Chapter Twenty-One
GIANNI
T here’s something about admitting to being in love that makes a man insatiable. I don’t know the science behind it. All I know is the sun’s up, and I haven’t closed my eyes once.
I have Becca on her back, her legs draped over my shoulders as I pump into her slow and languid, denying both of us the frenetic, rough fucking we naturally fall into.
Her nails dig into my forearms in frustration, but I don’t give in.
Maybe it’s an unconscious attempt at diluting the pitch-blackness I infused into her veins.
Hell, maybe it’s an attempt at cleansing my own soul.
Right now, the why doesn’t matter.
For the first time, sex with Becca isn’t about dominating or owning her. It’s about connecting on a level I usually avoid at all cost. It’s about these goddamn emotions she’s forced into me. The ones that both destroyed and saved me.
“Gianni, please…” Becca moans, her legs trembling. “I can’t take this. It’s driving me crazy. ”
My smile is almost as slow as my thrusts. “Say it again.”
Her eyes snap open, then narrow, those innocent pools of blue now tinged with a darkness that has my cock begging for mercy. “I love you, Gianni Marchesi. I love every part of you, the dark, the light, the man…” She bites her lip. “And especially the monster.”
Groaning, I shift all my weight onto one arm and brush those sinful lips with my thumb. “ Ti amo, mia regina del fuoco .”
She holds my stare, her palms coming up to cradle my face. “Say it in English.”
I drive deeper into her, punctuating my words while keeping the agonizingly slow pace. “I love you, my fire queen. Now come for your husband.” Turning my head, I sink my teeth into her leg.
Becca explodes like a charged lightning strike. Her cry splinters in her throat, her muscles contracting around my cock so tightly, I lose all semblance of control. One disjoined thrust has me coming so violently, it feels like I stop breathing for a moment.
“Christ…” I open my eyes to find my head hung low, my chest heaving.
“Gianni? Are you?—?”
Releasing her legs, I claim her mouth in a possessive, passionate kiss. It’s partly because I can’t get enough of her, and partly to derail the path she was going down.
I’m not up for a Dr. Brennan verbal dissection on what just happened.
Especially before dropping yet another bomb on her.
Breaking the kiss, I roll onto my back, taking Becca with me. She lands half on top of me, her head resting on my shoulder and her leg slung low on my waist. I bend my arm, supporting her back while leaving my fingers free to drag lazily through her messy hair.
“Fair enough.” She chuckles softly while tracing all the tattoos and silver scars painting my chest.
It feels so normal that I almost change my mind in what I’m about to do. But, all bubbles burst, sooner or later. I might as well be at the control of the destruction.
“You know everything I do is to protect you, right?”
She tips her head back and stares up at me. “Why? What’s going on?”
We’re interrupted by the shrill ring of my phone. Becca’s eyes drift past me to the nightstand, her lips thinning into a tight line.
“Ignore it,” I tell her.
But the more I talk over it, the louder it seems to get.
Disentangling herself with a sigh, she rolls onto her back and tugs the sheet up to her chin. “You might as well answer it. He’s just going to keep calling.”
I wish I could say she’s wrong, but once again, Becca proves she’s much more deeply in tune with this life than I thought. Besides, I’ve left the man boiling in his own pot of water long enough.
I drag my phone off the nightstand and answer seconds before it kicks into voicemail. “You’re up early, Benny. What’s wrong? Prostate not what it used to be?”
“How generous of you to finally pick up your fucking phone.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So I hear. Seems a lot has transpired since our last conversation.”
“Maybe,” I say, my gaze shifting as Becca props up onto her elbow and drills those inquisitive blue eyes into the side of my face. “What have you heard?”
“Don’t play games with me.” He lets out a low, foreboding laugh that scrapes my nerves the wrong way. “I can rip that crown off your head just as fast as I put it there. Then who’ll protect that pretty wife of yours?”
I grind my teeth. “That’d be a bad decision, Benito.”
“Think so?”
“Try me.”
This time, his laugh is richer, with a hint of deluded pride I couldn’t give a patriarchal fuck about.
“That’s why I gave you a second chance, Gianni.
It takes balls to stand up to me. I respect that.
But that respect has a ceiling you don’t want to break.
You’re one down-turned thumb away from a bullet, so I suggest thinking twice before avoiding me again. ”
Two direct threats in less than twenty seconds. It seems I have ruffled some wilted feathers.
While I want nothing more than to tell him where to shove his fucking respect, the deal I made for Becca’s hand left a rope over her head. Until Dagger is dead and Toscano’s leverage is gone, I have to bite my tongue and play the long game.
“What do you want?” I demand crisply.
“I’ve been made aware of some updates concerning our lingering Providence threads.”
I’m sure he has. The open-ended statement is a nice touch and obvious power move. However, if he thinks I’m going to offer information I’m not sure he has, he can fuck off.
So, I play it safe.
“We’re confident Marcello’s Irish bestie was driving the car that hit Becca and her bodyguard.”
“And you know this … how ?”
Hearing her name mentioned draws Becca closer, only for her to jump back as another high-pitched ring erupts from the other side of the room. Toscano’s clipped voice fades into the background as I watch her leap off the bed, dig through her purse, and pull out her cell phone.
“Hello?” she whispers, her eyebrows bunched in confusion.
She’s not the only one. Who the hell is calling her? Only four people have access to that number, and one is in this room. The other three value their balls too much to dial it.
Becca swipes my button-up from the floor, trapping the phone between her chin and her shoulder as she slips it on. Avoiding my stare, she hurries out of the bedroom, leaving me even more pissed off at a man who could murder me twenty different ways before noon.
