Page 74 of Tormented Diamonds
I grind my teeth. “That’d be a bad decision, Benito.”
“Think so?”
“Try me.”
This time, his laugh is richer, with a hint of deluded pride I couldn’t give a patriarchal fuck about. “That’s why I gave you a second chance, Gianni. It takes balls to stand up to me. I respect that. But that respect has a ceiling you don’t want to break. You’re one down-turned thumb away from a bullet, so I suggest thinking twice before avoiding me again.”
Two direct threats in less than twenty seconds. It seems Ihaveruffled some wilted feathers.
While I want nothing more than to tell him where to shove his fucking respect, the deal I made for Becca’s hand left a rope over her head. Until Dagger is dead and Toscano’s leverage is gone, I have to bite my tongue and play the long game.
“What do you want?” I demand crisply.
“I’ve been made aware of some updates concerning our lingering Providence threads.”
I’m sure he has. The open-ended statement is a nice touch and obvious power move. However, if he thinks I’m going to offer information I’m not sure he has, he can fuck off.
So, I play it safe.
“We’re confident Marcello’s Irish bestie was driving the car that hit Becca and her bodyguard.”
“And you know this …how?”
Hearing her name mentioned draws Becca closer, only for her to jump back as another high-pitched ring erupts from the other side of the room. Toscano’s clipped voice fades into the background as I watch her leap off the bed, dig through her purse, and pull out her cell phone.
“Hello?” she whispers, her eyebrows bunched inconfusion.
She’s not the only one.Who the hell is calling her?Only four people have access to that number, and one is in this room. The other three value their balls too much to dial it.
Becca swipes my button-up from the floor, trapping the phone between her chin and her shoulder as she slips it on. Avoiding my stare, she hurries out of the bedroom, leaving me even more pissed off at a man who could murder me twenty different ways before noon.
“Marchesi? Are you listening to me?”
I return to the one-man conversation Toscano has been having with himself. “Becca saw his face before impact. She recognized him as the man who murdered her mother.”
“Do we have a name?”
I wouldn’t tell him even if I did, not with a potential connection to Carmine in play.
“Not yet.”
There’s a heavy pause, and then, “Well, find it. You have eighty-two hours.”
That’s oddly specific.
“What happens in eighty-two hours?”
“An Authority meeting in Staten Island. Bring me this Irishcoglione’shead, or the sand runs out in your wife’s hourglass. Oh, and, Gianni…” he adds, his smug tone causing my fingers to grip the phone so tight, I half expect it to crack. “Give my condolences to the chief’s daughter.”
The bullet hits its target. I hurl my phone across the room, my vision turning black as it slams into the wall and shatters onto the floor. “Godfuckingdamn it.”
But my rage hits a brick wall when the door opens, and Becca appears, her face a pale, ashen gray. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just leans against the door frame in a wide-eyed daze.
“Becca?” When she doesn’t answer, I grabmy pants from the floor and pull them on, Toscano and his countdown becoming a distant memory. “What’s wrong? Who was on the phone?”
She looks up at me, her breath uneven. “It was the police.”
“How the fuck did they get your number?”
