Page 12 of His Dark Vendetta

I shook my head. “You’rebahkingup the wrong tree, Ciarán,” I said, my accent in full force after that comment.

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t asked you a question yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An innocent red pepper now received the brunt of my frustration. “I refuse to say anything about Marco to you just like I’d refuse to say anything about you to Marco.” I paused and shot him a heated glare, my irritation with my family pressing against my chest. “At least he has the decency not to ask.” I resumed chopping.

“What the hell, Vahnie?” Ciarán snapped back, using the nickname he gave me when we were kids. He straightened off the counter and pulled his shoulders back. “You’re a Shaughnessy, or have you forgotten?”

I set the knife down and looked him in the eye, exerting as much control as I could so I wouldn’t explode. “No. I haven’t forgotten. My scars remind me of that unfortunate fact every day.”

Ciarán’s lips twisted, fighting a grimace or a frown—I wasn’t sure which and didn’t care. I didn’t care if talking about my scars made him uncomfortable. At least he didn’t have to live with them.

“You know better than to ask, Ciarán. Don’t involve me.”

His shoulders deflated. He rested his forehead in his hand and rubbed his temples.

I drizzled dressing over the salad in each bowl and, happy with my prep, ventured into the living room. I moved the remote off Da’s armrest and notched the volume down to a decibel level appropriate for humans. “Time for supper, Da.”

He tore his eyes away from the TV long enough to give me a blank stare, his eyebrows knotted in confusion. “Who are you?” he asked in an accusatory tone.

Loss and regret punched me in the chest. “It’s Siobhán, Da.”

His condition had worsened over the past six months, and things weren’t going to get any better. But I didn’t have time to mourn. Someone had to keep this ship from sinking. So I pulled out the TV trays and set one in front of each of my parents.

“Thank you, dear,” Mam said and tucked her crocheting into the basket at her feet. “Are you staying for supper, Ciarán?”

Ciarán leaned against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the living room and patted his stomach. “Nah. Thanks, Aunt Maggie, but I already ate.”

I passed him on my way back into the kitchen to retrieve the salads, and he leaned back, looked over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. “You’ve been involved. You’ve been working for the DeVitas for two years. Don’t forget, you called me when that shit went down at Vesuvio.”

I stopped in front of him with the salads, forks, and napkins. “For the eight millionth time, I didn’t know who he was when I took the job. It was an amazing career opportunity. And, thanks to you and my idiot brother, I couldn’t walk away just because of his rumored connections. Someone needs to make sure my parents aren’t living withrotting garbage. And for the record, the reason I called you that night was to prevent the two people I love most in the world from killing each other.That’s. It.”

I marched past him and put the salads in front of my parents.

“Thank you, dear.” Mam made the sign of the cross and folded her hands in her lap.

“I want to know who tried to frame me,” Ciarán demanded.

I held up my hands. “I’m not getting involved.” He stepped into the living room like he was about to launch into an argument, but I cut him off. “And why does it matter? Seriously. Marco knows it wasn’t you. I made sure of that. There won’t be any retaliation. Let it go.”

“You know I can’t let something like that go. If this happened because of Italian in-fighting, some sort of turf war within the Mafia, I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Let’s not talk about such matters in front of your da,” Mam said. She wrung her hands in her lap. “It upsets him.”

It didn’t upset Da; it upset her. It never used to. She’d always had a backbone when it came to mob stuff. Hell, her brother’s death and what happened to me hadn’t fazed her. Just part and parcel of being a Shaughnessy. But Da’s steady decline and her decreased mobility had shaken her foundation and turned her into a nervous wreck.

“Why?” I lowered my voice and closed the distance between myself and Ciarán. “So you can take advantage of it?” I hissed.

He shoved a finger in my face. “Don’t question my motivations or my authority when it comes to the family business, Siobhán.”

I swatted his finger out of my face. “I’ll question whatever the hell I want,Ciarán. You may be the boss of this family, but you arenotthe boss of me.”

He pressed his lips together.

I grunted in disgust. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, there’s in-fighting. You going to join the party? Put yourself and your crew at risk? Start an all-out war with the Italians?”

“This city would be safer without the Mafia in it.” He bit the words out. “My father should have finished the job he started. I’m not going to make the same mistake.”

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