Page 65 of Luciano

I took a step toward her. “I’m about two seconds from pulling a Don Benedetti and locking you the fuck away in a castle in Italy until this baby’s born,” I growled. “Treat you like the old-school men did.”

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” I said, voice cold. “Because clearly nothing else gets through to you.”

She opened her mouth, and I braced for one of her verbal grenades—but nothing came.

Instead—

Her eyes filled with tears.

I froze.

“What the hell are you crying for? I'm—” I started to apologize, but stopped. This was her being manipulative. It had to be. Aria didn’t cry.

She shook her head. “You let him talk to me like that,” she said, her voice cracking. “Luciano. Every chance he gets, he cuts into me. And you just sit there like I’m not your wife. Like I don’t deserve to be defended.”

The lump that rose in my throat tasted like guilt and bourbon.

“You give as good as you get,” I muttered, arms crossed, trying to hold my ground. “You don’t need anyone to fight for you.”

“That’s not the point,” she said, tears spilling now, her voice rising. “I know how to handle myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you in my corner.”

She wiped her face, her hands shaking. “I’m sorry about what happened to your father, Saint. Even if I’m not sorry he’s gone. I wish things were different. I wish we met another way. I wish there wasn’t always this fucking wall between us, like I’m the enemy and you’re just waiting for me to betray you again.”

I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, staring at the woman I’d die for— who had just made me feel like I was failing her.

“I’m getting fed up.” She warned. She sniffed and dropped her gaze, then looked up at me again—wide-eyed, exhausted.

“I never wanted to be your enemy, Saint,” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to make up for what I did by being your wife, giving you the family you want, loving you regardless, as you play victim and act as if you didn’t have anything to do with what happened. I can’t do that anymore.”

Holding her belly, she turned and stormed down the hallway. I heard the bedroom door slam.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t have a single goddamn thing to say.

I dragged a hand down my face, bone-tired.

Chapter 29

Ava

The car ride home was quiet.

Luciano had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap, and his jaw was tight the entire way. I didn’t push. Not yet. But I would. My curiosity didn’t believe in timing.

We walked into our home. I still couldn’t believe that in less than a month I’d been forced to marry, accepted my fate, shot my husband, and been kidnapped by a vengeful father—who I killed. I kicked off my heels before he could even close the door. My ankles were sore, and my head was full of questions—one in particular I couldn’t shake loose.

He dropped his keys into the dish near the door and loosened his collar.

“Why do you hate Aria?” I asked. No preamble.

He had been heading toward the bedroom but paused. He frowned. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even dislike her,” he said finally. “I just don’t trust her.”

I raised an eyebrow. “She saved both our lives.”

“I’m aware.” He met my gaze. “I thanked her for it. That doesn’t mean I ignore who she is.”

I studied him quietly.

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