Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Luca
T he entertainment center’s cabinet doors unlocked with a rattle, and I swung them open to access the safe.
“You make a better door than a window,” Siobhán snarked from the couch.
“What’re you, twelve?” I glanced over my shoulder to glare at her and her smart mouth but was distracted by all the creamy skin.
Tiny green athletic shorts straight out of a ’70s gym class put her long, slender legs on display. Her feet were propped up on my coffee table, knees rocking from side to side, and her red-painted toes wiggled atop the wood. Her hair was pulled back, and her lips were wrapped around the tip of a bright red popsicle. She sucked it in and out of her mouth and fuck if my dick didn’t jerk at the sight.
She raised her eyebrows like I was inconveniencing her by interrupting one of the old movies she had on every time I walked into the living room. Movies she’d probably seen a million times. I shook my head and turned back to the safe.
I ejected the magazine of my 9mm Glock to make sure it was full. It was. I locked it back in place and shoved the gun beneath the waistband of my track pants. I moved to shut the safe but thought better. I grabbed my compact pistol and ankle holster. Lifting my pant leg, I fastened the holster and gun to my ankle. I closed the safe, shut and locked the cabinet doors, and dropped the keys in my pocket.
The neon display on the microwave told me I had thirty minutes before I needed to be back at The Dollhouse.
Siobhán held the half-eaten popsicle in front of her parted lips. They were swollen from the cold and cherry-red with food coloring.
“Cosa?” I asked and walked into the kitchen. My shoulder holster and jacket were slung over the back of a barstool. “It’s not like you’ve never seen a gun before.”
“I’ve never seen you with a gun before.”
I shrugged into my shoulder holster. “You know what I do for a living.” I removed the 9mm from my waistband and tucked it into the scabbard.
“You don’t usually carry a gun.”
I frowned, tossed my track jacket back on the chair, and walked into the living room, folding my arms across my chest. “Not often. No.”
She gaped at me, red popsicle melting. “You’ve had those the entire time.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You could’ve shot me. Before you realized I wasn’t a rat.” Bright red sugar water dripped onto her finger and slid down her hand toward her wrist. “Buried me in the forest.” She swallowed. “Or thrown me in the pond.”
“Yeah, well…” I mumbled and rubbed the back of my neck.
Truth was, I didn’t thrown her off the bridge. Truth was, no matter how much I wanted to end her, I didn’t. And now? Now there were other ways to get my revenge that didn’t require a bullet through Siobhán’s head or her body floating in the Charles.
Ciarán was in bed with the feds no matter what Vito believed. And if I could prove it, no one would bat an eye when I put a bullet through his head. Not Roman. Not Vinnie. Not even Marco.
According to Siobhán, she and Ciarán were tight, which meant confidences had been shared and conversations overheard. She might not think she knew anything, but she did, and I’d have her singing like a canary before I let her go.
An unhinged impulse to scoop her up off the couch and kiss the frown off her face nearly knocked me sideways. Anger replaced the ache in my chest. It burned away the unwelcome impulse, replacing it with ash.
“Careful with that fucking popsicle,” I snapped and walked back into the kitchen. I grabbed my jacket off the chair. “I don’t want red shit all over my couch.”
“Asshole,” she mumbled and pushed herself up. She joined me in the kitchen, dumped the half-melted mess into the sink, and washed the sticky red tracks from her hands. She leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest.
I clenched my teeth. She was wearing my Harvard hoodie. It was so huge on her it ended past her shorts. Seeing her in my ratty old college sweatshirt did uncomfortable things to my insides.
“Stop wearing my clothes,” I barked. “I brought you an entire bag of stuff.”
“Yeah, from your hoes. No, thank you.”
“My hoes? Seriously, Siobhán?” I smirked. “I told you before—jealousy is not a good look on you.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You are.”
I scoffed and leaned my hip against the island, crossed my arms, and cocked an eyebrow.
“You blame our entire falling out on me lying. You take zero responsibility for your actions.” I heard her blood surge; I was attuned to its rush. It pushed redness up her neck and into her cheeks. “I walk into Vesuvio the night before a first date we’d planned for weeks, and what do I find? You attached to the neck of some—some floozy! For an entire year, I had to watch you waltz through the lobby or come to events with whichever goomar you decided looked good on your arm. And, to top it all off, you blame me for what happened?” She thumped her chest with a fist wrapped in my sweatshirt sleeve, face splotchy and blue eyes flashing. “That’s not jealousy, Luca. That’s a normal reaction to being slapped in the face. Repeatedly.”
