Page 10 of Luciano

He was never shy about it—telling me all the nasty, vile things he would do to me if he got me alone. He didn’t hide it either. His voice would follow me down the hallways, loud and vulgar for anyone to hear.

I was too strong to be bothered.

Until the day his hand slid too far up my skirt.

I swung. Hard as I could.

The crack of his nose breaking sounded brutal. His blood splattered against the pristine floor. Tommy went down hard, clutching his face, howling.

He talked a big game, but I found out he was pussy.

His parents were big donors with names that carried weight. They showed up at school within an hour of it happening and wanted me gone. Expelled. Erased.

They didn’t know who Vito was.

I expected Vito to handle it when they called him. To smooth it over.

But it wasn’t Vito who came to school that day.

It was Luciano.

He walked into that dean’s office like the air itself owed him something. He didn’t knock. There were no introductions. Just pure presence.

He was wearing his usual slack shirt. Hard jaw and cold eyes.

Tommy sat there, bandaged up, but looking smug. His parents on either side of him, already convinced justice would be served in their favor.

Luciano moved fast.

Grabbed Tommy by the collar and yanked him clean out of his chair.

Then the blows started.

Blow after blow landed.

It was violence that was meant to be felt.

The room erupted—Tommy’s mother was screaming, the dean shouting—but nobody moved to stop Luciano.

Because they understood.

He wasn’t just some kid throwing punches.

He was somebody dangerous.

He didn’t just beat Tommy. He made the boy pray to him. Made him beg.

And I stood there, watching.

Fascinated.

I should have felt horror. Revulsion.

But I didn’t.

I felt power radiating off of him and I basked in it.

Luciano landed one final blow, then stood.

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