Page 76 of Tormented Diamonds
“What if we don’t?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest in what I now recognize as a protective move.
“We will.”Which is the absolute fucking understatement of the year.“He’s already tipped his hand too low. Besides, it’s you and me against the world, remember?”
She’s quiet for a moment, then her eyebrows furrow. “Do you think any of those girls are still alive? The ones my father heard in that crate?”
I wish I could tell her yes. But the truth is the ones who dieden routewere the lucky ones. The ones who made it to their final destination earned a much worse fate.
“I hope not,cara mia,” I tell her, crushing her to my chest. “I really fucking hope not.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
BECCA
I’m inches away from opening the door of the Montclair Police Station when a heavy breath on my neck has me spinning around. “What are you doing?”
Taz slams his feet into the concrete to keep from barreling into me. “My job.”
I point to the obvious holster under his jacket. “You can’t walk into a police station with an unregistered loaded gun strapped to your waist.”
“Who says it’s unregistered?”
I tilt my head and give him a flat stare.
“Fine, it’s unregistered,” he grumbles, his sunglasses hiding the hardened glare I know lies behind them. “That doesn’t change the fact you’re not going in there alone. I have orders.”
My frustrated sigh bounces off that stony exterior. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Should I? Because from what I hear, that didn’t end well for your last bodyguard.”
I flinch, a moment of vulnerability seeping through. “The last thing you have to worry about is me ditching you to pull some half-baked heroine act. I’m not looking to tempt fate any more than I already have.”
“Good to hear.”
I groan. “I’m trying to keep Gianni off the police’s radar, not shine a spotlight on him. No offense, but the illegal weapon aside, how will it look to have a scary-looking criminal hovering over the new mob boss’s wife?”
He stares over my head, as if he’s somehow seeing through the door, cataloguing every inch of the building. After a few silent seconds, he exhales a defeated breath. “I need your word that the moment you’re done, you’ll come out this door…” He jabs a finger behind me, then drills it toward the concrete. “And meet me right here.”
I grin. “You got it.”
“I’m serious, Mrs. Marchesi—one way in, one way out. If anyone tries to prevent that, you scream.”
“Why cause a scene when you can follow the tracker my husband has on me?” I tap my nail against the face of my watch with a wink and walk inside.
The moment I enter the interrogation room, four narrowed eyes raise my defenses. I try to tell myself it’s just an intimidation tactic, but the cop’s daughter in me knows better.
Something’s very wrong.
Straightening my shoulders, I take a seat across the table from them. “Gentlemen.”
I expect them to swoop in likevultures on a fresh kill. Instead, they say nothing, which sets me even more on edge. I wonder if this is how my patients felt—watched, analyzed, dissected. It’s intimidating being on this side of the equation. I now see how stripped down and vulnerable that silent stare across the table makes a person feel.
Now I know why Gianni always flipped the playing card.
Speaking of which…
I shove my hand in my pocket and press my fingers against the smooth laminate finish of what’s become an irrationally calming force. “I’m pretty sure this works better without dead silence and uncomfortable staring.”
The thinner man’s beady gaze sharpens. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s making you so nervous, Mrs. Marchesi.”
