Page 24 of His Dark Vendetta

I eased the Ferrari up the driveway and into my garage, the door open and waiting for what was supposed to have been my victorious homecoming. Instead, I turned off the car and stared out the windshield in silence, an unwelcome silence interrupted by the pops and clicks of a settling engine and Siobhán’s fingernail tapping against her teeth.

What the fuck was I going to do now?

ChapterSeven

Siobhán

Lights sped by in streaks through my tears. I probably should have paid attention to where we were going, but all I could think about was the wind whipping off the Charles River, the sensation of falling, and how my worst nightmare had come true. I was going to die from the exact thing I’d spent my life trying to escape—my mobbed-up South Boston Irish family. And to twist the knife, I’d once seen myself in a future with the man who was going to kill me.

We pulled up a driveway into a garage. Luca turned off the Ferrari, and we sat in strained silence. I stared out the passenger window at everything and nothing and clicked my fingernail against my teeth in time with my heartbeat, a nervous habit I’d developed in the hospital as a teen. My heart rate climbed with each second he didn’t move, each drawn-out breath bringing me closer to my end.

“Stop that,” he barked.

I dropped my hand from my mouth and faced him. He pressed his lips into an angry line. Tears welled in my eyes at the hatred in his, and that seemed to piss him off even more.

My stomach cramped. The acid made me nauseous and ate at my remaining composure. I wrapped my arms around my middle and folded forward, trying to ease the burn.

Within moments, Luca was out of the car and outside my door. “Out.” He grabbed me by the arm and pulled. “Don’t step in that shit.”

I unbuckled my seat belt and climbed out, careful to avoid the puke-splattered mat.

My legs wobbled, but he held me upright. He moved me to the side and leaned forward, inspecting the damage my stomach had done to his interior.

“Goddammit!” He put his face within an inch of mine. “Don’t. Move,” he ordered through clenched teeth and released me.

My poor arm had taken a lot of abuse. I rubbed the soreness, certain he’d left bruises. I glanced over my shoulder at the open garage door, ready to bolt, but my legs shook so badly, I was sure my knees would give out before I made it to the driveway.

Luca extracted the floor mat like it was covered in hazardous waste. He looked around the garage and finally lifted his chin to the big city trash can. “Open that for me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” The quiet words were derisive despite my terror and stomach pain. “It’s rubber. Just hose it off.”

“I’d rather buy a new one that isn’t tainted.”

“Those mats are original.” My voice rose with irritation. “Where are you going to find a floor mat for a 308 GTS from 1985?”

“Fucking open it!”

“Fine!” I opened the stupid trash can. “What a waste.”

He tossed the mat in and wiped his hands on his pants. He grabbed me—luckily by the other arm this time—and yanked me toward the door at the back of the garage.

“Jesus!” I stumbled to keep up, and anger pierced the all-encompassing shroud of terror. “I get it. You hate me. You’re going to kill me. Message received. Is the manhandling really necessary?”

He shoved me through the door. “Take your shoes off,” he ordered above the rumble of the automatic garage door. He flicked the lights on, shut the door behind him, and brushed past me. In his socks.

The entryway opened into a spacious kitchen sparkling with bright white tiles, pale blue accents, and stainless steel. It looked like something out of a magazine or a showroom, not someone’s actual house. He tossed his keys on the stone countertop of the island and his jacket over the back of a black leather barstool.

To the left of the island, an eight-seat dining table with a polished natural finish stood before a wall of French doors obscured by vertical blinds. On the right, an archway led into the living room. It was dark, but the outlines of a sectional, a coffee table, and a big-screen TV were unmistakable. A hallway and a set of stairs between the kitchen and the living room led upward into darkness.

Luca went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

“Now what?” I asked, irritated but shaky. “You take me into the woods and chop me into pieces?”

He pulled a lighter from his pocket and used it to pop the cap off the bottle. “Shoes.” He swigged the beer and raised his eyebrows. “Off.”

I stepped on the heels of my sneakers and pried my shoes off one by one. “You didn’t answer my question,” I grumbled and stepped into the kitchen.

He pursed his lips and examined me.

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