Page 114 of Luciano

“Now,” I continued, “tell me none of you had anything to do with my father’s death or my wife being shot. Say it clear. Say it loud.”

One by one, they denied it.

I knew they weren’t lying. But telling them my wife had done it would’ve caused too many problems.

“Good,” I said. “Then this meeting’s over.”

I stood, turned, and walked toward the exit. Saint and Brooker followed me. No one else moved.

I knew they’d be plotting my demise as soon as I was out of earshot.

As we walked out, Saint leaned in. “They’re scared shitless.”

“They should be.”

Outside, the air smelled like rain and salt.

Saint looked at me. “You going home?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

The ride back was quiet. Just the hum of the engine and the beat of my thoughts.

When I pulled up to the condo, the light in the living room was on. Ava’s silhouette moved behind the curtains.

Something loosened in my chest.

Coming home to her every night made me feel like I deserved life.

Inside, she was curled on the couch in a T-shirt and shorts, a blanket across her lap, comic book in hand.

She looked up.

“You’re late.”

“I made you dinner,” she added, not looking away from the page.

I said nothing, just dropped my keys in the dish and sat beside her.

She didn’t wait for me to ask. Just handed me the book.

“Finished it.”

“Finished what?”

“Moon Knight. The last volume that’s out.”

I blinked. “Already?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

I looked at her. Really looked.

She’d healed nicely. The scar on her shoulder from the bullet was faint now. I had to shoot her to take suspicion off of her.

I kissed the scar.

I should hate her.

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