Page 102 of Her Dark Salvation

I stood, humbled, hurting, and hoping I’d get another chance. I brushed Anna’s hair off her forehead and placed a kiss there. She was the love of my immortal life, and I’d never forgive myself for pushing her away.

The fluorescent lights outside the ICU had my eyes straining to adjust, and a dull headache formed behind them, exhaustion, worry, and the fallout from my prior rage all needling my skull. I needed to feed. I’d drained myself at Vesuvio, and my hunger for blood pressed down atop every other burden like a dead weight.

I didn’t want to leave her, but there was nothing to do but wait. I should call Vito for a bag of blood. I should call Jeff, let him know what happened. He could call her parents.

The waiting room had one of those espresso vending machines that had popped up in Europe a decade ago and finally made its way to the States. I punched in my order for a double espresso and leaned my forehead against the cool glass while the machine ground and whirred my liquid energy into reality.

“Marco?”

I sighed, long and slow. “Go home, Siobhán. This is not the time.” My voice was raspy and exasperated.

“I need to know how Anna is doing, how you’re doing.”

The machine stopped gurgling. I raised my head and lifted the plastic guard to retrieve my coffee.

Siobhán had changed into track pants, sneakers, and an oversized sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and without makeup, her wrinkles were more pronounced, the smattering of freckles across her nose visible. Her complexion was paler than usual, her face drawn and worn.

I brought the paper cup to my lips. The coffee scalded my tongue, and I welcomed its bitter burn. “She’s out of surgery. Stable in the ICU.”

“Thank God.” Her shoulders relaxed, but the rest of her vibrated with tension. A tear slid down her face, and she wiped it away. Her bottom lip trembled, and she hugged her arms around her waist like she was trying to comfort herself.

She was in bad shape, but I’d had enough of betrayal. Siobhán was a member of the family who’d hurt Anna, an inconvenient truth she’d managed to hide from me for years. I ground my teeth, my exhaustion the only thing caging my temper.

“I thought I’d gotten away from this shit. I thought I’d put it behind me.” She trembled and hiccupped a sob. “But it follows me wherever I go.” Her thin frame shook, and she devolved into tears.

Goddammit.

A couple and an older man were the only other people in the waiting room, and they stared at us with concern and suspicion. There was a door halfway open across the hall. I placed a hand on her shoulder and pressed her forward.

The room was empty. I shoved her inside and closed the door. She leaned against the edge of the bed, wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, and looked at me, sad, glassy eyes filled with remorse.

“My mother was Paddy Shaughnessy’s youngest sister. Ciarán is my first cousin.” Her eyes held mine without hesitation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I straightened from where I’d been leaning against the door and stepped forward. “The general manager of my flagship property is a first cousin to the boss of the Irish mob?” My jaw tightened under the strain of controlling my rage. “Are youfucking kidding me, Siobhán?”

“No. I—I meant to tell you, but?—”

“But what? You forgot?” My voice dripped with bitter sarcasm, and I took another step forward. “I brought you into my family. I trusted you with my business. Seems like something you should have shared before now, don’t you think?”

“No,” she said, firm and clipped. “It’s not. I want nothing to do with being a Shaughnessy. I spent my childhood in that shit, and I never want to live like that again. I moved to Ireland to get away from them. Took voice lessons. Did everything I could to distance myself from this shit exactly.” Her voice rose through her rant, her pale face splotchy with emotion and wet with tears.

She reached for my hand, but I snatched it away, unable to reconcile how much she’d kept from me with how much I’d trusted her.

“Please,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. “Please, Marco, you have to believe me. I didn’t know who you were when I started working for you, and by the time I figured it out…” She tried for my hand again, and I was too tired and too stunned to care. She wrapped her thin, bony fingers around mine. “It’s not like I could wander up to your office—Hey, Marco, you should probably know…” She shook her head and wiped the tears from either side of her face. “It doesn’t matter. That part of my life is over.”

“You and I both know it’s never over for people like us. If you grew up like I did, you know that.”

Her eyes locked with mine, and her lips pressed into a tight line. She didn’t want to admit it any more than I did, but I was done pretending, and what I’d said was the honest-to-God truth.

“I may not be involved in my family’s business, but I know how these things work. What happened last night? That is not how these things work. So…” She grimaced. “I called Ciarán.”

“You didwhat?” The words burst out of me, my shock at the entire conversation reaching new levels. I pulled my hand away, but she grabbed it back.

“Please, Marco. Let me explain. I came here to tell you. I wouldn’t have called him if I thought it would cause trouble, but I knew he didn’t order that raid. And when I told him what happened…” She squeezed my hand tighter, eyes blazing with sincerity. “It wasn’t Ciarán. Those men weren’t Shaughnessys.”

I seethed, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched trying to contain my rage so she wouldn’t see me turn.

“We’re the same age, Ciarán and I. Our parents raised us as brother and sister. Tried to pass us off as twins.” Her face softened. “He would never lie to me.” She shook her head. “Not me.”

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