Page 54 of Tormented Diamonds
Dark circles under his eyes bleed down to the thickest stubble I’ve ever seen.
“Gianni, calm down…”
The bartender steps back, her palms rising. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marchesi, sir. I didn’t know she was…” Gianni lifts a slanted eyebrow, the dark intent behind it sending the poor girl stumbling backward into a wall of liquor bottles. “I mean. I would’ve never…” She puffs out her cheeks, a red stain taking over as she slowly exhales. “Please don’t fire me.”
Gianni’s glare never leaves me. “Go away.”
I roll my eyes and tuck the card back in my purse.
“Yes, sir.” Avoiding me, she sprints to the other end of the bar, her hand shaking as she tries to pour a shot of vodka.
The weight of the last twenty-four hours settles on my shoulders like a bag of rocks. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Because I’m tired of living in the same house and feeling like the unwanted visitor who overstayed her welcome. You won’t talk to me. Hell, you’ll barely look at me. I know you, Gianni. Whatever’s going on, you won’t face it. You’ll let it fester until it ruins you and destroys us.” I wince, those words inciting a rush of word vomit. “Well, I’m not letting that happen. We’re not promised tomorrow, so we’re doing this today. Whether you like it, or not.”
I brace myself for another impending battle, then, out of nowhere, he nods, the darkness in his eyes settling as he takes my hand. “Come with me.”
I slide off the chair, staying quiet as he leads me away from the main floor toward a secluded back office. The moment we walk inside, I’m taken aback. Other than a smallleather couch shoved against the wall, the only furnishings are four metal chairs and a folding game table that looks salvaged from someone’s curb.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, making his way toward a free-standing bar at the far-right side of the room. “Underwhelmed by the decor?”
I lower onto the couch with a shrug. “I envisioned something more high-tech. It seems kind of plain for the lord of New Jersey.”
Gianni tosses an amused look over his shoulder. “You watch too many movies.” My cheeks burn, a response that has him turning back to his drink with a low chuckle. “Hollywood glamorizesLa Cosa Nostra, but as a whole, most of us prefer to blend in rather than stand out. We tend to live longer.”
“Of course.” An awkward silence stretches between us. I came here to demand an explanation, but now that we’re face to face, nerves take hold, causing me to skirt the topic. “I never got the chance to ask what happened with Anton and Owen.”
Weak and not at all smooth. This is going great.
His jaw is tighter than a drawn bow. “Anton thinks this Irish fuck, Dagger, is being fed information by someone on the Authority.”
“Why?”
“Some of the Five Families’ territories sit against the Rhode Island state line. He thinks one of them ran across Marcello’s side project and wanted his slice of the pie. So, instead of busting him, he did what made men do best.”
“Blackmailing Marcello with his silence?”
“It answers a lot of questions,” he says matter-of-factly. “The ease with which I was given executioner rights is unprecedented, not to mention all the notable overkill. Someone wanted to ensure my father never talked again.”
My heart leaps into my throat. It seems like with everyhour that passes, there’s a new bullet fired from a new direction. The web is getting so tangled, I’m not sure who’s on whose side, or if we’re all just wound in the strings of our own messes.
“Great.” Exhaling a tired breath, I shove my fingers under my glasses and rub my eyes—my third pair in less than three weeks. Thankfully, Gianni insisted on a spare. “So now we havetwosoulless killers hovering in the shadows.”
“Indeed, it seems,” he says, striding toward me with a blazing hard stare that has me shrinking into the cushion. “But you didn’t come here for a play-by-play of my meeting, so let’s get this over with.”
His callous tone fries my battered nerves to a crisp. “I’m not an obligation, Gianni.”
“I never said you were.”
I sigh and push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. “Most near-death experiences bring people closer. Why is mine driving you away?”
He stays locked in that same stiff, unapologetic stance, his hand wrapped around his glass like a vise. No brewing storm … just silence.
I shift to the edge of the cushion. “Gianni?”
“It’s not driving me away. I just…” He grinds his teeth together. “There are things about me you could never understand,” he finishes with a sharpness that makes me flinch.
