Page 13 of His Dark Vendetta

Panic rose. The instinct to escape, to get away from my family and this entire mess with Vesuvio made my muscles twitch to bolt out the door, head straight for Logan International Airport, and get on the next plane to Ireland. I’d never be safe if I was caught in the middle of a turf war between my family and the DeVitas.

I glanced over my shoulder. Mam daintily ate her salad, feigning indifference, but the slight shake of her fork told a different story. And Da… Poor Da. Once so strong, he poked at his salad like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. The acid burn of worry for my parents and the frantic need to leave Terme di Boston stabbed at my stomach and made me nauseous. I closed my eyes and released a long, frustrated sigh.

“Look, Vahnie. I know you don’t believe me, but you’re safe. I’ll protect you. I’ve got things in the works—” He clamped his mouth shut and examined me. “There are things in the works I can’t tell you about, deals I’ve put in place to protect our family. You gotta trust me.”

“Cosa Nostra…” Da’s rough voice carried over the TV. Ciarán looked past me, and I glanced over my shoulder. Da stared at his salad. “That’s what they call themselves. There’s somethin’ wrong with those Italians,” he grumbled. “The devil in ’em.” Mam crossed herself. “Paddy seen it. Conor and Liam too. Red eyes. Shot one of ’em point blank. Right in the chest. ’E kept on comin’. Eyes blazin’ red. That’s why ye need the head shot.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger. “Right ’ere, Paddy said. That’s how ’e got that devil Moretti. Gotta get ’em with a head shot.” He trailed off, and my stomach burned hearing Luca’s name in Da’s paranoid rant.

I took a deep breath. That’s the way it was with Da now. No recognition. No participation in conversation. Then out of the blue, as if suddenly transported into the past, he’d ramble on about one thing or another before going back to staring at the TV and ignoring the present. It was painful to watch.

To make matters worse, this wasn’t the first time I’d heard those ridiculous stories about the Italian Mafia in Boston. It had been a recurring theme growing up. Mam’s family was devout Catholic and superstitious as hell. I don’t know if Uncle Paddy believed the shit he was spouting, or if he was trying to make his rivals seem evil so his crew could be the righteous saviors of Boston while lining their pockets. Either way, he’d never let up with the stories of red-eyed monsters who couldn’t be killed. They became a joke once Ciarán took over, but there were still a handful of superstitious Irish mobsters who thought Italian mafiosos were possessed by the devil.

I shook my head and pushed past Ciarán into the kitchen. “The only person I trust is myself,” I said, returning to our conversation before Da’s interruption. I opened the fridge and took out the leftover meatloaf and mayonnaise. “I don’t want to be involved.” I retrieved the bread from the pantry and two plates from the cabinet and rested my palms on the counter. “But I’m going to give you a piece of advice, because I do love you, and I don’t want this to blow up in your face.”

I looked into my cousin’s eyes, intense wild-blue fire. “Don’t make the same mistakes as your da.” Ciarán hadn’t said outright that he’d made a deal with federal law enforcement, but his vague statements had reeked like the rotting garbage. “Don’t get in bed with people you shouldn’t be sleeping with.”

He pressed his lips together and gave me a short nod.

The back door opened, and my brother walked in. A couple inches shorter than Ciarán, Rory looked more Connelly than Shaughnessy with dark curly hair, a stout build, and a face covered in freckles.

“Look who decided to grace this house with his presence,” I snapped and spread mayonnaise on the bread for my parents’ cold meatloaf sandwiches.

“What’s that smell?” he asked and wrinkled his pug nose. He reached for a piece of meatloaf, and I slammed the mayonnaise-laden knife down on the counter.

“That would be garbage. And it was a hell of a lot worse when I first got here. Do you know why?”

He grimaced, backed up empty-handed, and stood next to Ciarán.

“Because someone didn’t show up yesterday. Because someone decided they had better things to do than take care of their parents. Because someone doesn’t give a rat’s ass that their sister has a full-time job and a life of her own!”

“Ahhh, fuck, Vahnie.” He scrubbed a hand back and forth through his floppy curls. “I was working.” He looked to Ciarán for support. Ciarán’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” I picked up the knife and pointed it at the living room. “Apologize to them. They’re the ones who had to live with rotting garbage for two days.” I cut the sandwiches in half and placed them on the plates. “You need to get your priorities straight.”

“Hey, now. I got my priorities straight. When Ciarán asks me to do something, I do it. And he had me on a job last night.”

My temper had been simmering since I’d arrived, but my brother’s dismissal turned it up to a rolling boil. “Not if it interferes with your responsibilities to our family!”

I turned my death glare from Rory to Ciarán. He lifted his hands in an I’m-staying-out-of-this gesture.

“You kids get along in there,” Mam called.

I let my head fall back and expelled an exasperated sigh. “I need to know I can rely on you to take care of them when I’m not around,” I said to the ceiling before lifting my head back up. “This is a lot on all of us, and I can’t do it alone. Not this.”

“Christ, Vahnie. I just forgot.”

“No,” I said and walked to the pantry to get the potato chips. “No more excuses. There’s always an excuse, and then I have to clean up the mess. But that’s not going to fly for the next two weeks while I’m on vacation.”

Rory and Ciarán exchanged guilty glances.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, help me,” I mumbled and put a handful of chips onto each plate. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Ciarán looked at his feet, and Rory eyed the meatloaf on the counter.

I picked up the plates and looked between my cousin and my brother. “As I mentioned—multiple times—I am on vacation for the next two weeks. And as we’ve discussed—multiple times—your schedules, the chores, grocery lists, everything is on the fridge.” I widened my eyes and craned my neck. “Got it?”

“We’re on it, Vahnie,” Ciarán said and stood straighter. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. Just enjoy your vacation.”

I shook my head and turned for the living room. Not worry about a thing. Right. It’d be a goddamn miracle if this place was still standing after two weeks without me.

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