Page 107 of Luciano

Smoke billowed from the estate gates.

A black SUV was burning in the driveway—just the frame was left.

I pulled my phone.

“Saint.”

“Yeah?” His voice was tense.

“We’re under attack. Blown vehicles in the drive. We’re locking down.”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Bringing a crew.”

I shoved the phone in my pocket and started barking orders.

"Sweep the grounds.

Check the security panels.

"Secure the perimeter."

Who the fuck had come for us?

No one had every come to my fathers home. We had too many enemies to figure out who without someone or something,

Saint pulled up fifteen minutes later, flanked by four black trucks.

His men dispersed fast, checking corners, scanning rooftops.

We searched for nearly an hour.

Nothing.

No bodies.

No shooters.

Just three exploded cars.

I stood in the driveway, hands in my pockets, trying to make it make sense.

I ran it all through my head and suddenly it all clicked into place.

The lockdown.

The panic.

Ava.

My stomach turned.

Ava and my father were alone in a sealed room.

My brain started firing.

The tapes.

The questions.

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