I dropped my arms and closed the distance between us, my frustration heating my blood as surely as it heated hers. “You know, you talk a lot about trust for someone who isn’t willing to give it herself.” I stopped in front of her and grabbed the counter on either side of her hips. She rested a hand on her chest and tilted her head back to meet my eyes. “You wanted me to believe you didn’t lie to hide things from me. You wanted me to trust you even though you’re living a double life.” I searched her eyes, making sure she was paying attention. “But when I told you what happened at Vesuvio wasn’t what it looked like, when I told you over and over that you don’t know what you saw…” I raised my eyebrows, and she pursed her lips. “Don’t talk to me about trust when you refuse to return the favor.”
I ground my teeth, waiting for some smart comment or reaction. Nothing. Instead, she fidgeted the hoodie string and held my gaze like we were playing some fucked-up game of chicken. Fine.
I pushed off the counter, stepped back, and sneered. “And yeah, that’s jealousy, Shamrock. Plain and simple.”
Her eyes and nostrils flared.
The doorbell rang.
I went to the door and answered it.
“Ciao, Luca,” Dominic said and stepped inside.
“Ciao.”
He held up a six-pack. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“But a good one.” I slapped him on the shoulder and grabbed a beer. “Dom and I are working tonight,” I said for Siobhán’s sake. I fished the lighter out of my pocket and popped the top off the bottle. “I’m taking you to The Dollhouse. Rocco’ll keep an eye on you till we get back.” I looked at her to make sure she was listening and almost choked on my beer.
Siobhán unzipped my hoodie. Her eyes were lowered, her lips slightly parted and stained red from the popsicle. She shrugged, a coy and unsuspecting move that made the hoodie fall from her shoulders. It bunched around her waist where she held onto the zipper. The t-shirt underneath was so small it hugged even her tiny frame, and without a bra, the outline of her dark-rose nipples was graphic, their tight peaks straining against the thin white fabric.
With a tug, the zipper came undone. She gathered the hoodie from around her wrists and tossed it onto the island. “Here’s your sweatshirt.”
I didn’t miss the twitch of her lips or the glint of menace in her eyes. I set my beer on the island, holding it in a death grip.
“Hi, Dom,” she cooed and met him on the opposite end of the island.
Dom’s hand rested atop the six-pack he’d placed on the counter. His mouth hung open, eyes fixed on her chest.
I flexed my free hand.
“Let me get those for you,” she said in that sultry voice she used when she fucked with me. She took the six-pack and spun around to face the fridge.
And that’s when I noticed her shorts.
BAD ASS was printed across the back in bold white letters as if the length of the shorts and the visible crease between her ass and her thighs weren’t obscene enough.
My free hand balled into a fist, and I strangled the beer bottle.
She opened the fridge and eyed the inside. “Where to put these…” She tossed a smile over her shoulder. “It’s so full after grocery shopping yesterday!” She stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth and winked at Dom.
I pressed my lips together trying to prevent myself from driving my fist into my friend’s face until his eyes swelled shut.
“Oh! Perfect!” She bent over at the waist and carefully plucked one beer at a time out of the cardboard and placed it on the bottom shelf.
The gym shorts rode up, revealing the entire bottom half of her ass. Only a thin sliver of fabric covered the crease between her cheeks. She shifted her weight from one long leg to the other, her bare ass wiggling with each deliberate move.
Dom rested an elbow on the counter, making himself comfortable, and unabashedly watched the show, a wide appreciative grin on his smug face.
Rage rose from my chest, up my neck, and into my eyes. My breath came hot and fast, trying to maintain control and not leap across the island to slam Dom’s face into the marble until he was incapable of looking at Siobhán ever again.
She popped back up and clapped her hands together. “There!” She faced Dom and stuck out a hip. “Unless… Did you want one now? Because I’d be more than happy to service you.” She giggled and shook her head. “Oops! I meant, serve you.”
Crack!
Beer splashed and foamed. Shattered glass clinked on the marble, and the jagged edges of the bottle’s neck spun in a slow circle. My fist clamped around the label and a few thick shards. Beer spilled through my fingers to join the puddle of debris on the counter.
Siobhán shot me a cool, knowing look—eyebrow raised, lips twisted in a self-satisfied sneer—then slammed the refrigerator door, walked out of the kitchen, and went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Just changing into leggings and grabbing a long sleeve!”
“Put a fucking bra on!” I shouted after her. I shook the label and glass from my palm onto the counter. “Goddamn mess,” I grumbled.
A dish towel hit me in the face. I wiped my hands and looked up. Dom’s shit-eating grin begged for my fist.
“Cosa?” I snapped. “You got something to say?”
He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile, and lifted his hands in surrender. “Niente, capo. Niente.” He made for the front door, shaking his head. “I’ll be in the car.”
I pulled the garbage basket out of the drawer, held it beneath the lip of the counter, and wiped the evidence of my possessiveness into the trash. Siobhán may have proved her point, but I’d be damned before I let her fuck with my head like that again. I wasn’t about to let a pair of long legs, hard nipples, and a smart mouth distract me from making a name for myself in Vinnie’s organization or claiming my vengeance.