Page 18 of His Dark Vendetta

“If it wasn’t for you, Marco wouldn’t have disowned me.”

That’s all that matters.

My pounding pulse and the wind whipping across the bridge muted her soft sobs. She shook in my arms.

I’d killed before. Without remorse. I’d kill again. Especially now that I was part of Vinnie’s crew.

But doubt gnawed at my resolve, and sentiment stung my chest.

Another gust slammed into us. Her body jerked as if falling, and she wrapped her hands around the backs of my thighs, clinging to me—her captor, her killer—as if I’d save her from pitching over the edge.

Siobhán falling…

Her body disappearing into the void…

My arms tightened around her, shocking the hell out of me and making me furious.

I moved to release her, to avenge my father, but my body wouldn’t obey. Instead, I lowered my nose to her hair. Peaches and cream and Siobhán. The sting in my chest transformed into a deep ache that reached my deadened heart.

I inched forward, closer to her end and my revenge.

Bright lights flashed in my periphery. Over my shoulder, two pairs of headlights sped toward us.

“Cazzo,” I mumbled under my breath. I hadn’t expected the bridge to be completely empty, but I also hadn’t expected my plan would take this long.

I looked down. Siobhán’s pale face was wet with tears, her eyes and lips squeezed shut.

My gaze snapped back to the bridge. One of the cars slowed as it passed. I blinked hard and another set of headlights appeared in the distance.

“Goddammit,” I spat.

The headlights crept closer.

No good. Too many eyes.

“Cazzo!”

I lifted Siobhán by the waist and backed off the ledge and onto the shoulder. I set her down and moved to open the passenger-side door, but she fell to her hands and knees, collapsing under her own weight.

“Fucking hell.” I hoisted her to her feet. She sagged, limp and shaking, and sobbed in my arms. I maneuvered her into the car and her feet away from the splattered vomit. What a fucking mess.

I slammed the door and got in on the driver’s side. I reached across to fasten her seat belt. “You’re really going to make this as difficult as possible, aren’t you?”

She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook through each pained sob.

For one unhinged moment, instinct grabbed me by the thread of empathy left in my heart and dragged me forward, urging me to wrap my arms around her and kiss her tears. Tell her I’d make everything okay.

No fucking way.

I forced myself back, pulled on my seat belt, and turned the key. The Ferrari roared to life. I revved the engine, threw it in gear, and peeled out onto the bridge. The tires shrieked with fury.

My foot pressed the accelerator. My hands strangled the wheel. What thefuckwas I going to do now? I hadn’t considered a Plan B. My torment was supposed to end with Siobhán Connelly plummeting to her death from the bottom deck of the Tobin Bridge. Yet there we sat—me no closer to ending my vendetta, and her glassy-eyed and sniffling in my passenger seat.

We exited the bridge onto an empty stretch of toll road and headed north toward Saugus—Vinnie’s territory and my house—even though I had no fucking clue what I was going to do when we got there.

I needed to calm the fuck down. Getting pulled over by some crooked cop would make the night infinitely worse. I eased off the gas.

She crossed her legs away from me, wrapped her arms around her middle, and rested her forehead against the window. We passed beneath a streetlight, and her reflection in the glass showed a face glistening with tears and smudged makeup. Only a fraction of her hair remained bound in her short ponytail. The rest fell to her shoulders or stuck behind her ear. A rumpled, distraught version of a woman always so put together.

---