Page 77 of Luciano

She rolled her eyes.

“You overthink everything. I would not try to use my body to fight someone who was actually trying to hurt me.” she replied laying down on top of me,

I simply nodded because we were nose to nose now. Her breath on my lips. My pulse was in my throat. Every one of mynerves was on fire.

I could’ve flipped her.

But I didn’t.

Suddenly, all I could think about was her mouth and the way she had used it on my dick. The way she sucked me like she loved it. The way she looked when I came on her tongue.

The way she had wrapped her lips around me. The wetness. The pressure. The feeling of my spine tingling.

“But I’ll be good and let you teach me your way,” she whispered.

I nodded once. Slowly. For some reason, I heard Saint’s voice in my head from two years ago, and I wished I would’ve taken her when he told me. She was quickly becoming my entire world. Ifelt seen. Not in the way my father or the people who knew what happened to me saw me. I felt… understood.

Completely.

Loudly.

By someone who wasn’t trying to fix me or study me. Just meet me exactly where I was.

I didn’t feel like a weapon.

Or a son.

Or even a man built from grief.

She was making me feel like hers. Like I could have everything I wanted as I was.

Chapter 34

Luciano

Ava wanted to do more physical training. I was surprised when she asked me to come back the very next day. She stood in front of me, hands at her sides, waiting.

She wore black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve tee, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. No makeup. We'd just finished cardio. She looked exhausted—and sweaty—but beautiful to me.

I picked a knife off the table—a 7-inch fixed blade with a full tang handle and carbon steel edge. Tactical and sleek.

“Guns are for distance. This? This is up close. Quiet. Controlled. Personal.”

She took it when I offered, feeling the weight of it in her hand.

“It’s heavier than the ones from yesterday,” she said. “Do I stab or slice?”

“Depends on your message,” I said, stepping behind her. “Stabbing is panic. Slicing is precision.”

I moved in closer, kept my voice low in her ear. “Grip it higher. Thumb here. Index wrapped, not straight. You’re not trying to look good. You’re trying to end a life.”

She adjusted her stance, mimicking the shift I guided her through.

“You ever used one on someone before?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, stepping back. I went over and dragged the weighted dummy from the wall. It had a rubber torso with the body’s major arteries mapped in red. Blood packs were beneath the skin so it was realistic enough to train.

I stepped back and nodded toward the dummy.

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