Page 50 of Luciano

Luciano was the eye of the storm.

I kept ranting, unable to stop myself, though I knew I was talking to myself. I just needed to distract myself from losing my mind. “She’s pregnant, and she’s out there playing fucking hero?” My nails dug into my palms. “I swear to God, I’m putting a tracker in her neck when we get back.”

Luciano didn’t even look at me when he spoke. His voice was flat.

“Why would you expect her to listen? She lies to you,” he continued, his tone void of judgment—just stating a fact. “She’s manipulative. She tricked you into killing your own father.”

A muscle in my cheek jumped.

“But she’s also smart. Resourceful. Fearless. Those are good qualities.” He exhaled, like it took a lot out of him to compliment her. He glanced toward the window as the city flew by.

His gaze finally flicked to me, emotionless. “You need to start thinking with your brain and not your heart and dick. Maybe then she wouldn’t always be ten steps ahead of you.”

My grip on my gun tightened. He was pissing me off. But I also noticed the shift in his opinion of Aria—it was less abrasive, for him. He was also less cold, and talking. Ava was good for him. I was happy for him.

I opened my mouth to ask him why the change.

red and blue lights lit up the night, cutting me off.

Shit.

Up ahead, two sheriff’s cars blocked the road.

The SUVs slowed.

Luciano barely blinked.

I exhaled through my nose. Cops were a problem I could handle. But this? A lineup of men strapped with enough ammunition to level a goddamn city? If the cops took too long, if one of them got nervous, if someone pulled their gun before we could shut it down—this would turn into something ugly.

One of the officers approached the driver’s window.

“We got reports of a line of black SUVs driving recklessly down 275. Where’s the fire?” he asked the driver.

Luciano rolled down his window.

“Miguel Herrera,” Luciano said his name. Flat. Casual. Like he wasn’t holding a loaded gun in his lap, like there weren’t twenty fucking SUVs behind us full of men ready to maim and kill.

I stared at the side of his face.

“I made it my business to learn about all 131 members of this sheriff’s office,” Luciano said “I know your family. Your wife. Your little boy.”

Luciano leaned slightly forward. “My name is Luciano Genovese. You know who I am.”

I watched the officer process his words. His bodylanguage screamed that he wanted to retreat but he stood his ground.

Luciano didn’t blink before he threatened an officer of the law.

“If you don’t walk away right now, your family will be dead by tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in the humid night air. There was no yelling, no theatrics. Just fact.

Deputy Miguel Herrera stumbled back, his face losing all color. His partner opened his mouth—maybe to object, maybe to be stupid—but Herrera spun fast, snapping, “Let them through.”

The other deputy hesitated.

“Let them fucking through!” Herrera screamed, voice raw with something close to terror.

The other deputy gave the order over their radio.

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