Page 109 of His Dark Vendetta

Red cursive letters painted on a white plastic sign announced my destination—“Paganini’s Since 1942.” The deli’s glass façade revealed an empty house. Empty except for Luca. He shot to his feet when he spotted me, and my stomach flipped. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, but I opened the door anyway.

A bell chimed as if heralding the start of act three in our drama.

The restaurant was decorated like the spaghetti scene fromLady and the Tramp,complete with red-checkered tablecloths, Chianti-bottle candleholders, and pictures of the Italian countryside. An older gentleman with a substantial stomach and an equally substantial mustache cleared dirty dishes off one of the tables and shouted in Italian over Frank Sinatra’s familiar voice.

“Va bene,” Luca shouted back. He stepped past me and flipped the sign on the door so that “Closed” faced the street. He gave me a sheepish smile, thrust a hand into his hair, and licked his lips. “Hi, Siobhán. Thank you. For coming.”

I swear the man had a sixth sense when it came to getting under my skin. His apologetic tone. His nervous tics. His cologne. The fitted black slacks hugging his thighs. The gold chain peeking out from beneath the collar of his equally fitted black button-down. His scruff. He’d kept it. It was trimmed close, and I fought the urge to run my thumb along his jawline and kiss his pillowy lips. But I wasn’t there for me. I wasn’t even there for us. I was there for our child’s future.

“Hello, Luca,” I said.

He rested his hand on the back of his neck and with a labored swallow lifted his gaze. Time stopped the way it always did when our eyes locked, and the same pull I’d felt since the day we met tugged at my heart. He blinked as if also trapped in our undertow and pulled out a chair at the table in front of the window. “Please,” he said.

I smiled at his attempt at chivalry, set my bag down, and took a seat.

He sat across from me and looked everywhere but my face. I folded my hands atop the table.

He opened his mouth, then slammed it shut, and his eyebrows drew together. “I’m sorry.” The corners of his mouth turned down, and his head tilted, imparting weight to his words.

I nodded, because what he said was true. He was sorry. But… “What—” I cleared my throat. “What, exactly, are you sorry for?”

His eyes widened on a full breath, and he leaned back in his chair. He puffed out his cheeks on the exhale and glanced out the window. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said quietly.

“Well, you could start with how you left me sobbing hysterically after telling you I’m pregnant with your baby.”

He winced. “Yeah. I should probably start there.”

“I needed you.” I promised myself I’d stay cool, but my pain at what felt a lot like betrayal was too powerful. “I was shocked and scared and instead of talking to me, you left. Without a word.”

“I panicked.”

“And I wasn’t panicking? I’m pregnant!”

“I know, I know. I should have stayed. A better man would have stayed. But I’m not a good man, Siobhán. Never have been.”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t the first time you walked away from me, and now you expect me to pretend like that’s okay? Like you haven’t broken my heart multiple times?”

And I had pretended. I’d worn my rose-colored glasses hoping things would go back to the way they were before The Incident. I’d wanted him to make me feel special again, to fill my heart to near bursting. I’d wanted to feel like I mattered to him, like we belonged together. I’d pretended, because I desperately wanted to get that feeling back.

“No more,” I said. “I’m done. I’m done having my heart stomped on only to come back and let you do it again.”

“Don’t say that. Please. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I’m not as strong as you, and I’m sorry for that too. Letting you go that night was a huge mistake, and I’ve regretted it every day since.” He shoved a hand into his hair. “Fuck, Siobhán, I didn’t know what I was doing. You have to give me another chance.”

“Have to?” I cocked an eyebrow. “I want to trust you, Luca. I really do. But I have no reason to believe this time will be any different.”

“It is different, because I’m done walking away. I’m done running from this, from us. That’s why I asked you here. Because I need to explain why.”

He leaned across the table and wrapped his big hands around mine. I pulled back, not wanting him to touch me—every time he touched me, he broke another piece of my heart—but he wouldn’t let go.

“My reaction had nothing to do with not wanting you or the baby. God, Siobhán, I can’t imagine a life without you. But I—” His lips slammed shut.

“What?” I prompted, eager against my better judgment. That spark of hope just would not die.

“Do you remember the night you came into my bedroom? The night I had those bad dreams?”

“Yes.”

“You told me you had nightmares too. About the shooting.”

---