Page 72 of Tormented Diamonds
“That’s why fire has always consumed you,”she says softly. “You watched your mother burn to death. It changed you. You never wanted to feel that powerless again, so you decided you’d be behind the match, instead of in front of it.”
A philosophy that served me well until a pushy psychiatrist turned my world inside out.
“I had no control over my mother’s crash or the fire … just like yours.” Losing my mother was devastating. Losing Victoria crushed me. But almost losing Becca? There’s no coming back from that. “If I could turn back time, I’d walk out of your office that first day and let you live a peaceful life.”
Becca tosses her glasses aside and climbs to her feet. “Why?”
“Why?” My hollow laugh echoes throughout the warehouse. “Look where you are, Becca. Every bad thing that’s happened to you in the last three months has my name written on it and underlined in fucking red.”
The tattered remains of her leggings sway like confetti as she strides toward me and lays her hand on my cheek. “Everything good that’s happened has your name on it, too. Fire isn’t your enemy, Gianni. It’s who you are. It’s whoweare. It’s our story.”
I stare at her. “Christ, you mean that, don’t you?”
“Every word.”
I cover her hand with mine, soothed by the feel of her caged against my skin. “I’ll never deserve you, Becca. But I promise there’s not a man alive who’ll love you the way I love you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
It’s only then she allows herself a visceral reaction. A sharp exhale draws her shoulders forward, fighting the shine filling her eyes. “Love doesn’t keep receipts, Gianni. You deserve all I have and more.” A smile spreads across her face. “This is where the guy usually kisses the girl.”
I smile back. “We’re Marchesis, Doc. We makeour own rules.”
But I’ll be damned if I’ll pass up the invitation, so I claim her lips with a slow, intimate kiss that clashes with all the death and destruction around us, while somehow still making perfect sense.
Just like us.
I toss the chains in a garbage bag along with the cleaver, the acrid smell of benzene coming off what’s left of Liam, burning my nostrils. “Let’s go, Doc.”
Becca comes down the stairs barefooted, in a long black button-up shirt that makes me want to take risks I know better than to take. She stops by the door and holds up the garbage bag in her hand. “What should I do with this?”
“Just throw it anywhere on the floor.” I’m not thrilled with the idea of her walking around half naked, but it can’t be helped. Anton never restocked the upstairs, and since driving around in ripped, blood-soaked clothes isn’t an option, we have to work with what’s on hand.
She drops the bag at her feet. “I know I’m new at this whole murder thing, but aren’t we supposed to clean the crime scene and hide the body?”
“Normally, yes. But I told you I had a surprise for you, remember?”
Her expression hardens. “I don’t want to hurt anybody else, Gianni. That guy deserved to die for what he did to my dad, and I’m not sorry. But I refuse to kill to prove a point.”
I’m beside her before the last word leaves her mouth. “My judgment falls on the shoulders of those who deserve it, never the innocent.” Taking her hand, I guide her out the door, my blood pumping. When we’re a suitable distance away, Ipull a Zippo lighter from my pocket. “Fire returns to the earth, that which should’ve never had life. You’ve been its victim. Now feel what it’s like to be its vessel.” Flipping the top, I flick the spark wheel and toss it to the ground.
The trail of gas I poured out the door ignites. Becca watches as it licks a fiery trail toward its destination, then with a whisperedwhoosh,the Chop House goes up in a wall of flames.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
I glance to the side and find her biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed. Hand in hand, I lead my wife toward the car, the card between my fingers fluttering to the ground.
If they thought I was dangerous before, they haven’t seen anything yet…
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…
And a man in love.
Chapter Twenty-One
GIANNI
There’s something about admitting to being in love that makes a man insatiable. I don’t know the science behind it. All I know is the sun’s up, and I haven’t closed my eyes once.
I have Becca on her back, her legs draped over my shoulders as I pump into her slow and languid, denying both of us the frenetic, rough fucking we naturally fall into. Her nails dig into my forearms in frustration, but I don’t give in. Maybe it’s an unconscious attempt at diluting the pitch-blackness I infused into her veins. Hell, maybe it’s an attempt at cleansing my own soul.
