Page 43 of His Dark Vendetta

Her mouth bent in a sad, ironic smile. “You were right about one thing last night—we never would have worked out. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from this world, and you keep running to it.”

My jaw tightened, my teeth clenching so hard, I thought they might crack. “Siobhán, I?—”

She held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth and nodded even though I wasn’t sure I could hear the rest. I wasn’t sure I wanted to make her relive the horrors that followed.

“You called me your little shamrock once, before everything.”

“My good luck charm,” I said with a wan smile.

“One of the bullets hit an artery. There was so much blood. But Uncle Paddy and Ciarán arrived at the shop the same time the shooting started. A squad car was there in minutes—one of the Southie cops on the Shaughnessy take. They rushed me to Mass General. Ciarán held my stomach the entire time.” She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “So yeah. Lucky. By all accounts, I shouldn’t be here right now.”

My thumb moved back and forth, slow, methodical strokes along her cheekbone. My mind raced through time and conversations, connecting questions with answers. “That’s why you moved to Ireland,” I whispered.

“I spent the summer before my junior year of high school in and out of the hospital. The doctors stopped the bleeding the day of the shooting, stabilized me, but that was just the beginning. While all my friends were learning to drive, I was having my digestive system rewired.” Her words took a bitter turn. “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I woke up screaming every night, jumped at every loud noise. And the worst part?” Her lips twisted into a resentful sneer. “They all told me how lucky I was. Started calling meLucky Vahnie.” She scoffed. “Real fucking lucky.” She looked away and shook her head. “‘You’re a real Shaughnessy now.’ That’s what Uncle Paddy told me. That I’d gotten my scars. That I’d earned my name.” Her head snapped back to face me, and her eyes flashed like blue fire. “I wassixteen.”

If I had the power, I’d have resurrected Pádraig Shaughnessy and killed him all over again. Painfully.

“So when I say I want nothing to do with my family,” she said, her righteous anger focused on me, “when I say I did everything I could to get away from them, it’s not bullshit. And now you know why. Now you’veseenwhy.” She gripped my forearms. “We both have scars from this life, Luca. Mine are just on the outside.”

I ground my teeth, my emotions pulling me in opposite directions—protectiveness, outrage, confusion. Regret. After seeing her stomach, after hearing the pain and bitterness in her voice, I believed her. I believed everything she’d told me. Where that left us? I had no idea.

“I want names, Siobhán. I want the names of every person who hurt you.”

“They’re long gone, Luca.” She waved a hand through the air. “Uncle Paddy took out the entire crew. You know how it works. He wasn’t about to let that insult go.”

I ground my teeth. Another sin for which the Shaughnessys needed to atone, this time enacted against one of their own. I’d personally make sure everyone involved—rival gang and Shaughnessys alike—paid their penance in blood.

The doorbell rang.

The neon time on the microwave above the oven read nine forty-five.

“Cazzo. That’s Dominic,” I said, but didn’t let go. Neither did she. “Go upstairs. There’s a Harvard sweatshirt in the bottom drawer of my dresser. And for God’s sake, put on a pair of my boxers.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Top drawer on the left. I have to go to work. I’ll… I’ll get you some clothes and?—”

Realization slapped me across the face. How drunk she was the night before. Her stomach. I dropped my hands from her face and shoved one into my hair. God, I was the worst kind of asshole. “What did you eat yesterday?”

She lowered her eyes and hugged herself. “A bowl of noodles.”

“Fuck, Siobhán, why didn’t you tell me?”

She let out a hysterical laugh and looked at me like I was crazy.

“Never mind. We’re going to the grocery store when I get back.” I took quick strides toward the door and pointed at the stairs. “Go.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Hand on the doorknob, I waited for her to disappear upstairs. The thought of Dominic seeing an inch of her naked skin drove my eyes to the edge of fire. I squeezed them shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. My mind was a turbulent mess. It constricted my chest and made it hard to breathe.

My plan was shot to hell. Everything I thought I knew about Siobhán was complete bullshit. But I had to keep her here. I couldn’t let her go.

I didn’t give a fuck if she told her family. Let them come after me. Maybe then I’d finally get to put a bullet through a Shaughnessy head. But I didn’t need her running to the cops. She didn’t have any evidence, but I didn’t need the extra heat, especially with the expanding Source racket.

More than the cops, I was worried about Marco. I was within my rights to take Siobhán. He agreed at the sit-down—any Shaughnessy was fair game outside of Ciarán. But he’d make it into athingregardless, and I wasn’t ready to deal with his shit. Not yet.

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