Page 91 of His Dark Vendetta

“Who thefahck ahyou, pretty boy?” Ciarán snapped in a Southie accent as thick as Siobhán’s when she let it fly.

Vito glared across the table to where Vinnie watched the scene unfold with amused interest. “A heads up might’ve been good, Vinnie,” he growled.

“He knows better than to start something here. Don’t you, Luca?”

I narrowed my eyes. This was a setup. A fucking test. I ground my teeth and took the seat to Vito’s left.

Ciarán Shaughnessy eyed me. “Luca? Luca Moretti?”

The man sitting on Vito’s right could have been Siobhán’s twin, and the resemblance made my stomach turn. He folded thick freckled arms across his chest, and his lips cocked in an irritating smirk that made me want to punch him in his smug face.

“Fahck. I’d’ve brought more muscle if I knew this hothead was showin’ up.”

“Messieurs,” Durand said, terse and abrupt. His golden eyes captured mine then Ciarán’s. “This is a civilized game. If you are unable to conduct yourselves in a polite manner, my associates”—he lifted his chin to where two men the size of small giants stood on either side of the door—“will escort you to the lobby, and you will no longer be welcome. Comprenez-vous?” He leveled us with his uncanny stare.

I replied with a terse nod.

“Bien. Let us begin.”

The dealer stepped up to the table. Vinnie leaned into his conversation with the men on his right. Durand gestured over his shoulder to the waitress. Vito stacked his cash. I did the same, then took the cigar case out of my breast pocket and got to work. There was no way I’d make it through the night without taking the edge off. Fucking Vinnie and his fucking tests.

“I hear you have quite the vendetta against me, Moretti.” Ciarán’s accented voice crossed the corner of the poker table.

I picked up my cards and gestured to the waitress. “Glenfiddich. Neat. Single malt. The older the better.” She nodded and left to get my drink.

Cigar between my teeth, I fanned the cards and examined my hand.

“Not just you,” I said through a cloud of smoke. I placed my cards face down and avoided meeting Ciarán’s gaze. I couldn’t. He looked too much like Siobhán, and it was pissing me off. I locked eyes with Vinnie instead and wrapped my thumb and forefinger around the cigar, removing it from between my teeth. Smoke trailed out from between my lips, a slow serpent slinking toward the ceiling. “Your family.”

Vinnie nodded, almost imperceptible, but he was pleased I was holding it together.

Ciarán snorted. “You Italians and your blood feuds…”

The man next to Vinnie tossed a wad of cash onto the table. “Five thousand,” he announced in a heavy Russian accent.

Everyone else threw in, and the game began.

The waitress returned with my drink. I inhaled the oak notes and let the woody sweetness dance on my tongue.

“An eye for an eye, isn’t that it?” Ciarán asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I folded. My pair of fours wasn’t doing me any favors. Not in this crowd. “There are other ways to even a score.”

I picked up my drink, sat back in my chair, and the mouthful of scotch burned a trail down my throat into the hollow pit of my stomach. My plan to pump the leverage living in my house for information had been sidelined by the fallout from the hijacking, but there was another way I could use Siobhán to exact my revenge. One that hadn’t occurred to me until that moment.

Ciarán Shaughnessy studied his cards, only a hint of a smirk on his thin lips. He’d aged more than she had, his blond hair a motley of close-cut golds and grays, the lines on his face etched deep into weathered skin. But her nose was there, dusted with freckles that spread across the pale skin of his high cheekbones.

He had her eyes. The motherfucker had her eyes, and I hated him for it. Because in those eyes I saw another answer, another way to cause the Shaughnessys pain, and it was disgusting and wrong and I was going to do it anyway.

He flipped his cards over and threw a stack of cash into the pot. “Seems to me my da is the one who evened the score. Payback for coming around Charlestown and operating on Irish territory. You know the rules.”

“I do.” I glanced at Vinnie and brought my glass to my lips. “More than most.”

Vinnie held my gaze, face unreadable.

“Territories…” I mumbled, disgusted. “Stronzo. My father was taken from me by a bunch of Micks little better than common thugs. No code. No honor. The score is far from settled.”

“Watch your language, Monsieur Moretti,” Durand interjected. “Civilized.”

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