Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Siobhán
Boston, Massachusetts, April 2024
T he scene played out like a meet-cute from one of those feel-good, made-for-TV movies. You know the ones. The ones your mam used to watch on Sunday afternoons. The ones that made you roll your eyes while you secretly dreamed it would happen to you. The ones with the happy endings.
Eyes catch across the room. Time stops. Everything in the shot fades to background. Everything except the leading couple. Their stunned faces remain crystal clear while the rest of the world goes about its out-of-focus business, oblivious to the two souls destined to find love at the end of ninety minutes.
March 20, 2022. The first day of spring. Pretty messed up I remembered the exact date we first laid eyes on each other. We exchanged one look, stolen across the Terme di Boston lobby, but that one look changed everything. The proof? Two years later and Luca Moretti still held me captive every time he smiled at me, his sleepy eyes and pouty lips a Technicolor version of Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire . But now I’ll never see his handsome face again or get the chance to change our movie’s finale.
Our relationship unfolded per the script at the beginning. But we never recovered from our “dark moment,” and the rest of the tale played out the opposite of happy. A Moretti and Shaughnessy? Might as well have been a Montague and Capulet. I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call our story tragic, but some days my heart ached like the ending had been that cruel.
I cleared the lump in my throat and put on my game face. I didn’t need to drag Anna into my melancholy, especially given the news I planned to drop. But brooding was par for the course over the past month; nostalgia claimed my mood with the simplest, most innocuous trigger.
Today’s bout hit as soon as I walked through the copper-clad doors of the spa. It had been my refuge for the past two years since moving back to the States and working at Terme di Boston. I’d hoped the soothing atmosphere would make the conversation with Anna easier to stomach. Instead, I got a trip down memory lane.
My first few months back in Boston had brimmed with promise, not just for my career but for the budding, screen-worthy romance. I should’ve known better; fate was never that kind.
“Are you glad to be back?” Not the question I wanted to ask, but the one that came out of my mouth. I wanted to ask about Luca. I needed to know he’d met with a quick and painless end.
Anna soaked in the mineral bath next to mine and rolled her head along its stone lip to face me. “I am.” Her shy smile was a soothing balm to my preoccupied mind. I’d missed the little goose and her nervous glances and fidgety hands. “We hadn’t planned on staying that long, but after everything…”
“Tell me about it. I took a few days off myself.” It hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot. My defective stomach ached with the stress of it all. More than usual. In the two weeks after Vesuvio, I barely ate.
“Marco had to deal with Terme di Roma and Terme di Sicilia.” Her eyes followed her hands swirling through the mineral water. “Angelo is going to manage the Italian properties for now.” She tentatively lifted her gaze to meet mine. The poor thing looked as sick as I felt.
I sipped my martini. The vodka took the edge off my nerves and abdominal pain, but I couldn’t exactly waltz through life drinking martinis to settle my stomach. I needed more than a few days of vacation. I needed to get away from Terme di Boston and the DeVitas. Permanently.
But I had responsibilities, and I wasn’t about to leave Marco high and dry while he did damage control in Italy. I was the strong one. Always. Even if it made me sick. Even if I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled. Probably sometime before the night at Vesuvio when Luca fucked things up beyond repair by trying to start a war between our families and nearly killing Anna in the process. So I forced a fake smile onto my face and powered through.
“It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to pretend like he never existed. I’m a big girl. I can handle that he’s gone. Besides, it’s not like we were together. It’s not like we were ever going to be. We hated each other, remember?” I leveled her with a knowing look. “Not to mention, I don’t get involved with those types of men.”
She narrowed her eyes, an unspoken challenge.
I waved a hand through the air, brushing away her knowledge of my unwanted feelings. “You got lucky with Marco. He adores you. That man wouldn’t look at another woman even with a gun to his head.” I shook my head. “They’re not all like that, girl. Marco’s a unicorn.”
Lately, I had to remind myself that it hadn’t always been sunshine and roses between me and Luca. Far from it. He’d been a complete asshole for an entire year, ever since The Incident. Then again, I hadn’t been very nice either. He’d hurt me, and I’d lashed out with snide comments and death stares at every opportunity.
I was pissed at myself for ever trusting him. You don’t grow up in a mob family and not know better than to trust men like Luca. They were all cut from the same lying, cheating cloth. But I’d let my guard down, suckered by his charm and the way he smiled just for me. And I paid for that lapse in judgment with a broken heart and a friend turned bitter enemy.
