Page 9 of His Dark Vendetta

“It’s time,” I said. “Voglio vendetta. Blood for blood. I demand no more, and I’ll take no less.”

“As is your right, Luca Moretti,” Don Patrizi said and leveled his gaze on Vinnie and Marco. “È un suo diritto,” he finished in a tone that brokered no debate. “But,” he added, turning his attention back to me. “Even now, we can’t afford a war. Ciarán Shaughnessy is off limits.”

I nodded. Vinnie’d warned me Roman was likely to stipulate the condition, and if he didn’t, Vinnie would. With the feds poking around and the tip-off from Mayor Kelson that they’d been talking with the Irish, the last thing we needed was an all-out war. And taking out Ciarán Shaughnessy would end in an all-out war.

“An eye for an eye and this blood feud is over, Luca.” Don Patrizi raised his brow. “Capisce?”

“Capisce,” I said and took my seat.

Marco’s eyes bored into me from across the room. They tugged on my attention with all the horsepower of my Ferrari. I licked my lips, knowing the lecture I was about to get through a single look. The muscle in his jaw twitched, the only sign Marco ever gave that he was pissed off. His eyes grabbed mine and suspicion colored his expression as if I’d been too reasonable, as if he expected I already had a plan.

But I held his stare without flinching. He’d sat on my father’s death my entire life. He’d lorded over every decision I’d made. He’d disowned me. Fuck him. Me and my plan were none of his goddamned business.

Roman Patrizi stood and broke our silent standoff. “Gentlemen,” he said.

Marco and Vinnie rose and walked around the tables to meet him. The three men exchanged handshakes and kisses, a performative display for everyone else in the room. The alliance was sealed, and the sit-down between the New England families was over.

The rest of us stood, shook hands, slapped backs, caught up. Boston and Providence didn’t come together often, and we took the opportunity to remind each other that New England was bigger than either city. Putting faces to names helped everyone remember not to fuck with the wrong person.

We filed out of the conference room, ready to go back to our cities, back to our rackets, back to earning, and for me, back to my vendetta, sanctioned after all these years.

I pushed through the glass doors of the shitty hotel. The sun blazed overhead. I reached into my suit jacket for my sunglasses, and a hand clamped onto my shoulder.

“Didn’t see you at the gym this morning.” Vito’s gruff voice held as much question as admonishment.

I’d hit Vito’s gym every day since Vinnie dropped me at Gina’s. After what I’d been through, my strength wouldn’t return from just eating and feeding. And despite his allegiance to Marco, Vito didn’t treat me like a pariah.

“We all make mistakes,” he’d said. “Sometimes they’re big. I’ve done my share of fucking up. You paid your dues, kid. This is your second chance. You only get one. Don’t fuck it up.” That had been the sum total of his lecture, and after those pointed words, he didn’t bring it up again.

The days I didn’t lift, he trained me in the ring, but he wasn’t doing it for me. Gina felt better knowing he’d taken me under his wing, and he wanted to ease her worry. No doubt she held onto the hope that the connection between me and Vito might heal the rift between me and Marco. Not fucking likely.

Gio’s driver stepped in front of us, blocking our way, and jerked his head toward the street. “We got eyes.”

A gray sedan with tinted windows was parked across the street from the hotel. A man wearing sunglasses and a serious expression watched us from the driver-side window.

“Goddammit,” Vito grumbled.

I stepped around Gio and flipped the asshole off. “Vaffanculo!”

The guy lifted a long-lens camera, and I lifted my middle finger, obscuring my face. “Got that? Fucking cagacazzo!”

Vito put a hand on my shoulder. I showed the camera my back and lifted my chin at the men walking out of the hotel. “Watch it,” I warned, and me and Vito started down the path toward our cars.

The unkempt hedges blocked the fed’s line of sight after only a few strides. “Must’ve tailed us all the way from Boston,” I said.

We couldn’t stop them. The street was public property, and we didn’t own the hotel. Not to mention, they’d be hard-pressed to pin me with any RICO charges. Still, I didn’t need permanent records that could be used against me after a couple decades of not aging.

“They’re a nuisance,” Vito growled and glanced at me sideways. “More than usual.”

That said a lot coming from Vito. Agent Johnson had been snooping around Terme for a while, but if Vito was concerned…

I stopped on the driver’s side of my Ferrari. Vito pulled a soft pack of Marlboro Reds from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, tapped one out, and stuck it between his lips.

“The gym?” He raised an eyebrow over theflickand flame of a black Bic.

I shrugged. “The morning got away from me.”

“You mean Marco’s back, and you don’t want to run into him,” he said around the cigarette.

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