Page 45 of Luciano

My wrists burned, rubbed raw from the zip ties biting into my skin. My cheek stung from where I’d been shoved into the van, my ribs ached from the struggle.

I was sober as fuck now.

Getting kidnapped and thrown into a van could do that to a person—especially after watching one of your favorite cousins get shot. I was sure Dre was okay. I saw the bullet enter and exit his shoulder. He’d survived more than a few bullet wounds already.

My pretty white dress was torn and dirty. I thought the worst thing that could happen at my forced wedding was actually being forced to get married, but my luck was shit—so of course, I was taken.

I sat still, heart hammering in my chest, breathing slow. Controlled. If I let the fear take hold, I’d lose.

So I stayed quiet.

I kept my head down, kept my eyes forward. Didn’t speak. Didn’t beg.

A man—tan, squat, and balding with a stereotypical amount of gold jewelry—lorded over me in a too-tight suit. He smelled good, though. Expensive. Breathing him in helped me stay calm. I didn’t see the other men, but I could hear them. He wasn’t alone. We were in a warehouse full of crates.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer.I didn't know either.

His chair scraped against the concrete as he leaned closer.

“You’re the reason my son is dead.”

I lifted my eyes to his.

"The man who was shot yesterday? I didn’t ask Luciano to kill your son."

His face twisted with fury, and a memory of him being there the night my mother was killed clicked in my head.

I swallowed, keeping my gaze locked on his. “I remember you.” I said it almost absentmindedly, recognition hitting me hard. It was the kind of memory that stays buried until the person’s face is right in front of you. Like a ghost stepping into the light.

His head tilted.

“You were there,” I said quietly. “When my mother was murdered. You pulled me from under the bed. Your name is Matteo.”

Recognition lit his eyes.

“You know I have no reason to want to be here,” I whispered. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t tell him to kill your son.”

I saw it coming before it happened but couldn't avoid it.

The back of his hand cracked across my face.

"Fuck!" Pain exploded through my skull, my head snapping to the side. My vision blurred. My cheek burned.

A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it.

I had never had a man hit me—never had anybody hit me so hard. The rage in my chest made me feel unhinged.

I laughed, with tears running from my eyes. I don’t know if it was because laughing was easier than crying, or because the situation was so fucked, that all I could do was let the hysteria I was feeling crawl up my throat and spill out.

I tasted blood, the copper tang spreading over my tongue, but I ignored it.

I met his eyes.

“Luciano is going to kill you,” I said confidently. I didn’t know Luciano outside the handful of encounters we shared, but in two of them, he had protected me. Even if I died there today, I knew Luciano was going to kill him.

His jaw clenched.

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