Even after The Incident, even after that night at Vesuvio, a part of me that I hated remained fixed on all the wrong things, holding onto a hope that someday we’d get a second chance. It was a sickness, really. It was time I took off my rose-colored glasses and focused on the truth—Luca Moretti and Siobhán Connelly had never been destined for a happy ending. Not that it mattered; the Mafia didn’t leave loose ends. Luca was gone, dead, and we’d never get another chance.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—” Anna’s shoulders deflated, and she stared at me blank-faced, the way she did when she couldn’t find her words.
“You don’t need to be sorry. The past couple of months have been a lot.”
I could barely cope with what happened—nerves on edge, stomach on the offensive—and I spent the first eighteen years of my life around that type of bullshit. Granted, I’d removed myself from Boston and any association with the Shaughnessys for nearly twenty-five years, but that didn’t mean life in a mob family wasn’t familiar.
“Anyway…” I said, eager to change the subject. I raised my eyebrows and sipped my drink.
“Anyway,” Anna continued, “a month was a long time to be away. I hope Sophie behaved herself.”
“She’s a lover. I’m going to miss having her around. Even if she woke me up every morning screaming for food.”
Anna smiled the exasperated smile of a cat-mom.
“It was fine,” I said. “Made me want to get one.”
“You should!”
I huffed. “Girl, I can barely take care of myself.”
She chuckled. “You’re the General Manager of Boston’s most exclusive resort. I’d say you’re doing just fine.”
I frowned. “About that…”
I set my martini down, folded my arms atop the stone floor between the two mineral baths, and rested my chin on the backs of my hands. Anna sat up and faced me, leaning against the edge of her bath.
“What happened at Vesuvio…” I started.
She looked away and reached for a necklace that wasn’t there. She was still struggling. I didn’t blame her.
The illegal, after-hours gambling hall on the second floor of Marco’s nightclub Vesuvio had been raided, and in our mad dash to escape, Anna was hit by a car and almost died. To make matters worse, the entire charade had been orchestrated by Luca to frame my family and get Marco to move against the Irish.
My cousin Ciarán had been furious, ready to retaliate. He called the Italians a menace, one his father should have put to rest decades ago. He told me if I was smart, I’d help him, refusing to acknowledge the glaring truth—the Shaughnessys were as much of a menace as the Valenzanos or DeVitas. I walked him back, assuring him that Marco knew he hadn’t sanctioned the raid.
I’d never betray Marco or let Ciarán hurt any of the DeVitas if it was in my power to prevent it. They’d been more of a family to me than any of the Shaughnessys.
“When Marco brought me on, he didn’t just hire me, he treated me like one of his own. And after everything you and I have been through, you’re more than a friend, Anna. You’re family, and I don’t use that word lightly.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand, knowing what I was about to say would probably send her into a fit of sweaty palms and stuttering.
“You asked me once how I knew so much about this world. I’m sure Marco filled you in. I’m a Shaughnessy. On my mother’s side. I trust you not to share that information with anyone.” She swallowed and gave me a slight nod. “I left Boston when I was eighteen to get away from them. I only came back two years ago to take care of my parents. I don’t want to be a part of this world, and I’ve spent my entire adult life making sure I’m never in a situation where I have to live like that again.”
I swallowed the thickness creeping up my throat. It rose any time I was reminded of what growing up in the Irish mob had done to me, the damage that could never be repaired.
“I didn’t figure out Marco was connected for more than a year after I started at Terme. When I finally put it together, Terme seemed so separate from all that, like Marco couldn’t possibly be involved.”
Looking back now, I think I knew. The signs had been there, but I’d willfully ignored the evidence right under my nose. My parents needed me. What else could I do but rationalize away the truth?
“He did so much for me, giving me a chance in such a prominent position, accommodating my needs. So I chose to believe he was less involved than he was. But then Vesuvio happened. And Luca…”
Anna lowered her eyes.
“I’ve worked too hard building a life that isn’t tied to the Shaughnessys. I clawed my way into this position, and I won’t let my career be destroyed by my family. I need to find a new job away from all of this. I’m leaving Terme di Boston.”
“What? No!” Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
“I’m taking the next two weeks off for interviews. I filed the vacation request while you were in Italy. But no one knows why, not even Marco.”
