Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Siobhán
“W ait,” Dominic said, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. “I thought she was sleeping with that other guy.”
“No,” I said. “They were just flirting in the hot tub, remember?”
“Flirting?” He scoffed. “If that was my girl, she’d never be in a hot tub with another dude. No way.”
I rolled my eyes. “The double standards with you made men are unreal.”
He glared at me. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“You have your goomars and that’s perfectly acceptable, but God forbid your woman enter a three-foot radius of another man.”
“Alls I’m sayin’, is if she knew what was good for that other dude’s health”—he raised his eyebrows and gave me a serious look—“she wouldn’t get in a hot tub with him.”
I chuckled and shook my head.
It was Friday afternoon, and Dominic and I sat on the couch watching reality TV. Luca and I had spent the past three days in bed making up for two years of pent-up frustration and not discussing the fact that Sex Fest 2024 would have a final performance. But today he had meetings, and he couldn’t get out of Friday night at The Dollhouse. So our sexcapades were put on pause, and he asked Dominic to come over and keep me company.
Luca wasn’t worried I’d leave, which was good, because I didn’t want to. I was on vacation after all, my interviews rescheduled or cancelled, and I hadn’t had a break from Terme or caring for my parents in… Well, way too long given that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a day for myself.
He played the violin in the mornings while I drank my coffee. I made him watch Double Indemnity in bed one afternoon, and as I suspected, it blew his mind. We took long walks through the Lynn Woods, and he showed me where he docked his fishing boat on Birch Pond. He even took me to Walden. We ate turkey sandwiches on a blanket under a tree overlooking the water and pretended the quiet picnic was our normal and not a fantasy that might never happen again.
And now I was binge-watching reality TV with one of his friends while he worked. A welcome yet surreal change of pace, even if the scene had no place in my long-term reality.
I was surprised he’d asked Dominic of all people to come over. The man had been shot at least once only five nights ago. I couldn’t imagine him wanting to do anything but stay home and recover. But when he showed up at the house, he seemed fine, like nothing had happened. I asked him how he recovered so quickly. He shrugged and said the bullet had only grazed him and it wasn’t a big deal. Not exactly how I remembered things going down Monday night.
The strange feeling I’d missed something important resurfaced and gnawed at my thoughts. It chewed on them in quiet moments, any bit of down time. It was the same uncanny feeling that had buzzed my brain the night at The Dollhouse. And even though it thrummed louder and with more persistence, I still couldn’t put a finger on the source.
A key rattled in the front door.
“Luca! è Gina!” a woman’s voice called, and the door swung open. “Ho portato le lasagne!”
Gina DeVita appeared inside the front entrance carrying a foil-covered baking dish in one hand and her keys in the other. She wore big sunglasses that hid half her face, and with her pressed dress shirt and slacks, she looked like an Italian Jackie O.
Her gaze landed on the living room—“Oh!”—and she shut the door behind her. “Hello.”
I scrambled up from the couch, silently thanking God I put a bra and my own clothes on that morning. I smoothed my hair out of my face.
“Signora DeVita.” Dominic walked over to her and held out his hands. “Let me get that for you.”
She swatted him away. “Nonsense, Dominic. I know where everything is. Just dropping this off. I wasn’t sure he’d be home, but…” She jangled her keys.
She set the lasagna on the island along with her keys and sunglasses and fixed her big brown eyes on me. “Ms. Connelly. What a surprise.”
“Ms. DeVita. It’s nice to see you again.” My GM persona snapped into place despite my lack of makeup, professional attire, or even shoes.
She regarded me strangely with a slight tilt of her head. After a heartbeat, she blinked and opened the fridge. “Oh!”
Each “Oh!” from Gina DeVita made me increasingly self-conscious. I racked my brain for something to say and, more importantly, how to make this not awkward. For all intents and purposes, this woman was Luca’s mother, and I was… I didn’t know what the hell I was. Regardless, no ending to that sentence was anything but awkward.
“I’ve never seen more than condiments and leftovers in this fridge,” she mumbled and moved a few items around. She took the tray of lasagna off the island and slid it into the fridge. She closed the door and clasped her hands in front of her. “Bene. Luca knows what to do.” She glanced between me and Dominic like she didn’t know where to address her explanation. “I’m glad he’ll have some friends to share it with when he gets home.”
Dominic shot me an uneasy look, clearly as thrown off by Gina’s unexpected arrival as I was.
“Dominic, how’s your mamma?” Gina asked.
“She’s good.”
“Still working at the Italian American Community Club?”
“Yup. I don’t think she’ll ever retire.”
Gina chuckled. “No, I don’t think she will. Tell her I said hello.”
