Page 53 of Luciano

I grabbed his face, forcing him to meet my eyes when his head seemed too heavy to keep straight.

“Your son died by the code you raised him on.”

I stood, withdrawing the Beretta from my waistband. The metal was warm against my palm.

“These are the rules we live by.”

The barrel lifted to his forehead.

The safety clicked off.

“Wait.”

Ava stepped forward, chin lifted. “Let me do it.”

A beat of silence.

Saint’s eyebrows rose.

Aria’s lips curled into something between approval and amusement.

“Taking a life changes you,” I warned.

Her fingers flexed at her sides. “I shot you,” she reminded me.

She had.

She hadn’t hesitated. My shoulder throbbed as if her speaking about the bullet she’d put there had activated the pain.

I reversed my grip on the Beretta and offered it to her.

Matteo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t let her—”

“This is perfect,” I cut him off.

“Megghiu moriri d’un colpo di l’omo ca d’una ferita di fimmina.”

Better to die from a man’s blow than a woman’s wound.

It was a belief the old mafia held like gospel.

A wound from a woman dishonored the bloodline.

Ava took the gun with both hands. She settled into a shooter’s stance. I’d heard her father taught her to shoot.

Matteo cursed us in Italian.

“Che le vostre anime brucino all’inferno per l’eternità! Maledico il tuo sangue, la tua stirpe… e quella puttana che chiami moglie! Non troverete mai pace, né in questa vita né nella prossima!”

May your souls burn in hell for eternity! I curse your blood, your bloodline… and that whore you call a wife! None of you will ever know peace, not in this life, not in the next!

“You’re not the first man to curse me before dying.”

Matteo spat again, his teeth red. Then he looked toward Ava.

“Che le vostre anime brucino all’inferno! E tu, Ava Porter—la figlia di una traditrice—credi davvero di essere al sicuro con lui?”

And you, Ava Porter—the daughter of a traitor—do you really believe you’re safe with him?

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