Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Siobhán
“Y es!” Marco’s voice boomed through the door.
I opened it and walked into his office.
He scrawled something across the papers stacked on his desk. “Siobhán,” he said, still focused on his work.
“Mr. DeVita.”
That caught his attention. He stopped his pen, looked up from his desk, and arched an eyebrow.
“Marco,” I amended through an awkward smile.
He tossed the pen on the blotter, picked up a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray, and puffed it back to life. Cigar between his teeth, he walked around the desk and leaned back against its edge. “You have something you want to tell me?” He wrapped a finger and thumb around the cigar and blew the smoke up to the vents in the ceiling.
He knew. My shoulders slumped. I’d wanted to be the one to tell him. He deserved that respect.
“I’m resigning my position at Terme di Boston,” I said quickly.
He bowed his head a fraction. “And?”
“And…” I scrunched my forehead. What else was there? “And The Dubliner is going to hire me back as their General Manager. I’m moving back to Ireland.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “What problem is that going to solve?”
I swallowed, second guessing my decision in the face of the man who’d given me so many opportunities and loved me like his own. But no matter how much he cared about me, no matter how much he wanted to protect me, I wasn’t safe in Boston, and I had more than one person to think about now. I had to protect my baby as fiercely as I protected myself.
“The risk of being around my family and yours. I never asked to be a part of this world, and I’m doing the only thing I know will keep me safe.”
He pressed the heels of his hands into the desk. “I told you once—it’s never over for people like us. Do you remember?”
“I do.”
“I spent a long time, longer than you can imagine, running from this world before I realized I was running from life.” His dark stare, so honest and raw, penetrated my defenses as much as the truth of his words. “Everything comes at a price, Siobhán, but not just in our world. You’re chasing an illusion of safety, and the price you’re going to pay for that is your family. And I’m not talking about the Shaughnessys. You walk away now, you’ll lose the people who will do everything in their power to protect you because they love you and they want to keep you”—his eyes dropped to my stomach—“and your baby safe.”
His eyes travelled back to where my mouth hung open in shock.
Luca was the only one who knew, but after his reaction, I couldn’t have imagined him telling anyone, least of all Marco.
I laid a hand on my stomach and the tiny fleck of life growing inside. “Then you know it’s not just about me anymore. I don’t want my baby to grow up scared of their family, always looking over their shoulder, wondering if they’ll make it through the day. I lived that hell, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, much less my own child.”
His eyes darkened. He snubbed the cigar out, pushed off the desk, and stood before me, an intimidating wall of power and challenge. “You going to take care of that baby yourself? Work full-time and be a full-time mother with no family around to support you? What happens when you get sick? Hm? Or the baby?”
I lifted my chin, defiant. “I’ve taken care of myself my entire adult life with no help from anyone. I protected myself when no one else would. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
“Alone, thousands of miles away from your baby’s father and everyone who loves you.”
“Yes, alone,” I snapped, my throat tight. “I’ve always been alone. I’ve done everything by myself. I moved to another country by myself. I survived there by myself. I built a career by myself. And I’ll do this by myself too.”
“Why? You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Why? Why? Because I can’t survive having my heart broken one more time. The pieces are barely holding themselves together as it is. Everyone who’s supposed to love me has let me down one too many times. They’ve put me in danger and done nothing to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
“You want to know why I’m moving back to Ireland? Why I want to take care of this baby alone? Because I don’t trust my own family to help me. Because I don’t believe anyone will have our backs. Because I don’t trust Luca to love me the way I deserve to be loved.”
A pained sob escaped me with that final admission, and a tear fell down my face. I lifted the back of my hand to cover my mouth as another sob ripped free of my lungs. Marco reached for me, but I waved him off, taking deep breaths to regain control. I swiped the tear away and straightened my spine.
“I’ve done everything in my life by myself. This will be no different.”
Despite my assertion, exhaustion that went far beyond physical weighed on my confidence. My soul was so deeply tired—tired of constantly having to take care of everyone and everything, tired of solving problems, tired of being disappointed. For once in my life, I wanted someone to take care of me, to shoulder the burden of responsibility without my asking. I wanted someone to give me the break from life I so desperately needed.
Like Luca had done, even if it was fleeting. He’d researched my condition and made a special meal for me without any motivation or making it into a big deal. He wanted to do it to make me happy. Maybe that’s why I thought things would be different and that the universe was right to thrust us together. That Siobhán Connelly would finally get her happily ever after.
But reality wasn’t the same as the movies, and I learned long ago not to expect that kind of happy ending.
Marco’s jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a flat line. I knew that look; he had it any time he was about to blow up at someone.
“You’re scared,” he growled, trying to restrain the frustration in his voice and failing. “So you’re running. From one set of problems into another. That’s not my definition of safe, and you’re smart enough to know it shouldn’t be yours either.”
I hugged an arm around myself and looked away.
“Have you told Luca you’re leaving?”
“No. Not that he’d care. He made it crystal clear he wants nothing to do with me or his child.” The truth hurt worse saying it out loud, if that was even possible, and my lips trembled despite the bitter edge in my voice.
Marco dragged a hand down his face. “Maledetto Luca,” he muttered.
I had no idea what that meant, but the exasperation in his voice and the tired expression on his face gave me a clue.
“Did he actually say he wanted nothing to do with you?” he asked.
People talk about blood draining from a person’s face. I knew what they meant, but I’d never seen it firsthand. Not until I told Luca I was pregnant. He went white. Literally. Even his lips paled to an eerie shade of pink. He’d been terrified and ran out in a panic, but he hadn’t said why, and he’d never said he wanted nothing to do with us.
“No,” I said. “He didn’t.”
Marco held out his hands. He still wore the fat ring on his right pinky, but now a thick gold band wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand. Sadness amplified my bitterness seeing that symbol of love and commitment and knowing I had to do this alone.
I placed my trembling hands in his, and he wrapped thick, steady fingers around mine and squeezed.
“Promise me something,” he said.
I nodded.
“Promise me you’ll hear him out.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he thrust his chin and regarded me with that fatherly look of his, so I snapped it shut. “It’s not my place to make excuses for Luca or explain what happened. That’s his story to tell. All I ask is that when he reaches out—and he will reach out—you listen. If you still want to leave after that, if you still can’t imagine a future here, I’ll support you and do everything in my power to make sure you and my futuro nipote are safe and happy.” He granted me a rare half-smile filled with understanding, tenderness, and hope.
Fresh tears pricked my eyes. Marco’s love and concern for me never wavered. And apparently, it hadn’t wavered for Luca either. Despite what Luca had done, Marco was asking me to give him a chance. He must have forgiven his nephew, and it made me trust Marco even more.
Maybe they weren’t all the same, these made men. Maybe I just had really bad luck. Forty-four years of bad luck. But if Marco could hear Luca out after what he’d done, the least I could do was listen to my baby’s father.
“I promise,” I said.
“Bene.” He squeezed my fingers and kissed my forehead. “Now I need to get back to these construction contracts.” He dropped my hands, walked around his desk, and sat in his throne-like executive chair. “Pompeii isn’t going to renovate itself. Unfortunately,” he added dryly and picked up his pen.
I huffed, moved for the door, and paused. “Thank you, Marco,” I said over my shoulder. “For everything.”
He tipped his head. “Non c’è di che, piccola.”
I smiled, walked out, and closed the door.
I rode the elevator to the first floor and imagined what life would be like if I closed the door on this chapter in my life, if I closed the door on Terme and Boston and the DeVitas and my family. Was I ready to start over again? Was the illusion of safety worth the price?