She swallowed, and I gave her the moment she needed to collect her thoughts. She’d argue that Marco would shield me from my family and his, that he would never allow Mafia matters to impact me. But they already had. I’d lucked out that night at Vesuvio, walking away unscathed. Next time, I might not be so lucky.
“He’s not going to like this. He—he—” She held up her hand and took a settling breath. “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. I’m saying this because it’s true. He thinks of you as part of our family. Like a—like a niece. He’d do anything for you.”
“I know. But I already have a family, and they did an absolute shit job of keeping me safe. One thing my life has proven to me is that I’m the only person I can trust. And that’s especially true when it comes to family. I have to stay away.”
She deflated on an exhale and wrung her hands. “He’s going to be angry, but you know—you know it’s because this is going to hurt him. Losing you after losing—” She stopped short, and I swallowed the fresh lump in my throat.
I drained the rest of my martini and slipped back into the bath. I let my head fall back to rest on the edge and stared at the ivy-covered ceiling.
The click of heels on the porous stone floor. The cool, humid air lightly scented with eucalyptus and toasted almond. The warmth of the mineral bath cradling my body. I loved this space. I came here any time stress got the better of me and made my stomach burn. I had more than colleagues and friends at Terme di Boston, I had a sense of family, of home.
My insides twisted in a mess of sadness and frustration, of anger and resentment, but it couldn’t be helped. I had to protect myself. I had to leave.
“I know,” I whispered. “And if there was any other way, I’d take it just to spare him the pain. But I can’t live like this. I won’t.”
I cleared my mind of the impending conversation with Marco and the sadness in Anna’s expression. Only to see a charming smile built for cameras. Eyes as dark as a stormy night. A still captured from a lunch at Vittoria a little over a year ago when things were simpler, when a future with Luca Moretti hadn’t seemed impossible.
“Sorry I’m late.” He squeezed my shoulder and rounded the table.
My heart leaped at the sound of Luca’s voice.
He tucked a length of chocolate-brown hair behind his ear, revealing a jawline that would make a runway model jealous. It was covered in a day’s worth of scruff, and the added roughness made my stomach flutter. His full mouth turned up in a smile so genuine it reached his eyes. He didn’t smile like that often. Most of the time he hid behind a paparazzi-worthy catalog of staged looks. But he smiled like that for me, and every time he did, I crushed on him a little harder.
“Marco’s a slave driver,” he said with a wink. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and folded his tall, muscular frame into the chair across from me.
“He gets like that when he’s focused. You get like that when you’re focused.”
He chuckled.
“I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and ordered.” I gestured to the soup in front of me. “I have a one o’clock. Can’t be late for my own meeting.”
“Not at all.” He leaned back and lifted a hand. “Scusi.”
A waiter came over and took his order.
Luca returned his attention to me. “By all means, go ahead.”
“How long are you in town?” I asked and took a bite of minestrone. The tomato in the broth was mild and the vegetables were cooked enough to be safe for my stomach. I relished its warmth on the cold December day. And his company.
“Just the week. I need to get back to Roma before Natale. It’s our busiest time.”
Every now and then Luca would say something in Italian like Roma or scusi or Natale, and if I didn’t know it was impossible, I would swear cartoon hearts floated above my head.
“We’re always so busy when I’m in town,” he continued with an edge of frustration.
“At least we get to have lunch.” The words sounded as empty as my feigned smile.
Marco introduced us about eight months ago, finally breaking the ice. Instead of furtive glances and hidden stares across the lobby, we chatted whenever he was in town. Chatted and flirted. Neither of us stopped smiling any time we were together. One lucky day, we ran into each other at noon. Since then, we’d never missed an opportunity to share lunch when he was in Boston, but it never felt like enough time.
His eyebrows drew together. “No. These lunches are too rushed.” He pursed his pouty lips and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back in early February for the quarterly. I’d like to take you out for dinner. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted. I want to know you, Siobhán.”
A tear escaped from beneath my closed eyelids. Pretending to scratch my cheek, I swiped it away; I didn’t want to cause Anna more stress. The ache in my heart had nothing to do with her, Marco, leaving Terme di Boston, or even the troubles with my family. The ache in my heart had everything to do with what might have been, for the happy ending to the made-for-TV movie I’d secretly hoped I would find with Luca but was lost forever.