Page 28 of Luciano

His fingers brushed the edge of the blanket near my hip—the briefest touch, but it was enough to make my skin burn.

“Well?” he asked, still watching me like I was a specimen under a microscope. “Which is it, Ava?”

I exhaled, my pulse hammering in my throat as I just whispered the truth.

“Two. I’m tired. Not fragile though.”

Luciano remained still, watching me. Waiting. As if he needed me to quantify my exhaustion, to break it down into something measurable, something he could categorize and file away in his weird brain.

“I’m tired of fighting,” I admitted. “Tired of running. Of looking over my shoulder. Of feeling like every second, I have to be on guard because I was scared your father would find me and drag me back or kill me. I’m tired of being afraid of what will happen next. Of knowing I don’t control anything—not really. Of pretending I do.”

His eyes flickered. He considered me for a long moment before nodding, as if he was filing my answer away for later analysis.

“Understood.”

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“But if you’re lying—”

“I’m not. You didn’t rape me.

You didn’t torture me.

You somewhat respected my boundaries even when you could’ve abused your power. For someone raised around violent men, that says something about you.”

His fingers twitched like he was about to touch me but remembered himself just in time. “Whether you’re lying or not. You’re mine, Ava,” he said, quieter now, like the danger had gone underground but not disappeared. “Do you understand?”

I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.

I nodded, then shifted under the comforter, stretching my sore limbs. I reached down and pushed the covers back slightly, the cool air hitting my bare skin, breasts exposed, nipples tight. Might as well get used to sleeping next to him.

Luciano went still.

“I’m sleepy. Are you coming to bed?”

His eyes drank me in slowly. His throat bobbed. His hands curled into fists.

Then his expression changed—he suddenly looked startled, like I’d short-circuited something in that strange, brilliant mind of his.

Then he turned so fast that his shoulder—the one I shot him in—banged against the doorframe. He didn’t stop or cry out in pain. He rushed from the room.

Leaving me to wonder what the fuck had just happened.

Chapter 14

Luciano

The door shut behind me, sealing out the rest of the house. The air in La Stanza del Giudizio was thick with the scent of bleach, covering the mold, blood, and decay.

I let out a slow breath. The heads sat where I’d left them.

I pulled the only chair in the room to face them.

Then I sat, exhaling through my nose, pressing my fingers against my temples.

I stared at them, their empty eyes fixed on nothing, their mouths frozen open, like they had something important to say before I took it from them.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, adjusting my glasses.

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