Page 48 of His Dark Vendetta

“Sexy, right?” I reached into the freezer and grabbed a pack of cherry popsicles. “And, after all the surgeries, what’s left of my stomach pumps out acid like nobody’s business. I have a wicked case of reflux, which means no foods with too much acid or spice and a steady intake of extra-strength Tums.” I tossed the popsicles into the cart. “Oh! And to add insult to injury, I was lactose intolerant before any of this happened, so…” I waved my hand over the contents of the cart like Vanna White presenting a dystopian smorgasbord. “These are my safe foods—high-calorie and processed as fuck. Stuff I can eat that won’t make me miserable. Healthyfor me. Any questions?”

He stared at me, eyes wide and jaw slack.

Despite my bravado, my impromptu rant made me highly uncomfortable. I never told anyone about my over-the-top dietary restrictions, much less their origins. I made up all kinds of stories over the years about my scars, too. Surprisingly easy since the average person had no idea what a bullet wound looked like, especially amid all the other incisions.

Luca was the first person to see my stomach and immediately know what happened. I’m not sure why I told him the details. Maybe because he’d already guessed the gist. Or maybe because I wanted him to know why I’d “lied.” It had never been about pulling a fast one on him or Marco. It had been about escaping my past.

But this? Telling him the gory details of what I could and couldn’t eat?

Maybe I wanted to stick it to him. Drive home the fact that all the bullshit he made up about me and my motivations was just that—bullshit. That his decisions based on his stories were impacting my life, and I didn’t need one more man using me to make their life simpler. Maybe I wanted someone to care. Maybe I wantedhimto care.

I’d exposed my truths and made myself vulnerable to the worst possible person. A man who had, in a way, cheated on me, then decided I was the root of all evil, kidnapped me, and tried to kill me. And I just explained to him that if I wasn’t careful with what I ate, I’d end up on the toilet.

What the fuck, Siobhán?

Falling back into conversation with Luca was too easy. All the lunches and chats and small talk before The Incident. Not to mention the strange magnetism that drew us together no matter where we were or who was around or what was happening. Like the universe was shoving us together, forcing us into something neither of us wanted but were destined to face.

“Whatever,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.” Because it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was trapped, indefinitely, with no possibility of escape. “Let’s just get this over with and go back to the house.”

* * *

“Shoes!”Luca announced as soon as he walked through the door between the garage and the kitchen.

“Oh my god, you’re obsessed!” I said and toed them off.

“That was quick,” Dominic said from the living room. The TV was on. “Did you get me a calzone?”

I set the grocery bags on the island. Luca was already arranging items in the fridge like he was playing competitive Tetris. Labels out.

“Yes, I got your calzone,” Luca said. “It’s on the counter.”

“Perfetto. Grazie. Hai finito di giocare a fare la famiglia per oggi?”

Luca’s head snapped to where Dominic sat on the couch. Dominic had one of those boyish faces that made the upturn of his lips look especially mischievous. I had no idea what he just said, but I couldn’t help chuckle at Luca’s reaction. It was nice to see someone else needle him for a change.

“Vaffanculo!” NowthatI understood. Luca pointed at Dominic. “Watch yourself. I’m still your capo.”

Dominic raised his hands in surrender, and his smirk broke into a wide smile. “Mi dispiace, capo. You want me here babysitting instead of doing pickups, that’s your call.”

Luca slammed the door shut—“Corretto!”—and walked over to the entertainment center.

I leaned across the island and pulled the focaccia I ordered at the Italian deli out of the bag. We stopped there on the way back from Starmarket to pick up Dominic’s calzone, and I wasn’t about to miss an opportunity for fresh bread covered in olives and olive oil to cure my hangover stomach.

I sank my teeth into the doughy goodness and groaned. My eyes closed, and I slumped into the barstool, relaxing my head on its back. I hadn’t eaten anything but those noodles in over a day, and the focaccia was the best bread ever in the history of all bread.

The silence was deafening. I rolled my head toward the living room and opened my eyes. Dominic and Luca stared at me, the former like he was waiting to see what indecent noise I’d make next, the latter like he wanted to haul me upstairs and lock me in my room.

“What?” I said through the mouthful.

Luca slammed the cabinet door, locked it, and walked back into the kitchen, glaring at Dominic along the way.

“All right.” Dominic pushed himself up off the couch and walked to the front door. “I’m going outside.” He bent over to put his shoes on. “Calzone, per favore?”

I reached for the paper bag, but Luca snatched it from my fingers, eyes dark and shooting daggers.

“What’s your problem?” I mumbled and ripped off another mouthful.

The door opened and shut, and moments later, Luca hovered over me. He gripped the back of my barstool in one hand and held my cell phone out with the other.

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