Page 106 of His Dark Vendetta

Marco searched my eyes. “That’s all Tony ever wanted for you, and when he died?—”

His voice caught. He snapped his mouth shut, and his jaw worked as he forced his emotions to obey. He brought his cigar up, took a long drag, and blew a slow, steady stream of smoke out the window.

“And when he died, all I knew was I had to give my brother what he wanted—a better life for his son.” Marco’s nostrils flared, his impenetrable control wavering under the intensity of the promise he made all those years ago. “I could never replace your father, Luca, and the Lord knows I did a shit job trying.”

The guilt I felt over what I’d done to the man who’d tried to protect me, who’d tried to do right by his best friend, overwhelmed me. “Zio, I—I’m?—”

“Fammi finire,” he said and held up a staying hand. “Killing a Shaughnessy won’t bring him back, and living in misery is the last thing Tony wanted for you.” He leaned forward. “You want to even the score? You want to honor your name and your father’s legacy?”

The burn in my throat was too strong for words. I nodded.

“Live, Luca. Live your life. With happiness and love in your heart. Live the life your father wanted for you, the life he never got to live.” Marco’s voice broke, and his eyes were rimmed with tears. He looked back out the window. “If you can do that, justice is served.”

He picked up his glass, drained the rest of his whiskey, and placed his cigar between his teeth.

“Mi dispiace, zio. Per tutto.”

“I know, nipote mio. So am I.”

The air changed, and the heaviness that weighed on my relationship with Marco lifted. Forgiveness replaced animosity, understanding replaced resentment, and peace settled over our family for the first time in decades.

The pop of a cork broke the silence. Wine trickled into crystal.

“Mangiamo,” Gina said.

We snubbed out our cigars and carried our glasses with us to the kitchen table. Marco sat at the head where he’d sat my entire life, his rightful place. Gina sat to his right, and he took her hand. I sat to his left, my father’s seat at the DeVita table. Marco held out his hand. I glanced up, and he nodded. I placed my hand in his and reached for Mamma Gina. She smiled and took my hand, running her thumb across the backs of my fingers.

Time brought us full circle. Our family was whole again, thirty-five years of struggle put to rest. We’d face our futures together, stronger for our scars, and hope filled the space in my heart where only revenge had lived.

I had a family, and with their support, that family would grow to include the woman I adored beyond all reason and another Moretti, born from our love.

ChapterThirty-Two

Siobhán

“Yes!” Marco’s voice boomed through the door.

I opened it and walked into his office.

He scrawled something across the papers stacked on his desk. “Siobhán,” he said, still focused on his work.

“Mr. DeVita.”

That caught his attention. He stopped his pen, looked up from his desk, and arched an eyebrow.

“Marco,” I amended through an awkward smile.

He tossed the pen on the blotter, picked up a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray, and puffed it back to life. Cigar between his teeth, he walked around the desk and leaned back against its edge. “You have something you want to tell me?” He wrapped a finger and thumb around the cigar and blew the smoke up to the vents in the ceiling.

He knew. My shoulders slumped. I’d wanted to be the one to tell him. He deserved that respect.

“I’m resigning my position at Terme di Boston,” I said quickly.

He bowed his head a fraction. “And?”

“And…” I scrunched my forehead. What else was there? “And The Dubliner is going to hire me back as their General Manager. I’m moving back to Ireland.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “What problem is that going to solve?”

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