Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Siobhán
T hump! Thump! Thump!
I folded the pillow around my head and burrowed deeper under the covers. The last thing I wanted to do was get up, much less talk to anyone.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
My front door rattled with the pounding. It was louder this time, even muffled through my pillow.
“Go away!” I shouted.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
“Siobhán!” Ciarán’s deep voice boomed through the door. “If you’re in there, you better open up, or I’m calling the cops!”
Fuck. He would too. Goddammit. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. Well, second to last. My tank for dealing with alpha-male bullshit was empty, but I didn’t need him calling the cops and making things worse.
I climbed out of bed. “Gimme a sec, will ya? Jesus Christ, Ciarán, you’re going to wake my neighbors.”
“Oh, thank God.” The relief in his voice was palpable even through the door.
What the hell is going on?
The clock on the bathroom counter read eight a.m. I looked in the mirror and immediately regretted the decision. My eyes were puffy, bloodshot, and cradled by dark circles, stark against my pale cheeks. My hair was askew, matted on one side from shoving my face into the pillow and sticking out at odd angles on the other. Hot mess was an understatement.
Not that I should have expected anything better. Luca had driven me back to Somerville without a word. He dropped me in front of my house, and as soon as I shut the door, he sped away, the roar of the Ferrari’s engine his only goodbye. I started ugly crying the moment I walked into my empty house, hurt and anger alternating as fuel for my dramatic bouts of sobbing. They didn’t stop until I cried myself to sleep, only to be woken up by Ciarán pounding at my door.
I grabbed my toothbrush. Something had happened at Luca’s poker game. I was sure of it. But Luca had so many demons, who knew if I’d ever find out the truth. And did it matter? I knew our bubble would eventually burst. I just hadn’t expected its end to be so abrupt.
I rinsed my mouth, tied my rat’s nest into a ponytail, and made my way to the front door. I twisted the dead bolt and walked into the kitchen to make coffee.
Ciarán barged into the foyer like a bull in a china shop, slamming the door behind him. He stormed over to where I stood in front of the coffee maker, took me by my shoulders, and examined me like he was looking for signs of damage.
“Vahnie,” he breathed. He drew me into his arms and squeezed so hard he cracked my back.
“Ow! Ciarán! What’s wrong with you? I haven’t even had coffee yet.”
He pulled back. “Thank God you’re okay. You are okay, aren’t you?”
“Aside from a bruised rib,” I said dryly.
“Did he hurt you? Tell me the truth. What did he do to you? What did that fucking psycho do to you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That piece-of-shit Jersey Shore motherfucker, Luca Moretti. What did he do to you?”
I stiffened and pressed my lips together. I swatted at his hands and focused on the coffee maker, willing it to drip faster. “It’s too early for this shit. I need coffee. But to answer your question—none of your goddamn business.”
He stepped closer, looming over my shoulder. “Like hell it’s none of my business. I’m the head of this family, and you’re a part of it whether you want to admit it or not. I’m responsible for your safety.”
Blood rushed up my neck, making my ears ring and my face hot. I placed my palms flat on the cold countertop to steady myself and angled my face toward his. “Excuse me?”
He shifted his weight, and his eyes darted to the coffee maker which gurgled and gasped as it finished brewing. He shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets and stepped back into the dining area. “Luca Moretti is a fucking lunatic with a vendetta. I want to know what happened. How can I protect you if I don’t know what happened?”
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. I was so tired and emotionally drained; I wanted to pick up the pot of coffee and chuck it at Ciarán’s head. Instead, I retrieved my favorite mug from the upper cabinet, poured myself a cup of coffee, and leaned my hip against the counter. The scalding brew burned my tongue and throat, but the sting grounded me enough to combat Ciarán’s bullshit without sending him to the hospital with third-degree burns.
“You’ve got a lotta fucking nerve,” I said and blew on my coffee. I sipped more of the only thing keeping me from losing my shit. “You know that, right?”
His eyebrows drew together as if he didn’t know, but the way he kept his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight—the same way he’d done since we were kids—told me he knew he’d stepped onto thin ice even if he didn’t know how or why.
For the most part, I kept my anger and resentment toward my family safely locked away, but Ciarán’s willful ignorance blasted the vault door right off its hinges. “You’ve got some balls coming over here after all this time pretending like you give a shit about me.”
His face softened. “Vahnie, I?—”
“Nope.” I held up a hand. “Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes and Vahnie bullshit. Where were you after I moved to Cork and had emergency surgery because my spleen finally ruptured? Huh? Where were you every birthday and holiday I spent alone? Where were you when I needed someone to take care of Da so I could keep my job in Ireland? Huh, Ciarán? Where the fuck were you?”
The muscles in his jaw twitched, and his fists balled inside his jeans’ pockets.
“That’s what I thought,” I snapped.
