Page 56 of His Dark Vendetta

Siobhán

An endless stack ofPeoplemagazines and a change of scenery turned my evening from just-another-night-in-the-clink to relatively acceptable. At least this version of jail had a mini fridge stocked with Kool-Aid and I was allowed to wear shoes.

The Dollhouse wasn’t bad for a strip club. Not that I’d been to many strip clubs or had seen the inside of a strip club dressing room. But the bar and decor gave off a classier vibe than I expected. Polished walnut crown molding. Soft amber lights. Gold accents to rich russet upholstery. It didn’t reek of smoke, and my feet hadn’t stuck to the floor when we walked through the main room of the club. Still, a far cry from Terme di Roma or Terme di Sicilia—not that I’d visited those properties either—but if they were anything like Terme di Boston, The Dollhouse must have been a big adjustment for Luca.

I huffed and flipped the page. Like I cared.Jerk.

A big smile grabbed hold of my face thinking about how badly I’d pissed him off earlier. He had it coming. He was so full of himself. It was about time he experienced a dose of his own medicine. And hoo boy he didnotlike the taste. At first, I thought he crushed the beer bottle with his bare hand, but that was ridiculous. He must have slammed it on the counter. Either way, he’d been furious with jealousy.

This whole kidnapping thing had gone from terrifying to confusing in a matter of days. Luca wasn’t going to kill me, that much was clear. And the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself he’d never been capable of killing me in the first place. He thought he was, but the way he held me on that bridge, the way his fingers tightened around my arms, the way he pulled me close as if protecting me from himself…

I drained the rest of my Kool-Aid and tossed the box in the trash.

And then there was my stomach. Set aside the fact he’d intended to go down on me in the middle of his kitchen—I shivered remembering his mouth on my skin—he’d been visibly upset by my scars. So much so, he left a bruise on my right hip from squeezing me so tightly. He even took me to get groceries and let me cancel my interviews.

I dropped my hands and the magazine into my lap. That was some sick Stockholm Syndrome shit right there. Worse, this wasn’t the first time I’d made excuses for his bad behavior. Just last week I’d sat in a mineral bath next to Anna wearing my rose-colored glasses and dreaming of the future that might have been.

At every turn, I forgave Luca his sins—pretended he didn’t betray Marco, pretended he wasn’t a playboy asshole, pretended he wasn’t my enemy. And for what? The vain hope he’d miraculously realize he was wrong? That he’d call me his little shamrock again with love in his voice instead of hate?

I sighed and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Dominic said they’d be back to pick me up around closing time, but I refused to spend the next two and a half hours ruminating over Luca. I needed a drink.

The dressing room door opened, revealing a wall of thick back muscles. I tapped the wall. “Excuse me.” The wall’s head turned a fraction to the left. “Can I get a drink? Like a dirty martini or something?”

“Mr. Moretti said you’d ask for drinks.”

“Okay…”

“He said you’re allowed two.”

“Allowed?” I clenched my fists. “I’m going to fucking murder him,” I muttered under my breath. “Tell the bartender I’d like a double dirty martini. Extra olives.” The wall raised an eyebrow. “That’s still one drink.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he nodded toward the dressing room behind me. “Go have a seat.”

“Thank you,” I said and shut the door.

I paced the room, investigating the piles of clothes, shoes, makeup, and accessories strewn across surfaces and spilling out of the closet and boxes. There was just so much… stuff.

This must drive Luca crazy, I thought with satisfaction.

The door opened behind me.

“That was quick,” I said, but instead of a muscled wall holding a drink, a petite woman with long raven-black hair and skin even lighter than mine stood in the doorway. She wore black leather hotpants and a lime green tank top that accentuated the deep green of her big round eyes. She was strikingly pretty, but in an unconventional way. The kind of pretty you don’t see in magazines, but when you see it in real life, it makes you pause.

“Hello,” she said with a genuine yet curious smile.

“Hello.”

She closed the door behind her, walked over to the mini fridge, and pulled out a juice box and a Kit-Kat. “I’m Mia.” She sat on one of the stools along the wall of mirrors and unwrapped her snack. “You must be Siobhán. Mr. Moretti’s girl, right?”

I huffed and reclaimed my place on the couch. “I’m not sure I’d call myself hisgirl, but yeah.”

She took a bite out of her Kit-Kat and smiled. “The way he lectured me and Rocco about keeping an eye on you and making sure you’re comfortable…” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re about asgirlas it gets for Mr. Moretti.”

My jaw dropped and I blinked, once again trying to make sense of Luca and his baffling behavior.

The door opened, and the wall—Rocco—stuck his head and my drink inside. “Here you go. Better make it last. You only get one more.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed off the couch. “Thanks,” I said dryly and snatched the glass out of his beefy hand.

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