Page 48 of Luciano

Matteo’s body jerked violently. Blood splattered across the floor as he crumpled. There was suddenly a hole in his rib area, just short of his heart. I heard the bullet hit the cement floor right before he did. I didn’t know who screamed louder—me or him.

Aria stepped into plain view, gun raised, her expression cold.

The guy—Brooker—blinked, and lowered his gun then let out a slow breath, shaking his head and throwing up his hands. “I just got back into town,” he muttered. “Didn’t know none of this shit had happened. He offered me half a mill to have his back, but didn’t say who he was going against.” He explained quickly, like he was scared of her.

Aria barely acknowledged him. Instead, she strode forward, grabbed Matteo by the hair, and yanked his head up. He was still alive.

“So you were going to kill my husband when he didn’t have shit to do with your dead ass son?” Her voice was smooth, almost melodious, but there was something vicious curled beneath it and in her eyes. She was a killer. I liked the thought. She continued, berating Matteo. “That makes me think you were coming for me next, because everybody knows damn well I wouldn’t have let that go.”

Matteo’s mouth opened, blood dribbling from his lips, but no words came out.

Movement came from the back.

Matteo’s men were going to kill all of us.

A bunch of men stormed in, guns raised, confusion etched into their faces.

Brooker turned toward them. “Stand down,” he ordered. “Keep Matteo’s men in check out back. Don’t let them enter this fucking warehouse. Kill anybody who tries.”

A literal fucking tear fell from my eyes as I exhaled.

Without a word, they left like soldiers, ready to do their commander’s bidding.

Who in the fuck was Brooker?

Aria crouched beside Matteo, grabbing him and shaking him by his hair. “And you tried to use my cousin,” she said, her grip tightening. “You dirty motherfucker, you really tried to get my kinfolk to kill my husband.”

Then she backhanded him so hard his head lolled to the side. But she righted him, yanking his head back up by his hair. The way he was wheezing, I knew he was hurting.

I don’t know why, but watching her abuse him—watching him bleed—sent a sick thrill through me. I wanted to trade places with her.

Aria wiped her palm on her dress, then turned toward Brooker. “Cut her loose.”

Brooker, without hesitation, pulled out a knife and sliced through my restraints. My arms fell limp at my sides, the pain of circulation returning making me wince.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my wrists as I stood shakily.

Aria straightened, her eyes locked onto Matteo’s barely conscious body. Then she glanced back at Brooker.

“Tie him to the chair.”

Brooker didn’t argue.

Matteo groaned weakly as Brooker hauled him up and forced him into the seat I had just been tied to. They bound him tight, ropes cutting deep into his skin.

Blood dripped from his nose, his mouth. His breathing was shallow.

Aria took a slow step back.

She pulled out her phone.

She pressed speakerphone. “Saint?”

She frowned. “Saint, it’s handled. We’re fine.”

Static. A garbled noise. Then…The call dropped.

Aria stared at the screen like she could will the signal back. She tried again.

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