Page 86 of Tortured Hearts
It’s taking everything in me not to drag her to her feet and bend her over this fucking couch. While that smart mouth is something I usually enjoy, right now, it’s making me want to do some very vile and savage things to her.
“It’s not a fucking promotion, Becca,” I say, choosing my words carefully as my grip tightens. “If you want something in my world, you have to pay a price.”
She stands, that cool smirk melting to a serious stare. “What was yours?”
“Everything,” I say, because there’s no truer answer. My price to end my father’s reign of terror and twenty-two years of pain and suffering for her cost me everything.
My life.
My identity.
My future.
My freedom.
Her.
“You were sending me back to Providence, alone.”
I nod. “Originally, yes.”
“Why not just tell me?” she whispers, her eyes drifting shut.
“Because you would’ve fought me.” Her eyes snap open, and she parts her lips, ready to fire off an automatic rebuttal I intercept with a firm finger. “Can you honestly say if I’d told you the only way to stop my father and ensure your safety was for me to kill him and become boss, you would’ve asked no further questions and walked away on your own?”
“Well, I?—”
“Not only would I have confessed to premeditated murder, but I would’ve had to inform you that those men you saw upstairs weren’t insignificant Marchesi soldiers. They’re the four bosses who make up what’s called the Authority, a.k.a. the Supreme Court of the underworld, and the ones pullingthe strings of Marcello’s execution.”
“I didn’t?—”
“And that I’d been busting my ass trying to keep them from realizing he’d been using you as a pawn. Because if they knew an outsider had a front-row seat to this whole shitshow…”
“They would’ve made sure I didn’t talk. That’s the reason for all the secrecy and the key and watch. Owen was supposed to find me outside, then take me back.”
“I needed you away from me. My world isn’t safe for you.”
She bats my hand away and drops onto the couch. “News flash, I’ve been ass deep in your world since I was twelve years old. The problem isn’t new threats. It’s the men in my life trying to keep me in the dark while they make all my decisions for me. I’m sick of it. My father, Jack, you… You all treat me like I’m some cracked piece of glass that’s going to shatter into a million pieces at the first rattle. But you’re all wrong. Look at me, Gianni,” she says, spreading her arms wide. “Look at all I’ve been through and survived. I’m still here, and I’m not broken.”
“No, you’re not.”
“So maybe instead of demanding I trust you, it’s time for you to trustme.”
“Don’tquid pro quome, Doc.” Scowling, I lower beside her and set my glass on the coffee table.
“I’m not.” Exhaling a frustrated sigh, she reaches for my hand. “You told me that once I let the Devil in, he’ll never leave. Well, you were right.” Holding my stare, she places my palm over her heart. “He’s here, and there’s no getting him out. But what about you? Once you trap your butterfly, do you seal the lid, or let her fly away?”
Damn this woman.
I move my hand from her chest to her cheek, then the other follows, and I’m cradling her face. Then, my mouth crashes onto hers with the force of all the rage, fear, frustration,and possession I feel. I mold her to my lips, taking what I want and demanding more. Becca gives me everything I need, combating every lash of my tongue with one of her own. The kiss is frantic, hungry, and demanding, and I want more.
So much fucking more.
But the moment I slide my hand under the hem of the button-up, she grabs my wrist.
“Gianni, wait,” she murmurs against my lips before pulling back with a heavy exhale. “I need to know if that’s all.”
“Ifwhat’sall?”
