Page 71 of Luciano

He felt everything—deeply, completely. But in silence

“It’s not your fault. Why don’t you lay with me and watch TV or something? You need to relax.”

He nodded and stripped down to his boxers. My eyes got cut on the deep v that led to his dick.

Even in pain, my vagina reacted to him being nearly naked. I sighed as he laid next to me. It was still hard for me to believe he was a virgin.

Chapter 31

Luciano

It had been eighteen days since the wedding. Twelve since she killed a man. Ava’s training was on hold—doctor’s orders. She’d had the fibroid removed. The procedure had gone smoothly, but I hated seeing her under anesthesia, hated the hospital scent clinging to her skin. I almost prayed.

Now, we were just... existing.

It was odd, the quiet. No violence or talks of violence. Just me and Ava in our world. She’d declined a honeymoon. I thought it would be a good time, but she said, “Maybe on our anniversary.”

Her saying that to me stayed with me. I thought about it when I washed the dishes. When I sat across from her eating the dinner she cooked for us. When I stood over her at night watching her sleep. It meant we had a future. And she was thinking about it.

I hadn’t spoken to my father since the wedding. I sent a message the day after everything happened. Just a brief,I’m alive.He responded by telling me to come home. I hadn’t responded. I wanted to leave my life behind for a while longer. But not for much longer. I had responsibilities.

I was on the couch with Ava now. She had her feet in my lap, a blanket over her legs, and one of my favorite comic books open in front of her.

Moon Knight.It had a complicated storyline. Split personalities. Unreliable narration. Psychological trauma. Redemption arcs. She wanted to know what it was about, and I was trying to explain it in the most logical way possible, but she wasn’t getting it.

“So he’s like Batman but times three, in the same body,” she said.

I blinked. “No. He’s not like Batman inside one body.” I tried not to raise my voice. “He’s three different personalities. All of them fighting for control.”

She frowned. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. That’s the point. Marc Spector—he’s the main identity—has dissociative identity disorder. But he’s also the avatar for Khonshu, an Egyptian god of vengeance.”

Her eyes widened. “So wait—he has real mental health issues and a god in his head?”

“Yes.”

“Who are the others?”

“Steven. He’s the soft one. British. Polite. Doesn’t want to fight. Then there’s Jake. He’s…Unstable. Efficient. He gets things done without anyone’s permission.”

She tilted her head, about to say something else when there was a knock at the door.

I stood immediately, setting her feet aside and reaching for the gun tucked between the couch cushions.

I checked the peephole.

Saint.

Still, I opened the door slowly, the barrel aimed low.

Saint stood on the other side, flustered and annoyed. “Seriously?” he said, eyeing the gun. “You answer the door like a hitman?”

“I didn’t invite you.”

He stepped inside anyway, brushing past me. “Your wife did. Now shut up and listen, I ran up the fucking stairs…”

I looked back to Ava, who was sitting on the sofa looking at me, guilt written all over her face. I shouldn’t have given her a phone.

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