Page 14 of His Dark Vendetta

But I needed to remove myself from the volatile situation between my family and the DeVitas, which meant I needed two weeks off for interviews. I just hoped a new job outside of Boston was enough; I didn’t want to think about leaving my parents’ fate in the hands of my idiot brother if I had to move back to Ireland.

* * *

My heels clickedagainst the wooden steps up to the second floor of my duplex in Somerville. It wasn’t the flashiest of places, and I could afford more, but it suited me. It was about as far away from Southie as I could get without being inconvenient. I shared the duplex with a lovely Irish couple who’d lived on the first floor for thirty years. The bakery next door was an added bonus. The owners came in super early each morning to bake donuts and cakes fresh for the day. It made the entire house smell like the inside of pastry bag.

The side door at the top of the steps opened into my living room. I hung my purse and jacket on the hook next to the door and kicked off my shoes, wiggling toes that had been cramped inside heels for sixteen hours.

My days were long when I visited my parents. Da’s dementia was getting worse, and Mam’s physical ability seemed to mirror his mental decline. And tonight, Da’s outburst had Mam crossing herself and wringing her hands more than usual. I hated to see them like that, but I hated the thought of them alone and struggling even more. So I’d stayed later than usual after dinner to clean and sit with Mam until her nerves calmed and she went to bed.

I untucked my blouse and pulled it over my head as I walked down the hall to my bedroom.

Ciarán coming over hadn’t helped either. He was as much a brother to me as Rory, but the last thing I needed, or wanted, were his opinions on the Italians or his vague hints about “deals.” I loved my family, but I also loved my found family. I owed as much loyalty to Marco as I did the Shaughnessy name. Ciarán fishing for information and implying he had plans made my stomach clench with anxiety. It also pissed me off, and the confluence of emotions added to the bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep ever seemed to cure.

I tugged on the chain of the art deco lamp that stood in the corner of my bedroom. A muted orange glow lit up my cozy retreat. I tossed my blouse on the bed, unzipped my skirt, and let it fall to the floor. I’d deal with it later, eager for the soft comfort of leggings, an oversized sweater, and fuzzy socks.

Something rustled in the living room. I paused, one foot into my leggings.

Nothing.

I pulled them on the rest of the way, unclasped the back of my bra, and threw it on the bed. I rifled through the bottom drawer of the dresser for my favorite sweater, pulled it over my head, and pushed up the sleeves. Heaven. I yanked pins out of my hair and dropped them onto my nightstand. I rubbed my scalp, finally free of its bindings, and tied my hair back in a short ponytail.

I spun around, thirsty for a martini to take the day’s edge off, and slammed into a hard body.

I yelped. So much adrenaline poured into my system, my vision went dark. A thick hand clamped over my mouth and muffled my scream. I thrashed and swung my fists. Blood rushed in my ears.

My vision cleared as survival instincts kicked in, and my eyes went wide with disbelief. I stopped flailing mid-swing, and my arms fell to his biceps even as breath came short and frantic through my nostrils.

Luca Moretti wrapped an arm around my waist and held my body flush against his. I stared into the depths of his smoldering eyes and breathed in the unmistakable scent of his cologne.

Luca was alive. He was holding me in my bedroom.

Tears burned my eyes. I searched his face for an answer to my silent question—is it really you?

His hand covering my mouth relaxed, and he dragged his index finger across my parted lips, along the curve of my cheek, and down my neck. He lowered his lips to my ear.

“Did you miss me, Shamrock?”

ChapterFive

Siobhán

“Luca,” I whispered and placed my palms flat against his chest, needing the resistance to prove he was there. I nudged him back enough to see his face, doubting reality. Dark eyes under long lashes looked down a straight nose. Plump lips pressed into a tight line. Unfamiliar facial hair covered the sharp angles of a familiar face, but it was him. It was Luca.

I hiccupped a sob, and my hand flew to my mouth before any more of my relief and confusion escaped. With shaking fingers, I brushed aside the hair falling across his cheek, afraid that if I touched him in earnest, reality would dissolve into imagination.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you were?—”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” His words held a bitter edge.

I blinked rapidly and frowned. “What? What are you talking about?”

His lips twisted into an angry sneer.

“Luca.” I fisted my fingers in his shirt. “What happened? Where have you been?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. And don’t pretend like you don’t know what happened. It’s time for a reckoning, Shamrock.” His low, gravelly voice was thick with menace. It made me dizzy with questions. You didn’t do what Luca had done and live to tell the tale. Not in this world.

And that nickname…

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