Page 59 of Tortured Hearts
Henry’s words explode inside my head like a grenade.
“That was Dice,” I say, my voice dangerously calm.
His bloody smile turns vicious. “Was it? Then why do I know Dr. Brennan was attacked on the fourth level of the parking garage, or that she was wearing spandex leggings and a lime green shirt?”
“Impossible.” Ignoring Anton’s stiffening frame, I stalk toward Henry, a volcano of barely restrained rage. “Becca ripped her attacker’s mask. She saw his…”My control slips as I stare at the matted strands hanging in his eyes.
Red hair.
Time reverses, and I’m back in Becca’s office, the blackened heart she’d resurrected bleeding at the sight of her battered face and vacant eyes.
“Tell me what this man looked like.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Even if I do, what does it matter? Who’s going to believe me?”
“I will.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Then pretty soon you’ll have me convinced there was no attack. That these bruises aren’t real. That I didn’t see his red hair, or that damn rose and dagger tattoo on his chest.”
I’d heard “red hair” and took my vengeance on the only man I thought capable of such a violent attack—the Irishman from the docks, a Rogue message meant for me and the chief. Only the Rogue doesn’t exist anymore. The only thing operating in Providence is an extension of my father’s greed.
“You’re lying,” I accuse, but my conviction in those words is weakening faster than Henry’s pulse. “Becca saw a rose and daggertattoo on her attacker’s chest.”
“Yeah,” he taunts. “She did.”
The warehouse falls deathly silent as I lower my gaze from Henry’s face to the tattoo peeking from the open two buttons of his shirt. The moment I jerk the material to the side, my blood turns cold.
A small rose and dagger.
“Fuck.” It’s a sound so low even I barely hear it.
But Henry is waiting for it. “You killed the wrong man, Gianni. You wield that cleaver like some kind of dark savior, but the truth is it’s your fault your girl was almost burnt to a crisp. You take from the Irish; they take from you.”
The revelation drives a rusted knife through my chest. But I can’t think about any of this now. If I do, I’m going to turn into something very inhuman and fail her twice.
I grip his throat again. “Why?”
“Did I do it?” he finishes with a wheeze. “You said it yourself, ‘A truemafiosoproveshis worth in blood.’”
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t risk everything you have for clout.” My fury mounts as past and present rush toward each other on a collision course doused in kerosene. But it’s Henry, himself, who lights the final match.
“Thatcloutincluded specifically mentioning you,Johnny. Don’t believe me? Ask her what I said when she begged me to let her go. Then you’ll know I almost did you a favor.”
The match hits the ground, and everything goes up in flames.
Holding Henry’s stare, I release his throat and give the meat cleaver a spin. “Hand.”
Behind me, Anton clears his throat. “Gianni…”
“Hand,” I snap. This isn’t a debate. This is penance, and I’m the fucking executioner.
Stepping forward, he grabs Henry’s wrist and slams it against the wall.
Now it’s my turn to smile. “You’re in a talkative mood today, Saddler. Anything else you’d like to get off your chest?” I arch an eyebrow. “Well, what’s left of it, anyway.”
