Page 84 of His Dark Vendetta

He thrusted, and I squirmed with more urgency, the pleasure rising and demanding we fulfill our growing need. He released me from his kiss and propped himself up on both elbows. His forehead hovered above mine, and he started to pump in and out of me. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pressing him into my core, sensation building with each stroke of his cock and each grind against my clit.

“Baby,” he breathed. “Baby, tell me when. Tell me when you’re going to come.” The pleading in his voice nearly sent me over the edge. He was close and so was I, and he wanted us to come together, wanted us to share that final intimacy.

“Now. Luca!” I barely breathed his name before my body plummeted into the abyss.

He shivered at my exclamation, thrusting faster, and I moaned, loud chords of bliss ripped from my body with each pulse of my orgasm. He thrust one last time and stilled, his body jerking as he came. We shook through our orgasms as one, sharing our breath and sharing our pleasure, clinging to each other and clinging to the moment.

We stilled, save our heaving chests.

He brought his fingertips to my lips and touched them like they weren’t real. I wrapped his fingers in mine and kissed their tips. He licked his lips and swallowed. I smiled at his nervous tic.

He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him until I lay on my side, my head propped up in my hand.

Pouty lips, swollen from kisses. Smoldering eyes with flecks of crimson. Long dark hair framing an angular jaw covered in salt and pepper. I was a goner from the first moment I saw his face.

He tucked his forearm behind his head, and I traced my fingers down his chest to where the gold chain he wore ended in a small circular medallion.

“St. Anthony,” I whispered. He raised an eyebrow, and I smiled. “You’re not the only one who was raised Catholic.”

He smirked. “Gina made me go to church every Sunday.”

“So did my parents.” I ran my fingertips over the trimmed hair that covered his broad chest. It seemed to soothe him, and his face softened into an expression bordering on peaceful. “Do you still?”

“Cosa?”

“Go to Church.”

“No.” His eyebrows drew together. “That’s not true. I go when Nonna e Nonno—Gina and Marco’s parents—are around. It makes them happy, but it’s not for me.”

“Same. I only go when it’s my turn to visit Mam on Sundays.” I picked up the pendant and turned it over. It was worn and tarnished. “Why do you wear this then?”

He lowered his eyes to my fingers. “It was my father’s.”

An irrational twinge of guilt hit me in the chest. “I’m sorry.”

He removed his arm from behind his head, placed his forefinger beneath my chin, and tipped my head up. “Don’t be. You didn’t kill him.” Steel backed his words, spoken as a decision. A decision he made for himself as much as for me.

I nodded, and he put his arm back behind his head.

“His name was Antonio—Anthony in Italian, right?”

“Yes, but that’s not why he wore it.”

The final sliver of the moon dipped below the tree line and left us in near darkness.

“Sant’Antonio is the patron saint of recovering lost items,” he said. “The priests at Sacred Heart gave it to him.”

He frowned, and his body tensed. I dropped the pendant and resumed trailing my fingers across his chest. He blew out a breath and relaxed.

“My father was an orphan. He emigrated from Italy with his parents. But back then, the North End wasn’t like it is now. Back then, it was an overcrowded slum. His parents died soon after they arrived. Some sickness they picked up and had no means to treat. He ended up living on the streets but knew enough to go to Sacred Heart for meals.”

He lifted the pendant and held it between his fingers. “The priests gave this to him, told him Sant’Antonio would protect him so he’d never get lost and would always find his way home.” He looked at me, eyes wide and glassy. “Then he met Marco, and the DeVitas gave him a home. Marco gave this to me after the funeral. Told me to never take it off, because—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “Because no matter what, I was part of his family, and he never wanted to lose me.”

Tears spilled down my face. What Luca did to Marco in a desperate attempt to kill the pain in his heart over losing his father… I couldn’t fathom the sacrifice.

It made sense now. I was the one to tell Marco the hit hadn’t come from the Shaughnessys, and with that one act, Luca lost his only family. Yes, he’d made a string of horrifyingly bad decisions, but I saw the trail of pain and loss that led him to blame me. None of it was logical, but after everything Luca had been through, could I expect him to be logical? After everything I had been through, was I?

I rested my head on the pillow, and he rolled onto his side to face me. He trailed his fingers down my torso and followed them with his eyes.

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