Page 101 of His Dark Vendetta

Feeding from Mia did the job, and I’d be okay for one more week before I needed to visit her again, but there was only one person whose blood I craved.

I parked in the cul-de-sac, turned off the car, and sat for a moment, as nervous as a teenager at his date’s front door before prom. Which was ridiculous. I was a capo in the Italian Mafia. I had more money than I could spend in a lifetime. I’d fucked more supermodels than I had fingers. Yet there I sat, anxious as hell and wondering what I’d say when I finally saw her again.

What future did we have together anyway? She was a Shaughnessy. I was a Moretti. I couldn’t let my father’s murder go unavenged. My vendetta would always stand in our way no matter how much we tried to convince ourselves otherwise. I shook my head and got out of the car.

And then there was the matter of my not being human. Not everyone accepted the existence of blood demons as easily as Anna had with Marco. My mother hadn’t.

Where did that leave me and Siobhán? Nowhere. But I was too selfish not to take any opportunity to see her again. I took a deep breath, let out a long exhale, and knocked on her door.

She opened it, and nostalgia punched me in the chest. The Siobhán I’d known for years—the one transported right off the set of an early Hollywood movie—stood before me. Her white cap-sleeved blouse showed off her long delicate arms and neck. Her maroon pencil skirt was cinched tight around her tiny waist with a wide black belt. It accentuated her subtle curves and long legs and reminded me of the lithe body hidden underneath. She’d kept the length in her hair but tamed it into its familiar style, each curl perfectly set, each wave artfully placed to frame her beautiful face.

“Siobhán.” Her name passed my lips like a prayer.

Her ruby red smile, inviting as ever, was tentative, almost hopeful. “Thanks for coming,” she said and ushered me in. “Sorry for the cryptic message, but I wanted to talk in person.”

Her home looked different now than when I’d broken in and waited for her in the dark. Style and personality came through in every detail, from the vintage stained glass floor lamps to the art deco pieces hanging on the walls. A stack of magazines sat on a coffee table in front of the couch, and her body’s indent was still visible on the cushion.

“How are you, Siobhán?” I asked, a stilted attempt to fill the awkward silence.

She walked past me into the living room, wringing her hands. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and the creases across her forehead deepened.

I frowned and moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

The delicate muscles of her neck bobbed through a swallow, and her lips parted as if struggling to voice what was stuck in her throat.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slammed into my chest like two bullets at point-blank range. I blinked and shook my head. I hadn’t heard her properly. I couldn’t have heard her properly.

“Wha—” I cleared my throat, trying to force air back into my lungs after the impact. I shifted my weight and tilted my head. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, and the words ricocheted off the walls, echoing in my ears.

“Are—are you sure?”

She tore her eyes away from mine and focused them on her dining room table. I followed her gaze to five white and pink and purple sticks. I stepped up to the table, limbs heavy like I was dragging them through quicksand.

Pregnancy tests. All lined up in a neat row. Plastic arbiters of justice sealing my fate.

“They’re all positive,” she whispered.

Sealing Siobhán’s fate.

My mouth went dry. “How…” I couldn’t form thoughts much less words. I stared at the tests in disbelief.

“I missed my doctor’s appointment in March when everything—when everything happened at Vesuvio. I forgot.”

“You forgot,” I repeated, and dread pooled in my gut.

“Anna was in the hospital. I was living my worst nightmare. You were gone…” Her voice trembled. “God, Luca, I thought they were going to kill you. That doctor’s appointment was the last thing on my mind. Until today. I—I’ve been sick for a week.”

My head snapped up. Sick? Already?

A rising pool of blood stained the edges of my vision. Dread clawed its way up from my gut and wound gnarled fingers around my chest. I slammed my eyes shut. “You forgot.” The words came out sharp and edged with panic.

“Luca,” she pleaded. “Please, look at me.”

I opened my eyes, and Siobhán’s face was etched with worry. She twisted her fingers in front of her.

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