Chapter Twenty-Two
BECCA
I ’m inches away from opening the door of the Montclair Police Station when a heavy breath on my neck has me spinning around. “What are you doing?”
Taz slams his feet into the concrete to keep from barreling into me. “My job.”
I point to the obvious holster under his jacket. “You can’t walk into a police station with an unregistered loaded gun strapped to your waist.”
“Who says it’s unregistered?”
I tilt my head and give him a flat stare.
“Fine, it’s unregistered,” he grumbles, his sunglasses hiding the hardened glare I know lies behind them. “That doesn’t change the fact you’re not going in there alone. I have orders.”
My frustrated sigh bounces off that stony exterior. “You don’t trust me, do you? ”
“Should I? Because from what I hear, that didn’t end well for your last bodyguard.”
I flinch, a moment of vulnerability seeping through. “The last thing you have to worry about is me ditching you to pull some half-baked heroine act. I’m not looking to tempt fate any more than I already have.”
“Good to hear.”
I groan. “I’m trying to keep Gianni off the police’s radar, not shine a spotlight on him. No offense, but the illegal weapon aside, how will it look to have a scary-looking criminal hovering over the new mob boss’s wife?”
He stares over my head, as if he’s somehow seeing through the door, cataloguing every inch of the building.
After a few silent seconds, he exhales a defeated breath.
“I need your word that the moment you’re done, you’ll come out this door…
” He jabs a finger behind me, then drills it toward the concrete. “And meet me right here.”
I grin. “You got it.”
“I’m serious, Mrs. Marchesi—one way in, one way out. If anyone tries to prevent that, you scream.”
“Why cause a scene when you can follow the tracker my husband has on me?” I tap my nail against the face of my watch with a wink and walk inside.
The moment I enter the interrogation room, four narrowed eyes raise my defenses. I try to tell myself it’s just an intimidation tactic, but the cop’s daughter in me knows better.
Something’s very wrong.
Straightening my shoulders, I take a seat across the table from them. “Gentlemen.”
I expect them to swoop in like vultures on a fresh kill.
Instead, they say nothing, which sets me even more on edge.
I wonder if this is how my patients felt—watched, analyzed, dissected.
It’s intimidating being on this side of the equation.
I now see how stripped down and vulnerable that silent stare across the table makes a person feel.
Now I know why Gianni always flipped the playing card.
Speaking of which…
I shove my hand in my pocket and press my fingers against the smooth laminate finish of what’s become an irrationally calming force. “I’m pretty sure this works better without dead silence and uncomfortable staring.”
The thinner man’s beady gaze sharpens. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s making you so nervous, Mrs. Marchesi.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Why would I?”
Ah, the good old “answering a question with a question” routine. I don’t want to laugh in his face, but using Socratic questioning to intimidate a psychiatrist is like trying to drown a fish in a pond.
“I don’t know,” I say, dragging the crisp playing card from my pocket and flipping it between my fingers. “Ever have your whole family murdered? It makes you somewhat jumpy.”
“That’s a rather blasé attitude to take about your father’s death.”
I shrug. “What reaction fits the box you’d most prefer me in, Detective?”
“Actually, it’s Agent,” he says coolly. “Special Agent Lattimore, to be exact.” He gestures to his rounder, less congenial counterpart. “And this is Special Agent Gibbs.”
My stomach lurches. Shit. I know those names. Gianni was right. This was a trap.
Swallowing, I give them a deadpan look I pray doesn’t give away my bubbling panic. “I came here to give a statement about my father’s murder, not to be ambushed by two federal agents with a vendetta.”
Agent Gibbs jabs a finger across the table. “Listen, you?—”
“So, in the spirit of one of us sticking to our word, here it is… My father came to visit me four days ago. We went to dinner, then parted ways. The next thing I know, I’m getting a call from Bushkill PD informing me he’s dead. End of quote.”
The room falls silent. If these two idiots weren’t so manipulative, I might feel a twinge of guilt at using reverse psychology against them. However, considering how badly they fumbled Gianni’s case, it’s satisfying to watch the upper hand slide off their fingers.
Agent Lattimore clears his throat. “That’s forthcoming.”
“Yeah, well, somebody has to do your job.”
Agent Gibbs opens his mouth to hurl another round of insults when his partner cuts him off. “You appear to be picking up a few of your husband’s bad habits,” Lattimore mutters, his attention no longer on my face. “Although, that’s one I’d advise against.”
