Page 31 of His Dark Vendetta

“I believe it. We spent almost a year talking business over lunches and coffee, remember?” One thing Luca was not was stupid.

He sipped his coffee, set it down, and started cleaning. I watched with fascination as he wiped down the entire machine, washed and dried the jug and shot glasses, and sprayed the entire counter with cleaning solution, polishing it like he’d prepared a Thanksgiving meal. A little excessive for two cappuccinos but given his fixation on my shoes, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.

He leaned against the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. “I remember,” he said, a gravelly admission. “It wasn’t my choice. I wanted to stay in Italy, but Marco was determined. Control freak,” he finished derisively.

I huffed. “Understatement.”

“Try living with him.”

I honestly couldn’t imagine. Anna was a saint.

Luca looked out the French doors. “He and my father had nothing growing up. They never went to college.” He snorted. “Hell, I’m not even sure they finished high school.” He faced me. “I think he was trying to live vicariously through me.”

“Can you blame him?” I shrugged. “He also could’ve just wanted you to have the opportunities he didn’t.”

“That’s certainly the way he’d spin it.”

I focused on my cappuccino. Time to end the small talk before we crossed into territory that would start another fight. I didn’t have the energy to argue about Marco. My fight was gone.

The milk in the cappuccino balanced out some of the acid in my stomach. I’d pay for it later, but I needed a reprieve before the cramps became too intense to sit up straight. I walked my dishes to the sink and rinsed them, not wanting to stoke Luca’s ire. I retrieved my water bottle and went back to the living room. I opened the drapes, letting in the bright morning light, and resumed waiting on the couch.

Luca puttered around the kitchen. I stared out the window and wondered how my parents would get by without me.

Maybe Rory would finally step up. Would Ciarán? I hoped so. The rotten garbage smell shoved its way into my nostrils and with it, unwanted images of my parents. Mam wringing her hands, unable to take out the garbage because she’s scared of falling. Da’s vacant eyes staring through the TV. He’s muttering something incoherent, causing Mam to make the sign of the cross.

“I’m leaving soon.” Luca’s blunt declaration snapped me back into the moment. I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve and faced him. He leaned against the archway between the living room and the kitchen. “One of my guys is coming over to watch you. Don’t try anything stupid.”

I stared at him, not sure what to say.

“I’ll be back tonight.”

“In time for a trip to the bridge?” My voice shook despite my attempt at sarcasm.

His eyebrows drew together, and he licked his lips. “We’ll see. More likely the pond,” he said and went upstairs.

The thin plastic water bottle crinkled beneath my fingers. It was empty. Nothing left. Tears dripped onto my safety pillow. I allowed myself a moment to cry, to mourn my parents, and then I was as empty as the bottle. Nothing left but the cold reality of being born into the Irish mob. A reality where, at any moment, your life can be snatched away. No matter how fast you run.

ChapterNine

Luca

My arms shook, and my pecs burned. I grunted and gritted my teeth and pressed the bar up.

“Come on, Luca!” Vito demanded, voice gruff.

The strained sounds of my effort grew louder, and with a final roar, my elbows locked. Shallow, staccato panting replaced my grunts and growls.

“Bene.” Vito spotted me from behind the bench and guided the bar loaded with four hundred pounds back to the rack. I dropped the bar, and it hit the iron with aclank.

My chest heaved and sweat poured down the sides of my face. I sat up and rested my forearms on my knees.

“Bene,” Vito said again. He handed me a towel. “First time you benched that much.”

I’d known Vito my entire life. My foster father’s consigliere was as much a fixture of my childhood as Marco, so I didn’t miss the undercurrent of question beneath the pride in his voice.

He had every reason to be surprised. Only a month had passed since Vinnie let me out of his warehouse of horrors. I never bothered with the gym in the past; I always relied on my superhuman strength and speed. But the gains of regular lifting and boxing took my abilities to the next level. I’d never been this big and cut, never been this fast.

Although, in this case, it wasn’t just the training that had me doing three sets of eight at four hundred.

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