Page 6 of His Dark Vendetta

“He’s not going to like this. He—he—” She held up her hand and took a settling breath. “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying this because it’s true. He thinks of you as part of our family. Like a—like a niece. He’d do anything for you.”

“I know. But I already have a family, and they did an absolute shit job of keeping me safe. One thing my life has proven to me is that I’m the only person I can trust. And that’s especially true when it comes to family. I have to stay away.”

She deflated on an exhale and wrung her hands. “He’s going to be angry, but you know—you know it’s because this is going to hurt him. Losing you after losing—” She stopped short, and I swallowed the fresh lump in my throat.

I drained the rest of my martini and slipped back into the bath. I let my head fall back to rest on the edge and stared at the ivy-covered ceiling.

The click of heels on the porous stone floor. The cool, humid air lightly scented with eucalyptus and toasted almond. The warmth of the mineral bath cradling my body. I loved this space. I came here any time stress got the better of me and made my stomach burn. I had more than colleagues and friends at Terme di Boston, I had a sense of family, of home.

My insides twisted in a mess of sadness and frustration, of anger and resentment, but it couldn’t be helped. I had to protect myself. I had to leave.

“I know,” I whispered. “And if there was any other way, I’d take it just to spare him the pain. But I can’t live like this. I won’t.”

I cleared my mind of the impending conversation with Marco and the sadness in Anna’s expression. Only to see a charming smile built for cameras. Eyes as dark as a stormy night. A still captured from a lunch at Vittoria a little over a year ago when things were simpler, when a future with Luca Moretti hadn’t seemed impossible.

“Sorry I’m late.” He squeezed my shoulder and rounded the table.

My heart leaped at the sound of Luca’s voice.

He tucked a length of chocolate-brown hair behind his ear, revealing a jawline that would make a runway model jealous. It was covered in a day’s worth of scruff, and the added roughness made my stomach flutter. His full mouth turned up in a smile so genuine it reached his eyes. He didn’t smile like that often. Most of the time he hid behind a paparazzi-worthy catalog of staged looks. But he smiled like that for me, and every time he did, I crushed on him a little harder.

“Marco’s a slave driver,” he said with a wink. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and folded his tall, muscular frame into the chair across from me.

“He gets like that when he’s focused.Youget like that when you’re focused.”

He chuckled.

“I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and ordered.” I gestured to the soup in front of me. “I have a one o’clock. Can’t be late for my own meeting.”

“Not at all.” He leaned back and lifted a hand. “Scusi.”

A waiter came over and took his order.

Luca returned his attention to me. “By all means, go ahead.”

“How long are you in town?” I asked and took a bite of minestrone. The tomato in the broth was mild and the vegetables were cooked enough to be safe for my stomach. I relished its warmth on the cold December day. And his company.

“Just the week. I need to get back to Roma before Natale. It’s our busiest time.”

Every now and then Luca would say something in Italian like Roma or scusi or Natale, and if I didn’t know it was impossible, I would swear cartoon hearts floated above my head.

“We’re always so busy when I’m in town,” he continued with an edge of frustration.

“At least we get to have lunch.” The words sounded as empty as my feigned smile.

Marco introduced us about eight months ago, finally breaking the ice. Instead of furtive glances and hidden stares across the lobby, we chatted whenever he was in town. Chatted and flirted. Neither of us stopped smiling any time we were together. One lucky day, we ran into each other at noon. Since then, we’d never missed an opportunity to share lunch when he was in Boston, but it never felt like enough time.

His eyebrows drew together. “No. These lunches are too rushed.” He pursed his pouty lips and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back in early February for the quarterly. I’d like to take you out for dinner. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted. I want to know you, Siobhán.”

A tear escaped from beneath my closed eyelids. Pretending to scratch my cheek, I swiped it away; I didn’t want to cause Anna more stress. The ache in my heart had nothing to do with her, Marco, leaving Terme di Boston, or even the troubles with my family. The ache in my heart had everything to do with what might have been, for the happy ending to the made-for-TV movie I’d secretly hoped I would find with Luca but was lost forever.

ChapterThree

Luca

The parking lot of the Sleep and Stay on the outskirts of Foxborough was a spectacle of contradiction to anyone who didn’t know better. To the right behind the “Employees Only” sign, a half dozen generic beaters formed a row of rust and dents. They matched the dingy, weathered exterior of the building, the cracks in the pavement, and the overgrown bushes that blocked the view of the street. To the left of the main entrance, Vinnie’s Rolls-Royce stuck out like a sore thumb, especially with the Mercedes-Benz SUV with Rhode Island plates parked next to it. Two Beamers continued the luxury-car lineup on the other side of the Benz. No sign of Marco’s Range Rover, but my contribution wasn’t going to make the display any less conspicuous.

My Ferrari purred like a big cat, roaring up the driveway and across the lot. I parked my baby diagonally across two spaces; I didn’t need some asshole dinging the paint. I climbed out and buttoned my suit jacket just as a white Mercedes pulled into the space beside mine.

---