Chapter Nineteen
GIANNI
I walk into the bedroom and find Becca in the same position I left her in six hours ago. Well, thirty-nine hours ago, if I allow for the nightmare-infused sleep, courtesy of a cup of narcotic-laced hot tea. Not my proudest moment, but I didn’t know what else to do.
She hasn’t spoken a word since I broke the news to her about Reese.
She just sits in the bay window of our bedroom with her knees tucked to her chest, staring blankly through the glass.
A drastic one-eighty from the hysterical woman who caused ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage to our living room within seconds of hearing the filtered details of her father’s fate.
It’s a moment permanently carved into the darkest part of my soul.
The hope on her face when I walked through the door almost killed me. She knew Sera had stopped by the club, and it was clear she thought it’d worked—that I’d come home to kick down the last remaining bricks between us.
God, how I wished that were true.
Instead, I had to tell her how Paulie arrived in the Pennsylvania mountains to find Hooper’s cabin burned to the ground.
Reese was right to choose it. It was secluded, so much so that there was no one around to call the fire department.
The fact Paulie found the charred remains of Providence’s police chief lying facedown, away from the door tells me a bullet to the back of the head took him out long before a single flame touched him.
A consolation Becca didn’t find comforting.
I’ll never stop hearing her gut-wrenching scream in my head. Then, I felt the woman I know disintegrate in my arms as rage took over. I watched the guilt settle onto her shoulders, a bitter load that drives a person to do things and become things they never thought possible.
“I’ll make them pay, cara mia,” was the vow I whispered against her tear-stained face.
And like I’ve always told her—I keep my promises.
“If a cup of tea is in your hand, you can turn around and walk right back out,” she says, still facing the glass. “I don’t fall for the same trick twice.”
I’m not fond of her tone, but at least she’s talking. I’ll take what I can get.
“No, I’ve come bearing other gifts.”
“Not interested.”
“Becca…”
She snaps her head over her shoulder, the dark circles under her eyes a stark contrast against her pale skin and tangled blonde hair. “I don’t want a present, Gianni. I want my father back. Unless you can wrap that up with a pretty red bow, please leave me alone.”
No, but I can do the next best thing.
“Would you settle for a monster in chains?”
A spark ignites her blank stare. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Maybe.” I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the doorframe. “If what you think I’m saying is that I have the man who killed your father strung up like a pair of cheap Christmas lights, then, yeah. I guess I am.”
“Don’t lie to me, Gianni,” she says softly, her fingers gripping the edge of the window seat so hard her arm is shaking.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
At least, not anymore.
It’s as if the weight on her shoulders triples, driving them forward and her legs flat. She struggles to catch a full breath, the color that’s been missing for two days flooding her cheeks. “How?”
I shrug. “Small towns have their advantages … like locals who know who belongs in them and who doesn’t. When they see something or someone they don’t recognize, they take matters into their own hands.”
“The residents caught him?”
“Not exactly. They did what every tech-obsessed American does these days. They filmed him. Turns out a man driving a car with Rhode Island plates who stops to fill up a two-gallon can of gasoline raises a few red flags. Paulie asked around and finessed a young girl into sending him a video she’d taken. ”
“Is it … him ?”
She means Flynn, the man whose blood I promised would spill at her feet. My hatred for that bastard grows deeper each day it’s not fulfilled. I haven’t told her about my call with Carrera. Since dropping the news of her father’s death on her, there hasn’t been time.
That changes tonight.
“No. The coward sent someone to do his dirty work for him. However, it seems the hired muscle didn’t have the forethought of his benefactor. The shit-for-brains drove his own car to the scene of the crime.”
She stares at me, not a hint of emotion on her face. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to do what I promised, Doc. I’m going to make him pay, slowly and painfully, until he begs for death.”
Only then do I see a flicker of life in her eyes. “I want to watch.”
I stiffen, her words drilling into the darkest part of my mind. It’s a “no-turning-back” decision. As my wife, Becca’s hands will never be clean, but I never wanted them dripping with blood. However, the thought of sharing this part of me with her…
Fuck, it does something to me.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
The room crackles with tension as she swings her legs around and slams her bare feet on the floor. “Don’t tell me what I want. You’re not the one who sent her father off to slaughter.”
