Page 31 of Luciano

But I know he loves me.

I see it in the way his gaze lingers on my face, in the way he watches me like he’s waiting for something—a hug or some affection. He hesitates sometimes before speaking, like he’s trying to choose words that won’t push me further away. He doesn’t do that for anyone else.

I must have been a lovable kid for a man like him to take my feelings into consideration. He had been indulgent even.

“Get some sleep, son,” he said, interrupting my ruminating.

He left without another word.

I turned back to the heads. I sighed. I needed to make peace with the truth.

I was never going to be normal.

Now I just needed to make sure Ava understood that too.

Chapter 15

Luciano

I woke up to the feeling of eye on me.

My eyes blinked open slowly, the world coming into focus in pieces. The dim lighting, the heavy warmth of the blankets, the scent of clean linen. Luciano was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching me.

“Good morning, Uccellini.” His voice was smooth today..

I blinked at him, still caught between sleep and reality.

Then I saw the dress.

It was draped over a chair in the corner. Pristine white, it looked out of place in the dark room.

“That’s my dress.”

Luciano followed my gaze, then looked back at me. “I know,” he responded matter-of-factly.

“Do you like it?”

I sat up slowly, my muscles aching, my mind still foggy from sleep. “It’s… beautiful.”

It was.

But it didn’t feel real. Like if I actually tried to touch it, it would disappear.

I swallowed and looked at him. “How?” “How did you know?”

Luciano adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. “In your room, after you left. I found it—your board of all yourdreams and wishes and hopes.”

I frowned. My heart was beating funny.

“I have everything you left behind,” he continued. “Everything. Your books, your clothes.”

I stared at him, my throat tightening. I barely remembered making that board. It had been so long ago, another lifetime. Before my mother was murdered.

“You cut out pieces of a future you wanted—a house, a career, places you wanted to visit. ‘You wanted to be a lawyer,’” he said. “Columbia. Harvard. NYU. The brochures were stacked on your desk.”

“I analyzed the contents thoroughly,” he continued.

“I selected this dress based on those preferences,” he concluded simply. “It is not an exact match, but it aligns with your initial criteria.”

---