”
I’m not winning this battle. Besides, he’s not wrong. Not one of those dead center shots I landed at the shooting range came from a life-or-death situation. It was an ego trip that ended with a selfie next to my “murdered” silhouette.
“Fine. What’s the condition?”
“That you promise there’ll be no more unauthorized field trips. I’m too young for a heart attack, Doc.”
His expression is so unguardedly earnest that my arms slump by my side. “I promise.”
“Good.” Standing, he slides his phone into his pocket. “I’ll be working late tonight, so don’t wait up. Taz will drive you home.”
Frustration has me leaping to my feet. I know I should shut up and take the win, but I seem to have left the ability to do so back in Providence. “After all that, you’re still avoiding me.”
“No, cara mia ,” he says, closing the distance between us. “I’m trying to destroy all your monsters.”
I know what he’s doing. Gianni is a master at shifting anger with raw sexuality. I try to fight it, but the moment his hands settle on my hips, the addictive scent of sin and spice slashes holes in my resolve.
I tip my head back and stare up at him. “You’re playing dirty.”
“I don’t hear you complaining.”
Arrogant bastard.
I shove my palms against his chest, only for him to retaliate by tightening his grip and walking me backward until I hit the wall.
Releasing one hand from my hip, he drags it up my ribcage and wraps his fingers around my neck, his thumb tilting my chin up. “What do you need to hear me say to calm this tempest, Becca?”
The three words I know he never will—at least when he thinks I’m conscious.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“I prayed for you, Becca,” he stresses again. “Do you understand what that means? I prayed for you.”
Damn him. Just when I think I have this man figured out, he opens a vein and bleeds sentimentality I didn’t think he possessed. Either I’ve shattered more walls, or he’s learned new ways to manipulate me. I choose to believe the former.
Because the way he says, I prayed for you … Maybe those four words mean more than the other three ever could.
“Yes,” I say softly, groaning as he drops slow kisses down my neck. “I think so.”
His throaty growl vibrates across my chin as he drags the kiss to my lips, claiming them with fiery possession.
Then, the door swings open, and a throat clears. “Boss…?”
I open my eyes, my cheeks heating. But Gianni couldn’t give less of a shit.
“Out,” he commands.
“Boss, the liquor guy is downstairs.”
Gianni curses under his breath. “Fucker was just here last week. This asshole’s palm is getting a little too itchy.” He gives me one last kiss, then steps back, his shields coming down in full boss mode. “Have Taz take you home. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
I watch him leave, waiting until the door closes before I slump against the wall, that unsettled feeling from earlier clawing at me. It’s only when I lower my chin that I see it.
Red.
My feet are red.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the burning behind them forcing its way out.
Like Gianni, God and I don’t see eye to eye.
What all powerful being does nothing while one of his own creations forces an innocent child to watch him mutilate her mother?
I decided long ago, if that was God’s idea of love, I’d respectfully decline.
But as the tears spill down my cheeks, I stand before that same God … and pray.
For my father’s safety. For Leo’s soul. For Gianni’s peace.
For the little girl with red feet who wanted the monsters to go away.
And for the woman who, twenty-two years later, still prays the same.