Page 25 of His Dark Vendetta

I examined him right back. I hadn’t noticed how different he looked. Not through all the shock—him being in my house, him being alive, him trying to throw me off the Tobin Bridge. But now, under the bright kitchen lights, Luca looked different than I remembered. Harsher. With thicker muscles and a close-cropped beard. He’d always been clean-shaven. And when he walked toward me, there was a hitch in his step, a slight limp I’d never noticed before.

He set his beer on the island. “You’ll stay here and help settle my vendetta.”

“What?” I shrieked. “Stay here?” I made a hysterical noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, an easy, callous gesture, and drank his beer.

I stared at him in horror, unable to believe he would be so cruel as to prolong this torture. And be so nonchalant about it. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

“Good night, Siobhán,” I said, laying on a thick British accent. “Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” I shook my head, dislodging fresh tears. “This is beyond fucked up.”

My stomach boiled with acid. If Luca didn’t end me soon, my stomach would do the job for him. I wrapped my arms around myself. “What the hell did I do to you, Luca? Huh? Exist? Is that my crime?”

“Don’t play around, Siobhán.” He pointed his finger and his beer at my face. “You’re a liar and a rat. Don’t act like you don’t know what happens to rats.”

“I’m not a fucking rat!” I swatted at his finger, and he pulled his beer back, the angry sneer on his face blurred through fresh tears. “And I never lied to you. Ever.”

“You’re lying right now,” he growled, low and hot.

“What are you talking about?”

“That fake fucking accent. One big lie.”

“It’s not a lie! I left Southie when I was eighteen. I got the hell out of there andneverlooked back. I worked my ass off to build a new life, one without any ties to my family—not even my accent.” I stepped closer, reaching for him, wanting to recreate the connection we once had, wanting him to feel the truth of my words. He didn’t pull away even as I clutched his forearm. “It’s me, Luca. It’s Siobhán. The same woman you’ve always known. The one you met for lunches. The one who flirted with you across the lobby. The one you wanted to date?—”

He slammed the bottle on the island, and I jerked my hand away. Beer frothed and spilled over the edge as explosive and violent as the fury that teemed behind the flecks of red shining in his dark eyes.

My adrenaline spiked, and I stumbled back. I slammed my eyes shut and tried to slow my frantic breath. Fear was driving my imagination wild. When I reopened them, my vision cleared. Luca’s eyes were their normal coffee brown.

He stepped forward, closing the space I’d opened. “You led me on,” he said, accusatory but pained as though he’d dragged the words from a festering wound. But I had wounds of my own, wounds he’d created. Ones that spewed hot lava any time he picked at the scabs.

“Wait a minute.” I held up my hands and gave my head a slight shake. “Let me get this straight—Iledyouon?”

“You told me you were from Ireland. The first time we had lunch. ‘I’m from Cork,’” he said with an affected accent. “Trying to pass yourself off as some refined Irish woman when you’re just a fucking Shaughnessy from Southie.”

My blood boiled. Anger overtook fear, and I couldn’t contain the explosion. “You are such an asshole, Luca Moretti!You”—I stabbed a nail into the brick wall of his chest—“Youwere the one who asked me out.Youwere the one who was all too happy to get afucking blowjoband then suck face with some bimbo the night before our date.Youdid that. Not me. So you tell me who led who on.” My voice rose with every word, my breath coming in short, heated bursts.

He clenched his teeth. “I told you. That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Bullshit. It was exactly what it looked like.”

“Believe what you want, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact you’re a liar.” He swigged his beer.

“Argh!” I shrieked and punched him in the chest. “I amnota liar, and even if I was, that sure as hell isn’t a reason to kill me!”

“Isn’t it?” He cocked his head. “Why not tell me you were from Southie? Why not use your real accent?” He set his beer down and inched forward until I had to look up to meet his eyes. “Unless you were trying to hide something. Because you’re a rat.” He overenunciated theT, and his eyes narrowed. “Fact is, you didn’t want us to know you were a Shaughnessy, did you? Couldn’t keep feeding information to your cousin if Marco got rid of you.” He leaned closer. I leaned back, but he grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me into him. “I’ve seen Agent Johnson hanging around Terme. Ciarán’s in bed with the feds, isn’t he?”

I shook my head. “What?”

“Just like his father. Trying to take us down.”

“You’re insane,” I whispered.

“Am I?” He tightened his grip, and I winced. “I had a lot of time to think in Vinnie’s warehouse. A lot of time to reflect on how I ended up there, how Marco found out.” He pressed his lips together, and his nostrils flared.

Whatever happened in that warehouse, it wasn’t good. Terror claimed the front seat of the emotional rollercoaster I’d been riding all night.

“If you aren’t involved with your family, if you aren’t a rat, how did you know it wasn’t a Shaughnessy raid? How did you know your family wasn’t involved?”

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