Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Luca
M y arms shook, and my pecs burned. I grunted and gritted my teeth and pressed the bar up.
“Come on, Luca!” Vito demanded, voice gruff.
The strained sounds of my effort grew louder, and with a final roar, my elbows locked. Shallow, staccato panting replaced my grunts and growls.
“Bene.” Vito spotted me from behind the bench and guided the bar loaded with four hundred pounds back to the rack. I dropped the bar, and it hit the iron with a clank .
My chest heaved and sweat poured down the sides of my face. I sat up and rested my forearms on my knees.
“Bene,” Vito said again. He handed me a towel. “First time you benched that much.”
I’d known Vito my entire life. My foster father’s consigliere was as much a fixture of my childhood as Marco, so I didn’t miss the undercurrent of question beneath the pride in his voice.
He had every reason to be surprised. Only a month had passed since Vinnie let me out of his warehouse of horrors. I never bothered with the gym in the past; I always relied on my superhuman strength and speed. But the gains of regular lifting and boxing took my abilities to the next level. I’d never been this big and cut, never been this fast.
Although, in this case, it wasn’t just the training that had me doing three sets of eight at four hundred.
“Persistence pays off,” I said with a shrug and wiped the sweat from my face.
Vito walked around the long end of the bench and stood in front of me, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked.
I picked up my water bottle and squirted it into my mouth.
“What’s eatin’ you, kid?” he asked.
Talk about a loaded question. I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled long and slow. I hadn’t been right all morning, not since I dragged Siobhán back into the house and told her I planned to use her to even the score between the Morettis and the Shaughnessys. Her reaction unsettled me to my bones.
Siobhán had moxie. She commanded any room she blessed with her long legs, impeccable style, and Hollywood-starlet looks. But that morning, her light had dimmed, her indomitable spirit shattered. No sly grins. No sharp replies. No tip of her tongue between her teeth. The spark I’d admired for so long had been snuffed out. By me.
I grabbed the back of my neck and rolled my head, trying to ease the tension there. But Siobhán’s vacant stare and the downturn of her playful lips gripped my insides and wouldn’t let go.
I’d dated a lot of women, fucked even more, but never once considered pursuing anything more than a casual lay or feeding. Not until I met Siobhán. The weeks between asking her on a date and the night she caught me feeding had been the longest dry spell of my life. I’d fed, of course, and enjoyed it, but I couldn’t bring myself to have sex. She did something to me, to my insides. Something that made me want to be far more than casual. I didn’t like it. It made me uncomfortable.
Only to find out she wasn’t Irish. That she was from Southie. I went straight from uncomfortable to pissed off.
“Just a lot on my mind,” I said and met Vito’s eyes, holding mine steady. I didn’t need him calling me out on account of a tell. “Lunch and meetings this afternoon with Matteo and Richie. Source traffic is picking up at Terme.”
He eyed me as if gauging for bullshit. “Helluva time to expand the Source racket,” he grumbled and turned for the ring.
A couple of civilians sparred. Another blood demon new to Marco’s crew—been around maybe five, six months tops—worked the speed bag.
I pushed off the bench and followed. “Why’s that?”
“Agent Johnson and his goons been showing up more than I like,” he said. “Especially after following us to Foxborough.”
“I don’t think that’s related to Sources. No way the feds are keyed into that yet. It’s barely off the ground. The first appointments at Terme were just last week.” I shook my head. “If I had to guess? It’s the new property in the financial district. It’s Pompeii.”
Vito narrowed his eyes. “They never stuck their noses in Vesuvio business. What makes you think it’s Pompeii?”
“The Shaughnessys were poking around city hall, right?” I grabbed a roll of tape and started wrapping my knuckles. “Asking questions about the financial district and that property? Wouldn’t be the first time those Irish fucks were in bed with the feds.”
“The Shaughnessys aren’t the source of all our problems, Luca. No matter how much you want them to be.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged. “But it’s more plausible than the Source racket.”
“Doesn’t matter why that asshole’s hanging around. He’s got eyes on Terme. If Matteo isn’t careful…”
Level-headed as always, Vito was right. It didn’t matter. The feds were onto something and looking to cause trouble.
“I’ll tell Matteo and Richie,” I said. “We need to service demand, but the last thing we need is more federal heat.”
“Especially without Ms. Connelly around to chase ’em off.”
My head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“Ms. Connelly. She’s been a one-woman army keeping the feds off that property. Shame she won’t be around much longer.”
My stomach bottomed out. How could Vito know?
I blinked a few times and shook my head. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Siobhán Connelly. Marco’s GM. The hot blonde you’re always sparring with?”
“I’m familiar.”
“She’s on vacation the next two weeks. You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s looking for a new job. Has a bunch of interviews lined up.”
Vito’s words landed like an uppercut, and my head rocked back. Siobhán was quitting?
I finished the wrap, bit the edge of the tape, and ripped it off. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Gina. From Anna. Ms. Connelly told Marco she was going on vacation but didn’t tell him why. Told Anna though.” Vito’s expression said he wanted to be far away from Marco when he found out.
He stepped up to the ring, hung on the ropes, and shouted at the two men in Italian. I mindlessly wrapped my other hand, preoccupied by this new information. He glanced over his shoulder. “Apparently, the thing at Vesuvio really messed her up.”
A new source of guilt hit me like Vito’s right hook, and everything Siobhán had said over the past twenty-four hours stormed my head in a mad rush. She swore up and down she wasn’t a rat. I chalked it up to her trying to save her skin. But if what Vito said was true, and I tended to believe it was—Anna couldn’t lie to save her life—maybe Siobhán had kept her work and family lives separate. Maybe she hadn’t known who Marco was when she started at Terme. Maybe Siobhán wasn’t a rat.
I rocked my head from side to side, cracking my neck, the idea so jarring, I needed to shake it loose. My belief that Siobhán was a rat had fueled me in that shithole with Vinnie, kept me alive. I had a target. A focal point for my rage. A real chance at revenge. But if it was all bullshit? An insane story I concocted?
Siobhán was the perfect plant. If Marco bought her story, which he did, there was no reason for her to walk away. Especially with her salary.
Not to mention, if she’d been trying to save her skin, why wouldn’t she have told me she was quitting? Use it as proof of innocence?
Because she hadn’t thought of that. Because she wasn’t a rat.
The explanation was so simple, so uncontrived, it couldn’t be anything but the truth.
I bit the tape and ripped. I clenched and unclenched my fists, working the stiffness out of the tape, all too eager to punch something. Hard.
This changed everything. Rats deserved to be whacked, and I had no problem letting one drown. But throwing an innocent woman off the Tobin Bridge for being a Shaughnessy? True restitution required honor, and my vendetta wouldn’t be satisfied with a pointless death.
I met Vito at the ropes and tried to pay attention to the two civilians finishing their round, but all I could see was Siobhán curled up on the corner of my couch, small, scared, and defeated. I hated seeing her like that. I grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed.
The round ended.
“Come on.” Vito clapped me on the shoulder. “Better get moving if you’re gonna meet Matteo and Richie for lunch.”
Better get moving was right. I climbed between the ropes and danced on the balls of my feet. The faster I finished the faster I could get back to the house and back to Siobhán.