Page 24 of Luciano

“Good,” I replied. Without waiting for a response, I pushed past him. I needed to talk to Saint.

Chapter 11

Luciano

I pushed open the door to Saint’s office without knocking, knowing he probably already knew I was there. There were cameras all over the compound. My eyes landed on Aria first, who sat on the edge of his desk, flipping through a magazine, her dark curls hiding half her face. Her swollen belly was impossible to miss. This was their second child in the three years since they’d married.

Saint didn’t look up right away, his focus on the screen in front of him.

Aria’s head rose from her magazine. She looked at me funny, like she always did, like she thought there was something wrong with me. I didn’t care. I knew there was something wrong with her, too. I didn’t know how Saint didn’t see it. Even after everything she’d done, he treated her like she was fragile.

But she was just like us, but she didn’t wear it on her sleeve. Saint and I had been turned into what we were, but I think she was born the way she was and had learned how to mask it. I could see it—beneath the surface, the same darkness that pulsed in Saint and me was living in her.

Saint told me she once called him a villain and herself a damsel. She was an antihero at best. She was dangerous, maybe evenmore so than us, because she knew how to present herself as harmless or normal—making her unpredictable.

I didn’t understand why he wanted her. She seemed like more of a liability he had to manage rather than someone he should have any real attachment to. She could tear down everything he’d worked for, and yet, he didn’t seem afraid. He didn’t care about her deceit or her lies—the same lies that had driven him to murder his own father after she convinced him he wasn’t his father. Her presence disrupted his carefully constructed world, yet he wouldn’t get rid of her. But then, when I thought about it, she was just a mirror reflecting his own chaos back at him. They served each other.

I dismissed the thoughts. She was Saint’s problem, not mine. I’d just keep her away from Ava.

Saint finally leaned back in his chair, closing his laptop.

“Luciano,” Saint asked. “What brings you here?”

I stepped further into the room, my hands in my pockets, trying to appear casual. “I’m getting married,” I informed him. “Tomorrow.”

Aria’s head snapped up at that, her dark eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Married?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disbelief. “To who?”

“Ava,” I said simply, ignoring the way her lips curled, as if she couldn’t believe anyone was marrying me. “I came to ask Saint to be my best man.”

“The Ava?” Saint asked.

I nodded.

Saint raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Best man?” he echoed. “Me? That’s… unexpected.”

I shrugged. “I was at your wedding, and I want to show Ava I have friends,” I admitted, the words feeling strange on my tongue. I wasn’t used to explaining myself, but this was important. I didn’t want Ava to see me as strange, as someone who existed in isolation. I wanted her to see that I could belong, that I could fit into her world—or at least, that I could pretend to.

Aria let out a low laugh. “Friends?” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Is that what you and him are?”

I ignored her, my focus on Saint. “Will you do it?” I asked. I knew he would do it because I needed him to. Despite what Aria thought, he was my friend.

Saint studied me for a moment, his gaze calculating. Then he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be your best man.”

Aria tossed her magazine onto the desk. “Did you take her, Luciano? Are you forcing her?”

“No,” I replied, my voice flat. “I didn’t take her. She was promised to me. I’m not forcing her. But our marriage is not a choice—it’s a requirement.” I left out the fact that Saint had actually encouraged me to take Ava.

Aria’s smirk deepened. “What? How does anything you say make it different than force?” she spat.

I kept myself from moving forward, to keep from engaging her husband. Saint would react poorly if he thought I was going to harm her. I would hate to have to kill my only friend. My gaze locked with Aria’s. “I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you, Aria. You are not morally superior,” I said, keeping my tone low. “Not with your history. You’re a liar, a murderer. No better than me or Saint, maybe even worse.”

She glared at me, her nostrils flaring.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” she snapped.

“I’m speaking to you.” I tilted my head, observing her. “You’re a textbook example of cognitive dissonance, Aria. You’ve built an identity around being a victim, yet your actions betray that narrative. You’re suffering from a severe case of narcissistic tendencies—everything revolves around you, the lies you weave, and the manipulation you employ. The violence you claim to hate? You’re as capable of it as anyone. You’re just adept at concealing it behind that mask of self-righteousness. And your husband enables you because he has attachment issues, but I do not share the same affection for you. I advis—”

Aria cut me off. “Fuck you.” She jabbed a manicured nail in my direction. “You’re a fucking broken little boy in a man’s body. You don’t scare me.” She uncrossed her legs and stood.

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