“I’m here now, aren’t I? Making sure you’re safe?”
“Too little, too late. And I don’t know what’s making you think I’m any less safe now than before.”
“He’s using you to get to me. You know what he did last night? He baited me, made me call your cell phone just to make a show of pulling the damn thing out of his pocket.”
And there it was. Mystery solved. Two mysteries solved, actually—Luca’s odd behavior the night before and Ciarán standing in my living room at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning.
Luca’s comment—he was trying not to break me—finally made sense. He couldn’t bring himself to use me against Ciarán, and the only way he knew how to prevent that was to take me home. But as I pieced together the scenario that might have unfolded, my simmering anger toward my family heated to a raging boil.
“This isn’t about me at all, is it?”
His head jerked back, and he scrunched his face. “What? Of course it is. He’s using you.”
“Finish the sentence, Ciarán,” I said, taunting and bitter. “Finish the fucking sentence!”
He gaped at me, confused. He didn’t get it, and wasn’t that the story of my life?
“You said, ‘He’s using you to get to me .’ That’s the end of the sentence. This isn’t about me at all. It’s about you. It’s about being a Shaughnessy. It’s about protecting your reputation. You don’t give a flying fuck how this affects me. Well, guess what, Ciarán? I’m done. I’m done being dismissed. I’m done taking care of everyone else when no one gives a shit about me. I’m done being taken for granted.
“I came back to Southie because I’m a responsible fucking adult and my elderly parents need me. But I should’ve known nothing else would have changed. I’m still a second-class citizen in my own goddamn family. So excuse me if I don’t believe you when you say it’s your responsibility to protect me. If that was true, if the Shaughnessys gave a shit about keeping me safe, I wouldn’t have a stomach full of bullet holes and surgery scars.”
My chest heaved as years of resentment and hurt were finally given air.
“Now wait just a damn minute, Siobhán. How is that my fault? I was a kid, just like you. I took care of you. I went to the hospital. I sat with you. I tried to get you out of the house after they released you. Don’t put that ugly shit on me!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I not being fair? Calling you out on your bullshit? You may not be to blame for what happened when we were kids—that honor falls solely on your da and my parents—but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, Ciarán, and you’re doing the same shit as your da. You say you want to protect me, but just last week you asked me for dirt on Marco DeVita. If you were so concerned about my safety, you wouldn’t be trying to get me involved.
“You don’t get to have your cake and eat it to. Involving me is not protecting me. Protecting our family name and your reputation is also not protecting me. So you can kindly fuck off with all your fake concern. I’m done.”
Ciarán’s mouth hung open, and he stared at me like I’d slapped him across the face. Multiple times. While wearing a gauntlet. Good. Fuck him.
A weight lifted from my shoulders at finally saying my piece. For all intents and purposes, Ciarán was my twin brother, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass he was the boss. I needed to speak my truth, and he needed to hear it.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” he mumbled, stunned and shaken.
I snorted. “No surprise there. You never bothered to ask. No one has ever bothered to ask.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and rubbed his forehead. “You deserve better from me.” His shoulders slumped on an exhale. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have known.”
I waved a hand, suddenly very tired, and sipped my coffee. “What’s done is done.”
“You deserve better than Luca Moretti though too.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not up to you, is it?” I raised a judgy eyebrow. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because we’re not together. Never have been.”
“I knew it!” He pointed at me and stepped forward. “I knew he took advantage of you. Did he rape you? So help me God?—”
“No, he didn’t rape me! Jesus Christ, Ciarán!”
“Then what the hell happened? Cause from the shit he was saying last night—that he took you from us, that you were his—it sure as hell sounded like he was using you.”
Oh, Luca .
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I could only imagine the idiotic, caveman pissing contest that had gone on between the two of them. A headache formed at my temples fueled by lack of sleep and alpha-male stupidity.
“I can’t let this shit go, Vahnie. You know I can’t.”
I pinned him in place with a scowl. “Oh, yes you can. You can, and you will. Don’t you dare go after him and pretend like you’re doing it for my sake, because I am telling you right now, that is not what I want. If you want to show me that you’ve changed and actually give a shit about what I want, about what is good for me, you will leave Luca Moretti alone. Do you hear me? You will end this insane blood feud before someone I care about gets hurt. That is what I want.”
His jaw worked, a study in conflict. I had him cornered, and he didn’t like it. But I was done with everyone pretending like they gave a shit about me and showing me they didn’t. Actions spoke louder than words, and it was time I held my family accountable.
He crossed his arms. “Fine,” he barked, and his blue eyes flashed. “But if he ever crosses the line with you, if he ever comes at me or our family…” His words rumbled with a heaviness I couldn’t ignore. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to choose, Siobhán, because you know I won’t have a choice.”