“Naturalmente, signora.”
“Bene.”
Silence gripped the kitchen and living room, holding us hostage. I shifted my weight and smiled, shocked by my inability to make small talk. Small talk was part of my job, practically a requirement in the hospitality industry, but I couldn’t get past the sinking feeling in my gut. Luca and I had been living in a bubble for the past three days, completely cut off from the real world and consequences, and Gina DeVita’s presence popped my half of our bubble, an abrupt reminder that whatever it was Luca and I were doing had an expiration date.
“Ms. Connelly,” Gina said with a smile. “We never get a chance to chat. Every time we see each other we’re so busy with work. I was going to stop for caffè before heading back to the city. Would you care to join me?”
I glanced at Dominic, hoping for an assist. He stared at me with an expression that said, “I have no idea what to do here.”
“That sounds lovely, Ms. DeVita. And please, call me Siobhán.”
“Siobhán. Such a beautiful name. Call me Gina. Signora DeVita is my mother.” She laughed, and I let out a nervous chuckle. “Dominic, you don’t mind if I steal Siobhán for an hour or so, do you?” She grabbed her glasses and keys off the island.
“Of course not. I was about to leave anyway. Just stopped by to say hi.”
“Eccellente!” She turned to me. “Ready?”
“I’ll put on my shoes!”
* * *
There was no shortage of Italian bakeries in Boston, and Saugus was no different. A lot of Italians had moved out of the city to the northern suburbs just like the Irish had moved further South into Dorchester. Over the past few decades, Saugus and Revere had turned into the new Little Italys of Boston.
Gina’s Mercedes was a quiet comfort compared to Luca’s aggressive Ferrari. The budding greenery and suburban sprawl went by in calm silence with only soft classical music in the background. A short time later, Gina pulled into a strip mall parking lot.
“I’ll be honest,” she said, “you’re probably the last person I expected to see at Luca’s house this afternoon.” Her words were teasing, but her smile was warm and kind. It held no judgment, just curiosity and perhaps a little hope.
I’d only spoken to Gina at charity events or when she stopped by Terme to have lunch with Marco. We hadn’t exchanged more than pleasantries and small talk, but the calm drive and her motherly mien settled my nerves.
“I’m sure,” I said with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for throwing you off guard.”
“Don’t be silly. It was a wonderful surprise.”
The bell on the glass door of the bakery dinged when Gina pulled it open, and we walked into the inviting smells of fresh bread, sugar, coffee, and the lively din of conversation in English and Italian.
“I don’t know if you’re hungry, but they have a wonderful ricotta pie.” She laid her fingers on my arm and leaned in. “And today is my treat.”
“Thank you,” I said, considering my purse was locked in Luca’s entertainment center. “That’s kind of you.”
We waited in line, and the bustle of the bakery was a welcome change of pace from Luca’s living room. I eyed the menu and pastry case, searching for something I could eat. Gina ordered in Italian, then scooted me forward so I could place my order.
“I’d like an oat milk latte and—” I pointed at one of the tarts in the case. “Does that say olive oil crust?”
“Yes! I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”
I chuckled. “I don’t. The words just look familiar.”
“E una crostata all’olio d’oliva, per favore,” she said to the cashier.
“Thank you. I would have slaughtered that.”
She laughed, and the cashier handed us a number. We took it to a table close to the windows.
“You’re on vacation this week, is that right?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”
“Anna. She was—” She gave me a knowing smile. “Well. You know Anna. Bundle of nerves.”
“Understatement.”
“She’s worried about you. And Marco, of course. She wanted my advice about your leaving Terme di Boston.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Don’t be upset. Anna wants what’s best for you. She also knows my brother,” she added dryly and raised an eyebrow. “He can be a touch dramatic.”
I laughed.
“Have you been enjoying your time off?”
I snorted despite myself. She may have known about my job hunt, but there was no way she knew her foster son had kidnapped me, tried to throw me off the Tobin Bridge, decided against murder, and instead had been fucking me like a lion in heat for the past three days.
She canted her head and gave me a curious look.
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s a loaded question.”
I looked out the window. Images from that morning played back, a string of moments that made me smile and had butterflies dancing in my stomach.
He’d scooped me up out of bed while I was still asleep and naked from the night before and walked us into a steaming hot shower in the master bath. He washed my hair with the shampoo I’d bought when we went grocery shopping and massaged my scalp and shoulders with it. Holding me close, breathing me in. “I love this scent,” he’d said and ran his soapy hands up and down my body, each brush of his fingers and squeeze of his palms making me melt with longing and affection. He picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and pressed my back into the cold tile. Under the hot spray, he made love to me, his kisses and thrusts slow and worshipful. I thought I must be dreaming, because I couldn’t imagine a happier time or being more in love.
