Page 108 of His Dark Vendetta

Marco held out his hands. He still wore the fat ring on his right pinky, but now a thick gold band wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand. Sadness amplified my bitterness seeing that symbol of love and commitment and knowing I had to do this alone.

I placed my trembling hands in his, and he wrapped thick, steady fingers around mine and squeezed.

“Promise me something,” he said.

I nodded.

“Promise me you’ll hear him out.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he thrust his chin and regarded me with that fatherly look of his, so I snapped it shut. “It’s not my place to make excuses for Luca or explain what happened. That’s his story to tell. All I ask is that when he reaches out—and he will reach out—you listen. If you still want to leave after that, if you still can’t imagine a future here, I’ll support you and do everything in my power to make sure you and my futuro nipote are safe and happy.” He granted me a rare half-smile filled with understanding, tenderness, and hope.

Fresh tears pricked my eyes. Marco’s love and concern for me never wavered. And apparently, it hadn’t wavered for Luca either. Despite what Luca had done, Marco was asking me to give him a chance. He must have forgiven his nephew, and it made me trust Marco even more.

Maybe they weren’t all the same, these made men. Maybe I just had really bad luck. Forty-four years of bad luck. But if Marco could hear Luca out after what he’d done, the least I could do was listen to my baby’s father.

“I promise,” I said.

“Bene.” He squeezed my fingers and kissed my forehead. “Now I need to get back to these construction contracts.” He dropped my hands, walked around his desk, and sat in his throne-like executive chair. “Pompeii isn’t going to renovate itself. Unfortunately,” he added dryly and picked up his pen.

I huffed, moved for the door, and paused. “Thank you, Marco,” I said over my shoulder. “For everything.”

He tipped his head. “Non c’è di che, piccola.”

I smiled, walked out, and closed the door.

I rode the elevator to the first floor and imagined what life would be like if I closed the door on this chapter in my life, if I closed the door on Terme and Boston and the DeVitas and my family. Was I ready to start over again? Was the illusion of safety worth the price?

ChapterThirty-Three

Siobhán

The mid-June sun and humidity left the streets unseasonably empty. Granted, at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, most people were still at work—I should have been at work—but even the tourists were hiding from the oppressive heat. Luckily, my morning bout of nausea subsided after lunch because walking through that soup over the North End’s uneven cobblestones in my condition was not my idea of a good time.

My stomach was tied in knots. It had been working overtime since I found out I was pregnant and doubled down on its efforts to make me miserable after Marco’s lecture. The final straw? Luca texting me and wanting to talk. Stomach three, Siobhán zero.

I couldn’t stop ruminating over my decision to move back to Ireland. Did I really want to leave my family, found or otherwise, when I needed them the most?

Part of me said yes, absolutely. It didn’t take me long to decide that I wanted to keep the baby, which surprised the hell out of me considering Luca’s reaction. But the idea of having my own family brought such warmth and joy to my heart, I couldn’t deny that’s exactly what I wanted—a life and a loved one separate from the Shaughnessy’s dark world. If I moved to Ireland and raised the child myself, I’d finally have the happy, well-adjusted family I always wanted.

And it’s not like any of my relatives would help anyway, not with Luca being the father. I hadn’t told Ciarán or Rory yet, and I was not looking forward to those conversations. I planned to put them off as long as possible.

On the other hand, Marco and Gina were right. My family had grown beyond the Shaughnessys, and I had no doubt the DeVitas would support me. But fear for my safety and now my baby’s safety was never far from my mind.

And then there was Luca. His text message arrived late Monday night.

I don’t deserve it, not after the way I acted, but please give me a chance to explain. I need to make this right. I need to make us right.

I’d stared at the message for hours before responding.

We’ve tried us. Us doesn’t work.

You know that’s not true.

Do I? I can’t do this again, Luca. It hurts too much.

I’m so sorry, Siobhán. Please. Just let me explain.

Fine, but I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for the baby.

Luca was my baby’s father. Even if we weren’t together, he had a right to be in our child’s life if that’s what he wanted. I had to at least grant him a moment to say his piece.

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