Page 42 of Tormented Diamonds
Silence.
A cold dread sweeps across me.
“Leo?”
“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”
This time, my eyes open, and I turn my head toward the blurry face of a man with closely cropped brown hair and a toothpaste-commercial smile. I blink, but without my glasses, the haze refuses to lift. Fighting the freight train barreling through my head, I force a nod.
“Good. My name is Jason. I’m a medic, and I’m going to help you. Can you tell me your name?”
“Becca,” I rasp, the rattle in my chest getting louder.
“Becca,what?”
Shit.
In Providence, the name Reese opened doors and cut lines. But I’m not a police chief’s daughter here. I’m a mob boss’s wife and a societal pariah. Instead of special treatment, there’s a real risk of him leaving me here to die.
I lick my lips, the name “Brennan” right there on my tongue. But just as I’m about to say it, I hear the whisper of my wedding vows in my head.
“I once told you that in order to change the person you are, you have to remove the anchors holding you to the person you were. I’m tossing all my anchors here, Gianni…”
But I didn’t. For three weeks, I’ve been clinging to an identity that’s no longer mine, while demanding he shed skin I’m not willing to expose.
How can I give him a future when I’m chained to the past?
Simple. I can’t. So, untying the last knot, I toss my final anchor.
“Becca Marchesi.”
I watch the smile fade from his face...
Then everything goes dark.
Chapter Thirteen
GIANNI
Ifeel two sets of eyes drill into my back as I drag a half empty bottle of whiskey from the cabinet under the sink. I’m not sure if the silent staring is stemming from disapproval or anticipation, and I don’t care. After ten rounds with Becca’s father ended in a stonewall, I’m drowning my rage in eighty-proof waters, and they can stay righteous and thirsty.
My phone sparks to life with another ring, the second since walking through the door. I silence it without bothering to look at who’s calling. It’s the same impatient asshole who has been lighting it up all day, demanding updates I don’t have.
Toscano is like a clingy girlfriend who needs constant validation. One who has me running an entire fucking mafia while playing a killer’s version ofWhere’s Waldo.
Anton has an unreadable expression on his face as I tip the bottle back and drop into the last of the three folding metal chairs. The mood in the upstairs level of the Chop Houseis substantially more subdued than the last time I was here. To be fair, that night, the whole place reeked of blood, sharp metal objects, and the disemboweled carcass of a former U.S. Marshal.
Tonight, the only thing stinking up the place is the raw stench of apprehension.
“So you got nothing else out of him, huh?”
“Nope,” I mutter, taking another drink.
“So that’s it?” He lifts his thick gray eyebrows toward his hairline. “Two decades of threats, blackmail, and coercion, and Reese has no first name, no license plate, no address?”
“No.” My grip tightens around the bottle. “Just Dagger.”
“Well, that gets us fucking nowhere.”