“No. I’m the one who murdered his girlfriend, remember?”
Not the response either of us expected, but damn it, I need her to understand what she’s asking. This isn’t a movie she can walk away from when the credits roll.
“It’s not your decision,” she hisses, stomping past me toward the bathroom.
I grab her arm and spin her toward me. “You don’t know what you’re asking because the man you’d see carrying out his promise is someone you can never erase from your memory. You’ve never seen the real me, Becca.”
“I watched you shoot your father in cold blood.”
I laugh, my lip curling into a dark smile. “That was a level-two kill. Torch operates at a ten.”
She lifts her chin, displaying that proud confidence that sent me spiraling those first few weeks in Providence. “I can handle it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you’re scared that I can?”
My fingers sink deep into her skin, and I pull her so close we’re sharing the same breath. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nobody’s ever understood you, have they, Gianni?
” she says, sweeping her tongue across the bottom of her teeth in a way that has my dick paying immediate attention.
“The lonely boy who became a tortured man. You’ve built walls all your life because you believed your own lies.
You may think waving that gun around and firing bullets makes you a badass, but you’re kidding yourself. ”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Because letting anyone see the real you—the one hiding behind all those flames—would take courage you aren’t sure you have.”
I should’ve known she’d try pulling some reverse psychology bullshit. It’s been a staple in her repertoire since day one. “Watch it, Becca.”
“What if they hate what they see?” she presses, ignoring the warning. “Then there’d be no way to heal that scar, would there?”
Fuck it. I tried.
Driving my other hand through her hair, I wind the matted strands around my fingers and pull, forcing her head back and her eyes on me. “You want to watch, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Becca flinches as the steel door slams closed behind her. “What is this place?”
“Officially? An old meatpacking warehouse,” I tell her, the ghosts that live inside these walls already coming out to play. “Unofficially? Henry Saddler’s final resting place.”
Her sneakers squeak across the concrete as she stumbles. I take her arm, keeping her balanced as she sucks in air. “His body is here?”
I shrug. “More or less, mostly less.”
“Holy shit .”
“We call it the Chop House for a reason.” I gesture at her feet where scattered drops of blood form a trail that leads into the heart of my concrete fortress.
She looks up, her pupils dilating to adjust to the dim light. “Isn’t that dangerous? I mean, isn’t there stuff that can detect blood residue even after?—?”
“Luminol,” I say, cutting her off, because this wide-eyed, nervous shit is getting my dick too hard. “Makes even the best clean-up job glow like a firefly’s asshole. You’re very astute, beloved. Normally, we line the floor with tarps, but we won’t be needing them tonight.”
“Why?”
I smile, anticipation boiling in my veins. “It’s a surprise.”
We walk a little further until the sound of a low groan and the faint rattle of chains stops Becca cold. “Gianni…”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, dropping my lips to her temple. “You can turn around and walk back to the car and nothing will change between us. I promised you revenge, and I’ll deliver. This isn’t your fight.”
“Yes, it is,” she insists. “It’s my father he killed … my family he destroyed. I want him to look a Reese in the ey e when he meets the same fate.”
The husband in me wants to protect her from the inescapable darkness she’s about to step into. But the born sinner in me, that soulless bastard salivates at the thought of his demons kneeling before their callous queen.
“Then that’s what you’ll have.” Taking her hand, I entwine our fingers and lead her down the wide corridor, pausing as it opens into the belly of the beast … and the main event.
Becca gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in a delayed attempt at muffling it. I don’t react, letting her take a few unsteady steps and absorb the moment in all its fucked-up glory.
The two sets of handcuffs clamped around each of Liam Callahan’s wrists attach to grade 120 alloy chains that hook to two overhead steel bars. Excellent for heavy-duty lifting of cargo or an Irish delinquent who fucked with the wrong Italian.
I’m not complaining. It gives me a wider canvas on which to work, and by the looks of him, Anton and his trusted few started without me.