Page 88 of His Dark Vendetta

“Perfetto,” Gina said. “Grazie.”

I wrapped my fingers around the hot mug and inhaled the latte’s nutty aroma. I missed my oat milk lattes.

Gina’s expression changed to something bordering worry. “I have to ask—I know my Luca too well not to ask—he knows about your family, right?”

I sipped the creamy goodness, letting it soothe me, and nodded. “He does. And so do you, apparently.” I was disappointed by the confirmation but not surprised.

Like I told Luca, word would spread no matter how tight-lipped he thought everyone was. And he wouldn’t be the only one thinking of ways to use me for my connections. My own cousin had done that exactly the night before Luca kidnapped me, trying to play on family sentiment to get dirt on Marco and the Italians. There’d be no end to how people would use me as a pawn in their fucked-up chess game.

“Hey. Ragazza. Va bene. I’d be a terrible mother if I didn’t make sure everyone was on the same page. I love my boy more than life itself, but I know the pain he carries. The anger. He’s suffered so much loss. Lucia, then Tony. Marco.”

Emotion flooded her dark eyes, turning them glassy. She looked out the window and blinked rapidly.

She waved a hand, picked up her fork, and drove it into her slice of ricotta pie. She took a healthy bite, shocking for such a petite, well-mannered lady.

“No matter,” she continued after a sip of coffee. “I’m thrilled for you both. Luca has never dated anyone seriously. He’s a lot like my brother in that way. Everything else was always more important.” She pointed at me with her fork. “Until he met the right woman.”

I dug into my tart, not sure how to respond. I didn’t want to burst her bubble, but I also didn’t want her to think we were anything more than a hot mess.

“Listen, Gina, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Luca and I…” I searched her eager face, trying to find words to finish the sentence. I sighed—“It’s complicated”—and shoved a forkful of tart into my mouth.

Her warm smile returned. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that nothing is easy when it comes to men. Doesn’t matter if they’re related to you or not, they always make things more complicated than they need to be.”

I huffed. Wasn’t that the truth.

“What was Luca like growing up?” I asked.

“He was such a sweet boy,” she said, and her face lit up, bright with affection. “Always concerned about his nonna e nonno. Followed me around the house wanting to know what I was doing every second of the day. I guess that came from losing Lucia and Tony so young. I think he was scared that if I was out of his sight for too long, he’d lose me too.”

She sat back in her chair, dropped her hands into her lap, and stared out the window. “It was awful when Marco left for Italy. Just terrible. Luca screamed and cried. We had to pull him off Marco’s legs so he could leave.” Her voice grew soft and distant. “Vito and I stayed in Boston to finalize the estate, but Marco had to get back. We thought it was better for Luca to stay here with me, but he started acting out.” She shook her head, the nostalgia in her eyes replaced with sadness. “Parenting is hard, especially when it’s dropped in your lap and you’re trying to deal with your own loss.”

She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. I drank my latte, wondering how a little boy, so young and innocent, could handle so much loss at such a young age.

“He was still so sweet,” she said into her coffee, her affection for Luca evident in the bend of her mouth and the sadness in her eyes. “Still so concerned about everyone else, so charming and helpful. But after Marco left something changed. A—a switch flipped. Fights at school. Stealing. Rage-fueled fits.” She looked up. “All the emotions someone so young shouldn’t have, they all started coming out. Violently.

“As soon as the estate was settled, we moved to Italy. I couldn’t handle him myself. But by then, the damage was done. The cork was out of the bottle,” she said with an ironic smile. “He calmed for a bit with Marco’s help, but once he got to high school?” She raised her eyebrows, puffed out her cheeks, and blew the air out long and slow.

The corner of my mouth tipped up. “I can only imagine.”

“He and Marco, they were like oil and vinegar.”

“I bet. Especially since they’re so similar in many ways.”

“They are, even though neither of them will admit it.”

“I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, but the two of you look way too young to have raised Luca. I always assumed Marco was five, maybe ten years older than me.” The timelines had never added up, but I didn’t want to pass judgment or make assumptions.

“Italian genes,” she said and winked. “We’re older than we look, and Tony was older than us. He and Lucia had Luca when we were all so young. Seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Still, that must have been difficult. I know what it’s like to have to be an adult before you’re ready. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone no matter the circumstances.”

“Oh?” she asked and lifted the final bite of ricotta pie to her lips.

I picked at my tart. “The amount of growing up I did between the ages of sixteen and nineteen was…” I set my fork down and twisted my hands in my lap. “A lot. Too much, really. I missed out on being a teenager, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I thought life meant surviving. I knew I didn’t want to live like that though—scared of my shadow, scared of my family. So I left. Made my own way in another country at the ripe old age of eighteen.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t right. I see that now. But at the time, it was what I had to do to survive.” I raised my gaze to meet hers. “And it looks like it’s time to do it again.”

She nodded solemnly and swirled the remnants of her coffee. “You can try and control your life, but life has a way of reminding you, you’re not in control.” She cocked an eyebrow—“Just ask my brother”—and drained the rest of her coffee.

“I didn’t choose this life, but I can choose to stay as far away from it as possible. I’m not sure that’s control as much as self-preservation.”

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