Page 3 of His Dark Vendetta

“You’ll never understand.”

“I understand plenty,” she snapped. “Do you have a death wish, Luca?”

I looked out the kitchen window and ground my teeth so hard, my jaw started to throb as badly as my head.

“Do you? Because that’s the only reason you’d do something as stupid and reckless as you did.

“Marco gave you a choice when you turned eighteen. I know, because as your foster parents, we had long discussions about giving you that choice. You chose to get involved. You chose to get made. And that means you play by the rules.” She held up her hands as if forcing herself to slow down. “What the hell were you thinking?”

My pulse roared, the pounding in my ears as loud as my labored breath. I clenched my fists, trying to contain the torrent of emotion.

Mamma Gina placed her hand atop mine. “Look at me,” she said softly and wriggled her fingers into my fist to hold my hand. “Guardami, Luca.”

My breathing slowed, and my shoulders relaxed.

“You’ve spent too much time in Italy obsessing over this vendetta. You’ve lost sight of what matters—your family, your community, the people who love you. We’ll help you through this. And if we can’t? If we can’t help you heal?” Her lips trembled, and she swallowed. “Then I’ve failed as a mother,” she finished, her voice shaking through a declaration that only deepened my guilt.

Tears made the crimson specks in her dark brown eyes sparkle. They pleaded with me as strongly as the strain in her voice.

But she didn’t understand. She could never understand what the Shaughnessys took from me. My father. My childhood. My sense of belonging. Nothing could fill the hole they left behind. Nothing but revenge.

The oven beeped.

Gina rose from the table and busied herself with my meal.

The promise of revenge had sustained me through the weeks I’d spent in that Valenzano hellhole. It had consumed every waking thought. I’d held on, knowing that if I made it to the other side, I’d make the Shaughnessys pay for the life they’d stolen and find some semblance of peace.

Gina set a plate steaming with baked ziti in front of me. My stomach rumbled. I picked up my fork and shoveled a huge bite into my mouth.

“Slow down! You’ll make yourself sick.”

But I couldn’t slow down. The aroma and flavor and texture of food after starving for so long…

“Allora. What’s your plan?”

I washed the bite down with the rest of my wine. “I work for Vinnie now.” I stabbed the salsiccia with my fork and tore a chunk off with my teeth. My body ripped through the food almost as eagerly as it had devoured the blood of the two Sources I’d drained.

“And the rest of your life?”

I shrugged and licked the thick sauce from my bottom lip. “Ancora vino, per favore?”

Gina pressed her brows together, as unhappy with my non-answer as she was with my attitude. But she was as close to a mamma as I had, so she got up, grabbed the bottle off the counter, and filled my glass.

The Moretti family blood debt demanded payment. The stain had to be removed from my hands, not to mention the DeVita’s and the Valenzano’s. An eye for an eye. Blood for blood. I was owed my sliver of peace even if it was a fraction of what I deserved. But I’d learned my lesson; I would play by the rules this time.

Mamma Gina tidied up the kitchen, and I finished my meal. Plate and glass empty, I leaned back and ran my hands over my full stomach.

“There are a few things in your room from when you renovated your house. I’ll go to Saugus tomorrow and pick up anything else you need.”

“Grazie.”

“Figurati. But now you need rest. Andiamo.”

She wasn’t wrong. I could barely keep my eyes open now that I’d eaten, especially after all the wine. I grabbed my cane, and Gina helped me to my feet.

My knees shook with each step through the living room. I stopped short before the hallway, my eyes fixed on a portrait that might as well have been a bullet through the head.

We’d piled into Nonno’s station wagon to drive to the studio. Nonna’d said we needed a family picture before Marco and Gina left for Italy. It had been time for them to relocate, assume the identity of their children for a few decades before returning to the States. Nonna’d explained that because we were special, because we were blood demons, we all would experience that adventure someday.

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