“Siobhán?” Gina asked.
“Hm?” I turned back to face her, and a wide smile crinkled the laugh lines around her knowing eyes. My cheeks heated, no doubt flushing my freckled skin. “Sorry.” I tried to hide my embarrassment by examining my nails.
She chuckled and reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “It’s okay. I know that look,” she said with a wink. “But your secret is safe with me. The Lord knows my head is filled with things I’m not supposed to know. My lips are sealed.”
A server appeared at the table with our order, and I was grateful for the momentary reprieve.
“Perfetto,” Gina said. “Grazie.”
I wrapped my fingers around the hot mug and inhaled the latte’s nutty aroma. I missed my oat milk lattes.
Gina’s expression changed to something bordering worry. “I have to ask—I know my Luca too well not to ask—he knows about your family, right?”
I sipped the creamy goodness, letting it soothe me, and nodded. “He does. And so do you, apparently.” I was disappointed by the confirmation but not surprised.
Like I told Luca, word would spread no matter how tight-lipped he thought everyone was. And he wouldn’t be the only one thinking of ways to use me for my connections. My own cousin had done that exactly the night before Luca kidnapped me, trying to play on family sentiment to get dirt on Marco and the Italians. There’d be no end to how people would use me as a pawn in their fucked-up chess game.
“Hey. Ragazza. Va bene. I’d be a terrible mother if I didn’t make sure everyone was on the same page. I love my boy more than life itself, but I know the pain he carries. The anger. He’s suffered so much loss. Lucia, then Tony. Marco.”
Emotion flooded her dark eyes, turning them glassy. She looked out the window and blinked rapidly.
She waved a hand, picked up her fork, and drove it into her slice of ricotta pie. She took a healthy bite, shocking for such a petite, well-mannered lady.
“No matter,” she continued after a sip of coffee. “I’m thrilled for you both. Luca has never dated anyone seriously. He’s a lot like my brother in that way. Everything else was always more important.” She pointed at me with her fork. “Until he met the right woman.”
I dug into my tart, not sure how to respond. I didn’t want to burst her bubble, but I also didn’t want her to think we were anything more than a hot mess.
“Listen, Gina, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Luca and I…” I searched her eager face, trying to find words to finish the sentence. I sighed—“It’s complicated”—and shoved a forkful of tart into my mouth.
Her warm smile returned. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that nothing is easy when it comes to men. Doesn’t matter if they’re related to you or not, they always make things more complicated than they need to be.”
I huffed. Wasn’t that the truth.
“What was Luca like growing up?” I asked.
“He was such a sweet boy,” she said, and her face lit up, bright with affection. “Always concerned about his nonna e nonno. Followed me around the house wanting to know what I was doing every second of the day. I guess that came from losing Lucia and Tony so young. I think he was scared that if I was out of his sight for too long, he’d lose me too.”
She sat back in her chair, dropped her hands into her lap, and stared out the window. “It was awful when Marco left for Italy. Just terrible. Luca screamed and cried. We had to pull him off Marco’s legs so he could leave.” Her voice grew soft and distant. “Vito and I stayed in Boston to finalize the estate, but Marco had to get back. We thought it was better for Luca to stay here with me, but he started acting out.” She shook her head, the nostalgia in her eyes replaced with sadness. “Parenting is hard, especially when it’s dropped in your lap and you’re trying to deal with your own loss.”
She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. I drank my latte, wondering how a little boy, so young and innocent, could handle so much loss at such a young age.
“He was still so sweet,” she said into her coffee, her affection for Luca evident in the bend of her mouth and the sadness in her eyes. “Still so concerned about everyone else, so charming and helpful. But after Marco left something changed. A—a switch flipped. Fights at school. Stealing. Rage-fueled fits.” She looked up. “All the emotions someone so young shouldn’t have, they all started coming out. Violently.
“As soon as the estate was settled, we moved to Italy. I couldn’t handle him myself. But by then, the damage was done. The cork was out of the bottle,” she said with an ironic smile. “He calmed for a bit with Marco’s help, but once he got to high school?” She raised her eyebrows, puffed out her cheeks, and blew the air out long and slow.
The corner of my mouth tipped up. “I can only imagine.”
“He and Marco, they were like oil and vinegar.”
“I bet. Especially since they’re so similar in many ways.”
“They are, even though neither of them will admit it.”
“I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, but the two of you look way too young to have raised Luca. I always assumed Marco was five, maybe ten years older than me.” The timelines had never added up, but I didn’t want to pass judgment or make assumptions.