I stared into my coffee. I couldn’t imagine Luca letting go of his vendetta, and that knowledge roiled, a rotting pit in my already sour stomach. “I know.”
“One last thing, then I’ll let it go. What you do in your private life is your business, but I need you to listen to me on this.” His voice took on an urgent quality and drew my gaze up to the grave expression on his face. “There’s something different about the Italians. I know the stories sound like old-world superstition, but…”
He examined me, lips tight and assessing. I knew my cousin. He wasn’t sure he could trust me but couldn’t chance the outcome if he didn’t.
“I have deals in the works to protect us, to protect our family. And that means finishing the job my father started and ridding Boston of the Italian Mafia once and for all. But I need you to be honest with me.”
I scoffed. “I hope you don’t mean getting in bed with the feds like Uncle Paddy. That’s as bad as being a rat. And honest about what? I’ve never lied to you.”
“There’s evidence—evidence that those old stories aren’t just stories. That there’s something unnatural about that crew. If I help them find more, they’ve assured me leeway with my businesses. Certain… protections.”
“You can’t be that stupid, Ciarán. Trusting the feds? Are you kidding? At least the Mafia has honor, a code of ethics they refuse to break. The only thing the feds care about is themselves. As soon as they finish with the Mafia, they’ll turn on you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. This is bigger than organized crime, Vahnie. Much bigger.”
I stared back at him, dumbfounded by his blind eye.
“Did you ever notice anything different about Moretti?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Different how?”
“His eyes. His teeth. Did he ever try to bite you?”
Adrenaline shot into my system. “What?” I shook my head like it needed a reset to hear him properly. “What are you talking about?”
He examined me again, searching my face for a sign. “Nothing,” he said, apparently satisfied when all he saw was shock. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”
But it wasn’t nothing. That feeling returned, the one where I knew a connection existed, nagging to be discovered, but my brain couldn’t quite make the leap.
Ciarán glanced at his watch. “I gotta go. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Be careful, okay? Promise me you’ll watch your back?”
“Promise,” I said, barely registering the question with the scenes and sensations flooding my mind.
He nodded, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out the door.
I moved on autopilot—topping off my coffee, opening the living room drapes, curling my feet under me on the corner of the couch. Instead of the trees and powerlines outside my window, crimson flecks in eyes as black as night filled my vision. They glinted under the lights of an otherwise dark room, glowing a rich crimson.
Luca flashed an angry sneer in his kitchen, revealing an eyetooth longer and sharper than I’d remembered. The next time he showed his teeth, the pointed tip was gone.
Dominic sat on the counter in The Dollhouse’s dressing room covered in blood. It spread across his stomach and shoulder. Luca said he hadn’t been shot in the stomach. Dominic said the bullet had only grazed his shoulder. Neither matched what I’d seen. Dom had been shot twice, one of the bullets lodged in his shoulder, and the other went straight through his stomach. He was fine less than a week later.
Luca’s mouth pressed against a woman’s neck at Vesuvio. Mia’s neck turned toward the mirror revealing an angry hickey. He barely even bit you. The dancer’s chiding words directed at Jenny.
My fingers brushed the spot on my neck where I’d felt a sharp pinch the night Luca and I first made love. I hadn’t given it a second thought, too caught up in the other sensations dominating my pleasure. But now? Something had pierced my skin, and when he ran his tongue over the same spot, it tingled.
The devil in ’em. Da’s accented rant had me crawling off the couch and fishing Tums out of my purse.
The stories were just that—stories. Weren’t they? And it’s not like Ciarán had given me any proof that the feds had evidence. They probably hadn’t given him any either. He was too blinded by the idea he could eliminate his competition by playing nice with the real enemy. But what if they weren’t stories? What if something unnatural was the connection I’d missed all along?
I popped a Tums into my mouth, climbed back into the corner of the couch, and let out a long, tired breath. The past week had felt like a month, but I still had another week of vacation, and I was going to use it to find a new job. My plan to distance myself from the DeVitas hadn’t changed. And I wasn’t involved with Luca. Not anymore.
I set my coffee on the windowsill and hugged one of the throw pillows to my chest. It didn’t soothe the heartache, but then again, I wasn’t sure anything would. How I still had feelings for that chaotic, troubled, and potentially demonic man frustrated the hell out of me. Maybe because I knew the fallout could have been much worse, and he spared me the pain.
Nothing about us had ever been simple. Or rational. This latest development was par for the course. Vampire? Sure! Why not! The only way to guarantee some other catastrophe wouldn’t materialize was to remove myself from any situation where we might run into each other. Should be easy once I broke ties with Terme di Boston.
Time heals all wounds—wasn’t that the saying? In time, the heartache and my feelings for Luca would fade.
There was another saying—out of sight, out of mind. That was the tough part. Time would only work its magic if I could stay away.