Page 93 of Tormented Diamonds
But somehow, it all seems like a lifetime ago—a different world … a differentme.
The man sitting in this room isn’t the same one who walked in it all those weeks ago. He was a reckless man fighting to steer a sinking ship. Now, he stands confident at the helm, ready to fire at anything blocking his path. Having Becca in my life changed something in me, but dropping that queen of hearts changed something inher. Instead of running from shadows, she’s embraced them. There have been no more nightmares, and no more sins shoved behind glass frames.
The fire that brought us together now burns inside both of us.
Toscano leans forward, his hands clasped nearly as tight as his jaw. “This is something I wouldn’t normally entertain. You’re a boss, Gianni, but I’m thecapo dei capi. I call the meetings; you show up and do what I say. However, considering the news coming out of Port Elizabeth, I’m making an exception. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Youwon’t be the one regrettinganything,” I offer with a thin smile.
Anton stiffens beside me, his hard exhale letting me know he still isn’t on board with any of this.Tough shit.We weighed the pros and cons of an internal implosion all the way to Staten Island, with the con column coming out the clear winner. But I’m a gut instinct kind of operator, and watching Carmine Damiano’s forehead bead with sweat as I walked in the door was incentive enough to pull the trigger.
I glance at the asshole in question. The Connecticut boss is pale—like clutching-his-heart, two-ticks-away-from-kicking-the-bucket kind of pale. Poor guy looks like he’s seeing all the ghosts of his dead relatives, and they’re not wearing white.
This is going to be more fun than I thought.
“Then let’s get this over with,” Toscano instructs, his eyes boring into me. “Start with explaining the Elizabeth Marine Terminal fire.”
“It warms my heart you immediately think of me when you hear of a fire.” Ignoring Anton’s muttered curses, I drape my arm over the back of my chair and smirk.
“Are you saying it wasn’t?”
“No. I just get all emotional when my artwork is appreciated.”
He unclasps his hands and curls them into fists. “Gianni Marchesi doesn’t have emotions. Now stop being a smartass and answer the fucking question.”
No, Torch doesn’t have emotions. Gianni Marchesi is plagued with them.
A sobering reminder that extreme actions can yield disastrous consequences.
“Since you asked so nicely,” I say, my smile dropping, “yes, I’m responsible for the fire, and you’ll be pleased to hear the only casualty had a price on his head.”
Altering the hand that held the match doesn’tchange the story. It simply lessens the ammunition the other bosses have against Becca. Besides, that moment is ours, and I’m not allowing anyone inside it, even Anton.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Depends. If what you think I’m saying is that our elusive Irish phantom is now nothing more than an unfortunate pile of ash, then, yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
There’s a flicker of life in Carmine’s blank stare. “We’re going to need more than that,” he says, his weak attempt at reverse psychology falling way off the mark. “Given the circumstances, you can’t expect us to take your word that the situation has been handled.”
Toscano cuts him a sharp glare. “I’m running this meeting, not you.”
“Come on, Benito,” he argues, reaching for the near empty bottle between them. “It’s a little convenient, don’t you think? Gianni knew his ass was on the line and time was running out. Hell, he said it himself, the man is a pile of ash. How can we be sure this asshole is really dead?” His aim is shit. Bourbon splashes around the rim, landing on the table, his hand, pretty much everywhere but in his glass. “That could’ve been anyone in that fire.”
The New York boss’s icy gaze shifts back to me, narrowing as Carmine’s accusation takes root. “He has a point.”
Yes, he most certainly does. One that’s about to bite him in the ass. I almost feel bad. I didn’t even have to hand him the rope. The idiot picked it up himself and dropped it over his head. That’s arrogance for you. It’s always overriding common sense.
“Well, for starters, ‘this asshole’s’ name is Declan Flynn.”
The glass pauses halfway to Carmine’s mouth, his hand shaking.
I’ll take “Names That Cause a Mafia Boss toShit His Pants,” for eight hundred, Alex.
“When we spoke on the phone, you told me you didn’t have that information,” Toscano presses.
“I found out the day of the fire.” Not exactly the truth, but I’m trying to tighten the rope around Carmine’s neck, not get one dropped around mine. “Anton’s contact finally decrypted those last two accounts.”
Another lie, one that has the Connecticut boss holding onto his glass for dear life.
