Page 17 of Tormented Diamonds
“But, nothing,” he says crisply. “A man’s trauma is his own. You’ll know when he wants you to know.”
We drive the rest of the way in a strained silence that only ends with Anton’s refusal to let me enter the house until he’s completed a full sweep. Once it’s deemed safe, I grab my purse and leave him standing on the front lawn as I slam the door behind me without looking back.
While I’m exhausted, sleep is a luxury reserved for women whose husbands don’t keep the hours of a vampire. So instead of climbing the stairs, I pour too much whiskey into a highball glass and collapse onto the couch.
I’ve never been one for television, but I need background noise to counteract the one in my head. Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, I hit random buttons, only to see Gianni’s face plastered across the screen.
A pretty brunette reporter pops up, her expression somber and caked with fake concern. “High-ranking members of the East Coast mafia were seen attending a memorial service for one of their own tonight. Marcello Marchesi, long-time boss of the New Jersey-based Marchesi crime family died last week in what police say is an accidental house fire. But was it? Confidential sources report that since Marchesi’s death, his son, Gianni, who famously turned state’s witness against his father, has assumed control of his empire.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then open them. Unfortunately, the only thing that changes is the image. Instead of Gianni’s picture, it’s now… “Oh, no.”
“As if that’s not worthy enough of a Hollywood script, sources say the new mafia don tied the knot less than twenty-four hours after his father’s death. Marchesi’s new bride…? Dr. Rebecca Brennan, the groom’s ex-therapist and Providence, Rhode Island’s latest missing person.” She looks into the camera with an arched eyebrow. “Who says life doesn’timitate art?”
I stare blankly at the screen. I don’t know why I’m shocked to be a national headline. Gianni has spent his entire life as one. I have to tell him about this before he’s blindsided.
Pulling my phone from my purse, I go to dial, only to still. My fingers hover over the keypad as I think about how his mood tanked after getting Owen’s text. How not long after Gianni disappeared, so did the federal agents…
“...trust me, that curb is the closest they’re going to get.”
“Then what are they waiting for … someone to walk outside and drop a smoking gun?”
“Something like that.”
My stomach twists. Was he placating me or warning me? I glance back up at the television screen, my thoughts spinning like a windmill caught in a hurricane. I need answers. I need the truth. I need…
I glance back down at the phone.
…To go straight to the source.
I scroll to contact two, only for my thumb to freeze millimeters away from the dial button.
No.I can’t go behind his back. It’s wrong. It’s deceitful…
Every muscle in my body tenses as video footage plays on the screen of uniformed men wheeling what was left of Marcello’s body away from the still smoking charred ruins of his estate.
…It’s better to have him alive with a guilty conscience than dead with a clear one.
I swallow the boulder in my throat and hit the call button before I can change my mind. It only takes one ring for him to answer.
Please let Gianni be there.
“Becca?” Owen says, his tone cautious. “What’swrong? Are you okay?”
I hear the distinct sound of the same news broadcast in the background, and my heart sinks. “That depends,” I say, unnerved at how cold I sound.
“On what?”
“On whether you’ll tell me the truth about where Gianni is, or lie to me, too.”
Chapter Six
GIANNI
Once again, I find myself in an interrogation room, sitting across the table from my two favorite federal stalkers. Only this time, instead of being pummeled by threats and accusations, I’m being stonewalled by what I think is supposed to be intimidating silence.
I sit back, content to let them play whatever game they think they’re winning. We both know better. I’m not the one they wanted or expected to be sitting in this chair, but when a prize-winning fish jumps onto a hook, you reel it in or look like a fucking idiot.
I have Owen to thank for that.
