Page 57 of His Dark Vendetta

The olive juice and vodka hit my lips, and I instantly started to relax. It was the familiarity more than the alcohol that calmed my nerves, and as I sank back down onto the couch, chatting with my new jailer Mia didn’t seem so bad.

“You work here?” I asked.

“I do,” she said and popped the last bit of chocolate into her mouth.

“Dancer?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea how they do it. I’m so uncoordinated. I work the back of the house.”

I tilted my head, not sure what she was talking about.

She smiled. “The private rooms. Here in the back.”

“Ah.”

She gathered her hair, bound it in a high ponytail, and inspected her neck in the mirror beneath the lights.

Whoa. That’s one epic hickey.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked.

“About five years,” she said and grabbed a lip liner off the counter.

“You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s all right. The work and pay are steady. The tips are even better.” She shrugged and meticulously outlined the pale bow of her lips. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m the General Manager of Terme di Boston.”

She met my gaze in the mirror, eyes wide and lip liner frozen midair. “You work for Marco DeVita?”

“Yes.”

“What’s that like?” she asked with awed interest and exchanged the liner for a lipstick.

I chuckled. “I imagine pretty similar to working for Mr. Moretti. He’s Luca’s uncle, you know.”

She refocused on her lips, coloring them a deep maroon. “Terrible thing about his parents, isn’t it?” She shook her head and tossed the lipstick into a bag on the counter. She fished a powder brush out of another makeup bag. “I mean, losing both of your parents at such a young age? I was in the foster system growing up, so I never knew my parents. But losing your family the way he did seems worse.” She tapped loose powder across the bridge of her nose. “That’s gotta mess with a person’s head.”

You have no idea.

“Especially what happened to his mother.” She lowered the brush and regarded me through the mirror. “I heard it was a blood incompatibility.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Doesn’t that usually affect the baby?”

“I have no idea.” She returned to inspecting her makeup. “But I heard his father was inconsolable. Maybe it was a blessing he didn’t live long after she passed.” She stopped and turned on her stool with a grimace. “Sorry. That was totally morbid and inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” I said even though my stomach twisted into a knot. “Luca doesn’t talk about what happened. It’s nice to chat with someone else who knows him.”

She gave me a warm smile. “Any time. He’s pretty tight-lipped around here too, but he’s always been kind to me. For what it’s worth, he seems to have done all right for himself despite everything. Better than all right. He’s only been here a month, and this place is already running more smoothly. And, more importantly”—she pointed at me with the end of her blusher—“I’m making more money. So whatever you need to do to keep your man happy…”

I laughed and shook my head. I wasn’t about to argue with the woman.

The door opened and a head of bleach-blonde hair on top of artificially large breasts walked in. Her eyes landed on me like heat-seeking missiles, and she narrowed them like she could eliminate her target with a single hateful glare.

“Hey, Jenny,” Mia said. “This is Siobhán.”

Jenny lifted her chin and took short steps on ridiculously high platform heels past me to the makeup counter. “I know who she is,” she said icily and sat to Mia’s right.

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