Page 81 of Luciano

Luciano’s shoulders dropped, then he just nodded once.

Chapter 36

Ava

The car ride was quiet. I had insisted on going to Luciano’s father’s house with him. He was okay with that, under the circumstances.

Luciano had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on the road like they were the only thing keeping him from snapping. He didn’t want to go back. Not yet. I understood.

He cut the engine. Didn’t look at me.

“You don’t have to come inside,” he said quietly.

I unbuckled. “You know I’m not staying in the car.”

He nodded once, jaw tightening again. Then he opened the door and got out, came around and held the door for me, leading the way.

Inside, I sighed. Dead silence met us, despite the fact that guards lined every wall. The house smelled like day-old cologne—different brands, gunpowder and sweat. None of the men made eye contact as we moved through the house.

I followed Luciano to his father’s meeting room, just outside the formal dining room. He was seated like a king at the head of the conference table. His gaze cut to me like a knife. Luciano taught me that a blank face unsettles more than a threat—nothingshakes an enemy like not knowing what you’re thinking. I kept my features schooled, though I felt like my skin was too tight. How was I going to face the man that killed my mother over and over again? It was easier to commit to Luciano when I wasn’t thinking about his father—or seeing his rat face all the time.

Saint stood near the fireplace, arms folded. He looked tense as hell. He must’ve broken all the speeding limits to get here.

“You disappearand don’t come back until we’re bleeding, and I demand you to?” his father snapped the second Luciano crossed the threshold.

“And then I find out from him”—he jabbed a finger toward Saint— “not you—that the Russos took out seven of our men. That one of our warehouses looks like a fucking war zone. And where have you been hiding?”

“I wasn’t hiding.” Luciano rebutted.

“No? Then where the fuck were you?” He looked at me when he asked the question.Like I was the reason for Luciano’s absence. The reason blood had been spilled. Like his son didn't have a mind of his own.

Luciano didn’t cower. “We were off-grid. It was intentional. So, where I was will remain untold.”

Vito blinked once, hard. Then laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that echoed off the walls.

“Che cazzo dici?” he hissed.

“You barely speak more than a few damn words in years, and now—now—you’re a fucking smart-ass because you came back with your dick wet?”

His voice rose. “I put everything in place for you to take the reins, and this is how you show me you’re ready?”

Luciano stayed still.

“You said you had it handled!” his father barked, pointing between them. “You both should have made sure!” His nostrils flared.

Saint muttered, “We did—until they moved on the warehouse.”

He turned back to Luciano. “The bodies are stacking now, Luciano. First, you let her get snatched at your own wedding”—he nodded toward me— “and now this. We look vulnerable. And now the only way we can gain that respect back is through bloodshed. I want the Russos dead.”

He stood. “And you two will be staying here. If you won’t take guards, then you don’t leave this house again. Not until I say so.”

I started to speak.

Luciano cut in first. “That’s not necessary—”

“I’m not asking.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “You want to play like this world won’t reach your doorstep? Fine. Do it when the war is over.”

Luciano’s jaw flexed. Then he turned to me slowly.

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