“Italian genes,” she said and winked. “We’re older than we look, and Tony was older than us. He and Lucia had Luca when we were all so young. Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Still, that must have been difficult. I know what it’s like to have to be an adult before you’re ready. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone no matter the circumstances.”
“Oh?” she asked and lifted the final bite of ricotta pie to her lips.
I picked at my tart. “The amount of growing up I did between the ages of sixteen and nineteen was…” I set my fork down and twisted my hands in my lap. “A lot. Too much, really. I missed out on being a teenager, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I thought life meant surviving. I knew I didn’t want to live like that though—scared of my shadow, scared of my family. So I left. Made my own way in another country at the ripe old age of eighteen.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t right. I see that now. But at the time, it was what I had to do to survive.” I raised my gaze to meet hers. “And it looks like it’s time to do it again.”
She nodded solemnly and swirled the remnants of her coffee. “You can try and control your life, but life has a way of reminding you, you’re not in control.” She cocked an eyebrow—“Just ask my brother”—and drained the rest of her coffee.
“I didn’t choose this life, but I can choose to stay as far away from it as possible. I’m not sure that’s control as much as self-preservation.”
“Yes, of course. But at what cost? You have family here too, no?”
“Yes.”
“And Marco thinks of you as family. So does Anna.”
“I know.” I dropped my gaze. I couldn’t hold her penetrating stare; it reminded me too much of Marco.
“There’s a price we pay for living in their world, regardless of whether or not it was our choice to live in it. I wasn’t given a choice. Marco made it for me, made it for our entire family. And because of his sacrifices, I live the privileged life I lead. But make no mistake, it’s come at a cost, and some of the prices I’ve paid are very personal and very painful.” Her voice hitched, caught on words that held deep sorrow. “But I don’t begrudge Marco.” She shook her head vehemently. “I love my brother, and that kind of resentment eats at your soul. I’d much rather accept the consequences of his world than face a life without my family.”
Had all those years in Ireland been worth the price? What would life have been like had I accepted the cost of being a Shaughnessy? What if, instead of running, I’d come back before Da’s mind started to go? Rebuilt a relationship with my parents? Would I feel so alone? Regret punched me in the chest.
“You’re a wise woman, Gina,” I said.
She gave me a wry smile. “Remind my brother of that the next time you see him.”
I chuckled. “Would you mind not mentioning this to Marco and Anna?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Fidati di me, I know when to keep a secret. Luca is a difficult subject, and Marco loves you like a favorite niece. This stays between you and me.”
“Thank you.”
“Prego. Ora, I’m going to get a box of biscotti for Marco.” She picked up her purse. “He doesn’t get up here often, and he loves their biscotti regina.” She squeezed my shoulder and left for the counter.
The parking lot outside the bakery window bustled with activity. A man and woman got out of their car and walked quickly toward the hardware store next door. He said something with a goofy grin on his face, and she punched him in the arm. They laughed and were lost from view.
Buddies. Like me and Ciarán, once upon a time. Grabbing sodas from the convenience store. Going to movies. Joking. Laughing. We didn’t spend nearly as much time together now as we had when we were kids, but I’d seen him more in the past two years than in the previous twenty. What had I missed by being away for so long? How many memories had I sacrificed so I could feel safe? Had it been worth it?
Rory drove me crazy, but I still loved him. He was my brother. I wanted to see him do well and maybe one day pull his head out of his ass. Could I have helped guide him had I been around?
As much as I struggled with how my parents had handled the shooting, they loved me. They’d done the best they could given their upbringing and their abilities. I’d accepted them for who they were years ago, and with that acceptance, I’d found peace with those relationships. Thank God for therapy.
And my found family. I left Da’s sister behind when I moved back to Boston. All the friends I’d made in Cork over the years. Did I really want to uproot myself again? Walk away from Marco and Anna and my crew at Terme di Boston?
My entire life I kept everyone at a distance. No matter how close I grew to someone, there was always a separation, because I didn’t trust them. No one else would take care of me or keep me safe. The only person I could rely on was Siobhán. At least, that’s what I’d told myself for the past twenty-five years.
Marco’s actions flew in the face of those beliefs. He had never let me down, even if working for him came at a cost. Ciarán had stepped up to help with Mam and Da to the extent he could. I had my family back even if it meant proximity to danger.
And then there was Luca, the man I seemed tethered to by fate. I had no idea what we were doing or where this was going, and there were enough red flags to scare off any sane person. Send them right back to Ireland or, at the very least, away from Boston. But I wasn’t sure I could walk away. When it came to Luca Moretti, rational decision-making took a back seat to my heart, and my heart wasn’t ready to leave.