Page 12 of Luciano

And there was something behind them.

Not pity. Not kindness.

Something else.

Something that made my ribs feel like they were being squeezed.

The drive back was silent.

When we pulled up to my house, I reached for the door, but his voice stopped me.

“I have to go away for a while. But no one will ever hurt you again.” He promised.

I watched him drive off, leaving me standing there, the taste of sugar still lingering on my tongue.

Six months later, I turned eighteen.

And I ran.

That was the last real interaction we had. Until today.

I shook myself from the memory as Luciano waited for me to take his hand.

“If I don’t come, then what?” I asked, but I already knew. A sinking feeling coiled tight in my gut.

“Trouble,” he answered simply.

Chapter 6

Ava

“Will you tell me what he wants?”

He didn’t speak, just shook his head.

I took his outstretched hand, and he intertwined our fingers. It was too intimate, but I didn’t pull away.

He led me to a black SUV where a blonde driver sat up front, with two more SUVs following behind us. We sat side by side, our thighs nearly touching. The silence was deafening, my heart hammering in my ears.

We pulled up to the house I’d run away from years ago. There were more guards than I remembered, stationed along the perimeter. The house smelled different too—it used to reek of meat, but now there was a floral scent that made me want to yawn.

Inside, a petite blonde woman around my age passed us in the hallway. She shot Luciano a hungry look, then rolled her eyes at me.

Luciano led me to Vito’s office and knocked. His father barked for us to come in.

He greeted me with a forced smile, and I returned it with one of my own, unsure of what to call him. I never really called himanything as a child, so I settled on “Mr. Genovese,” just like my Mississippi-born mamma taught me to address my elders.

He looked the same—short, squat, with hair too dark to be natural.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his massive redwood desk. I sat, clutching my purse in my lap, while Luciano took the chair next to me, his hand resting on my armrest. Oddly enough, his presence brought me a strange sense of comfort.

Vito’s eyes flicked to my fingers. “Your hands are filthy, girl. What’ve you been up to?”

I ignored his question. “Why am I here?” I asked, my voice calmer than I felt.

Vito leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “You’ve been gone a long time, Ava. Too long. It’s time you came home.”

“This isn’t my home,” I spat.

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