Page 3 of Tattletale

“Don’t pretend you understand love, Luca. I know the stories about your cold-hearted monster of a father and your miserable, twisted family.”

One side of his mouth curls into a snarl. “Careful,” he says.

Ignoring my good sense, I continue to taunt him. “I was told your mother died giving birth to your stillborn sister. Your father, Vic, was so distraught he chained up his sons and whipped you all bloody, claiming you were wasted pregnancies while he begged his god to take you instead, and return his wife and daughter.”

He flinches. “I’ll say it again…careful.”

I don’t heed his warning. “You know what my father did when my mother died? He loved me and Saoirse even more to try and make up for the parent we lost.”

Luca barks out a laugh. “What do you know of Cillian? You paint him as some saint, but he was just as cruel as my father. Maybe more so. You don’t become a mob boss without filling agraveyard with your bare hands. But I bet you don’t peek behind the bloody curtains, do you, girl? Wake up.”

“We’re nothing like you,” I practically spit at him. “O’Learys are honor and valiance. You and your cult are snakes, operating in shameful shadows. My father would never dothisto a woman.” I gesture to the still tender bruises on my temple and cheek where Luca struck me a while back.

“He was very clever.”

“What?” His statement catches me off guard.

“It takes a smart man to live a double life. Pappa to his daughters, but a ruthless brute to everyone else. At least my father embraced his destiny… It could be different with us, Fiona. We’re a lot alike. We both bear family burdens we never asked for. But we’re strong. We could rule,together. You’re smart, ferocious, and the most beautiful woman who has ever walked this earth. Help me show my father I’m more worthy of succession than any of my brothers. Italy is not Ireland, but there can still be a throne for you.” He points to me. “Born to the mob.” Then, he points to his chest. “Born to the mafia. We have a common enemy, and it’s not each other.”

The chill over my bare skin is brutal. It’s winter, wherever I am, and there’s not enough heat coming from the small vents. “I can’t help you, Luca,” I mutter.

“Yes, you can. We could end this war before it begins.”

He’s wrong. The war has already begun. It started the moment Pappa’s eyes shut, never to open again. “Where is Saoirse?” I ask, shifting my eyes back to the crest on the wall.

“Look at me.” Quick, like a cobra’s strike, Luca grabs my jaw, forcing my gaze into his. He presses his lips against mine, and I cringe as I take in a whiff of his musky scent. “Do you feel that? Your heart is beating so fast. I see the desire in your eyes. It burns in mine as well. There’s no shame in it. Fiona, be honest. What do you see when you look at me?”

Narcissist fuck, whose daddy beat him and starved him of attention. He doesn’t stand to inherit a damn thing from his father’s empire. All he wants is to be loved and honored.But it won’t be from me.

I stare into Luca’s dark eyes, hidden behind a thick layer of lashes. So beautiful…to a blind woman, perhaps. “I see a marked man.”

“What?”

“Your days are numbered, Luca. One day, I’ll dance on your grave after painting ‘coward’ on your tombstone. I promise you that.”

“Such a waste,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “Have it your way, then.” He stands and finds his shirt, pulling it over his head. “I’m leaving for home tomorrow with all my men and staff. This house will be abandoned. Andyou…”He shakes his head, a pitying expression on his face. “I hope you remember you could’ve had everything with me as you rot to death in here.”

Panic kicks up in my chest as he nears the door. He wouldn’t honestly leave me in here, would he? There’s no way to get out. I’ve tried. He brings all my meals. How long would it take to starve to death? How painful would that be? And what about my sister? Is she behind a locked steel door somewhere in this home as well? I picture the color in her face draining as she wilts.

“Luca!” I bellow. “Where is my sister?”

He pauses at the door. “Dead.”

The shock paralyzes my body. I gasp for air, but my lungs won’t fill. “Liar,” I manage to whisper.

Luca takes a half step, slightly turning his shoulders. He’s not quite facing me, but also not facing the wall. “She never made it off your property. She bolted into the night. We shot, she fell. She’s food for the wolves, now.”

“No,” I croak. My eyes begin to sting with hot tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Last chance,” he warns. “Come with me willingly or die here all alone.”

In a moment of weakness, I’m almost tempted. It’s a physical response to the suffering that I know awaits me. But I’m an O’Leary. So is Saoirse. She’s not gone.It can’t be.Maybe she’s playing like a cricket. Lying in the field, pretending to be dead, waiting for the perfect moment to make her move. I hope she runs far from here, back to Ireland. Back to the flower-filled field where my beautiful mother lies in peace.

I inhale deeply, accepting my fate. “Fuck you, Luca. I’ll see you at the gates of hell.”

The door opens, then slides shut with a heavy thud behind him.

Then, I’m alone.

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