“Marchesi? Are you listening to me?”
I return to the one-man conversation Toscano has been having with himself. “Becca saw his face before impact. She recognized him as the man who murdered her mother.”
“Do we have a name?”
I wouldn’t tell him even if I did, not with a potential connection to Carmine in play.
“Not yet.”
There’s a heavy pause, and then, “Well, find it. You have eighty-two hours.”
That’s oddly specific.
“What happens in eighty-two hours?”
“An Authority meeting in Staten Island. Bring me this Irish coglione’s head, or the sand runs out in your wife’s hourglass. Oh, and, Gianni…” he adds, his smug tone causing my fingers to grip the phone so tight, I half expect it to crack. “Give my condolences to the chief’s daughter.”
The bullet hits its target. I hurl my phone across the room, my vision turning black as it slams into the wall and shatters onto the floor. “God fucking damn it.”
But my rage hits a brick wall when the door opens, and Becca appears, her face a pale, ashen gray. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just leans against the door frame in a wide-eyed daze.
“Becca?” When she doesn’t answer, I grab my pants from the floor and pull them on, Toscano and his countdown becoming a distant memory. “What’s wrong? Who was on the phone?”
She looks up at me, her breath uneven. “It was the police.”
“How the fuck did they get your number?”
“They mentioned something about hospital records.” A slow blink brings the focus back into her eyes. “I don’t know, Gianni, it all happened so fast.”
I palm the back of my neck to stop myself from punching the wall. Those line-crossing pieces of shit broke protocol and went through private medical files. I’m going to have their badges and their fucking heads. “What did they want?”
“They want me to come down to the station to give a statement about my father.”
I stiffen, my fingers sinking deep into my skin. “What?”
“They know I was the last one to see him alive. Witnesses in Hackensack told them…” She shakes her head and scrubs her hands down her face. “It doesn’t matter. They want me to come to the station now.”
I storm into the bathroom, the hand on my neck threading through my hair. “Absolutely not.”
Becca follows me, the open flow of her shirt taking the edge off my anger. “Gianni, if I don’t go, it looks like we’re hiding something.”
“We are,” I snap, stalking toward the shower.
“Which is even more reason to go.” She slides in front of me, stopping me with a hand on my chest. “It’s just a formality.
I’m not being charged with anything. If that was their goal, they wouldn’t have called and given us time to align our stories.
They would’ve shown up here with handcuffs and a warrant. ”
I scowl. I hate when she uses logic to prove me wrong. “I’m going with you.”
Her shoulders sag. “You have your meeting with Anton. Besides, after avoiding Toscano, he’ll be watching you. Let me do this quietly and put it to rest.”
I don’t like it, but she’s right. Ignoring her father’s murder will only shine a brighter spotlight on both of us. As long as she gives a statement, then gets the fuck out, there shouldn’t be a problem. Of course, I didn’t think there’d be a problem with her father, either.
“I’ll stick by Taz the whole time,” she promises. “I’ll even take more men with me. Although, it might raise more flags and cause more eyes?—”
Sinking my hands into her hair, I crush my lips against hers. “Fine,” I mutter. “You made your point. Are you sure you’re a psychiatrist and not a lawyer?”
She smiles, but there’s an edge of sadness to it. Killing Liam may have doused the flame of her pain, but the embers still burn. They will for a long time. I hate that I can't stomp them out.
Unfortunately, the only thing that’ll do that is time.
“What were you going to tell me before Toscano called?” When I don’t answer, she pulls away, her expression hardening. “Gianni, answer me. Do you know something I don’t?”
I sigh. Damn it. I didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “I spoke to Valentin Carrera.”
“Carrera,” she sputters. “As in the ‘Mexican cartel’ Carreras?”
I nod. “Valentin is the kingpin’s son. Let’s just say we discovered we have a shared lack of appreciation for our fathers’ business practices.”
Her jaw tightens. “Tell me what he said.”
I run my fingers down her arm, my thumb stopping at her wrist. “The rose and dagger is a brand our fathers used to mark their merchandise.” There’s no use in cushioning the blow.
She knows the reality of what her father took part in.
It doesn’ t matter if he was an active or passive participant. Open eyes led to stained hands.
Becca rears back as if I’ve slapped her. “So, it was never a Rogue tattoo?”
“Apparently, they gave the women crude, black-inked versions, but it all identified their human enterprise. Some traffickers label women with barcodes. My father was a showman.”
“What does that mean?” Her eyes widen, the truth setting in. “Was your father going to sell me, Gianni?”
I want to give her a diluted answer. One that softens the truth’s ugly, jagged edges. But then, I’d be no better than her father. So, I swing the blade with one word.
“Yes.”
I wait for the devastation that never comes.
Instead, Becca’s arms stiffen at her sides. “Did he tell you anything about Dagger?”
“His name is Declan Flynn. He’s a low-level Rogue reject Alejandro Carrera introduced to my father. Anton is running several background checks on him right now. It’s only a matter of time until we find him.”
“What if we don’t?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest in what I now recognize as a protective move.
“We will.” Which is the absolute fucking understatement of the year. “He’s already tipped his hand too low. Besides, it’s you and me against the world, remember?”
She’s quiet for a moment, then her eyebrows furrow. “Do you think any of those girls are still alive? The ones my father heard in that crate?”
I wish I could tell her yes. But the truth is the ones who died en route were the lucky ones. The ones who made it to their final destination earned a much worse fate.
“I hope not, cara mia ,” I tell her, crushing her to my chest. “I really fucking hope not.”