I glance down to the card trapped between my thumb and forefinger.
In the dark time between searching for my father’s murderer and becoming one, something shifted in me.
I sat on that window seat staring at the ace of spades, searching for the strength it used to give me.
But the harder I stared, the more it felt like I was holding on to a life that was no longer mine.
So I lit a match and watched it burn, then replaced it with a new identity…
The queen of hearts.
“It’s not a habit, Agent. It’s a warning.”
“Of what?”
“That one bent card can bring down the whole house.”
“Strange choice of words.” He opens the folder in front of him and spins it around.
“Considering a playing card was found at the scene of your father’s murder.
” My gaze falls to the crime scene photo of the charred land where a quaint log cabin once stood.
On the other side, lies a zoomed-in close up of what appears to be the remnants of an ace of spades. “Don’t tell us you didn’t know.”
The card stills between my index and middle fingers, my nervous laughter cut short when he arches an eyebrow. “Do you really think he’d be that obtuse?”
Gibbs takes over with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“We both know that’s not true. The cards left at the Providence crime scenes were all planted by men who worked for his father.
” I offer a brittle smile. “Coincidentally, one of those traitorous men carried a government badge. Seems to me an FBI agent is the last person who should throw moral stones.”
I don’t back down from their glares. This isn’t about right and wrong or law and order. It’s about pride. They’re desperate to keep their foot on Gianni’s neck because he made them look like incompetent fools.
“If you want to protect your murderous husband, then fine. You leave us no choice.” Gibbs leaps to his feet and snatches the folder, the lines around his mouth sinking deeper the more papers he flips. Finally, he turns it around and slams it onto the table. “Recognize this?”
I cast a cautious glance at the folder. “So?”
“ So ?” he repeats, his temper beginning to crack.
“This is a CCTV-captured photo of you and George Reese walking into Cucciola’s Trattoria in Hackensack.
” He pushes the photo to the side, revealing a second one.
“And this is you and Leo Castellini leaving the same restaurant fifty-one minutes later.”
“Which is exactly what I told you happened. I’m not sure what this is supposed?—”
“Less than twenty-four hours later, both men are dead, and you’re in the hospital. That makes you the last person to see either of them alive.”
“What are you saying, Agent?”
“We want your father’s killer brought to justice,” Lattimore says matter-of-factly. “You can either help us do that or go down with him.”
“What you mean is you want Gianni brought to justice,” I snap. “You don’t care about guilt or innocence as long as Uncle Sam gives you a pat on the back, right?”
Gibbs responds to his partner’s side-eye with a tight nod that causes a shift in demeanor I don’t like—as if the page flipped to a hidden epilogue.
“What do you know about Liam Callahan?”
All the oxygen leaves my body. I fight to recover, but it’s too late. I feel my panic sweeping outward, staining my face with guilt. “I-I don’t know who that is.”
“That’s interesting. Don’t you find that interesting, Mike?”
“I do, Ted,” Gibbs drawls. “Especially since we weren’t the ones who connected him to your father’s murder. We simply followed the trail of breadcrumbs left by your husband’s men.” His lips curve into a smug smile. “How generous of them.”
I’m not sure if they truly know of Liam's fate, or if they’re throwing out a hook to see if I’ll bite. That’s the reason I’m here. Gianni has played their game before. He knows when he’s backed into a corner versus being herded toward a dead end.
They’re counting on me being an unknowing accessory to murder, not a willing participant.
“If the point of this is to stroke each other’s dicks, I can step out of the room.”
“The point is Callahan is missing,” Lattimore presses.
“I’m not sure how that involves me.”
“Because he has direct ties to Providence.”
I shrug. “Providence is a big city.”
“True,” he agrees, sliding his fingers across the edge of the table as if building up to his own crescendo.
“Big enough for the cartel to run a shipping ring through its port. Your husband didn’t seem to know anything about that when we questioned him.
How about you, Mrs. Marchesi? Do you know anything? ”
It’s a fishing expedition. If they knew anything about the trafficking ring or its ties to me or Gianni, they’d chase federal clout and pin it on us.
“I’m not sure why you’d think I would.”
He leans close, his stance like that of a starved coyote moments before sinking its fangs into a cornered deer. “Because you’re part of the trifecta connected to the man at the helm.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “What man?”