Page 86 of Luciano

Just stayed like that—fused together, panting, surrounded by the stench of blood, steel, and sex.

When I finally pulled back, she braced herself against the table, shaky.

Glass glinted on the floor. The head stared up from where it had fallen, its eyes empty and cold.

But Ava was still warm. That was all that mattered.

She glanced back at me over her shoulder.

“That’s the first time,” she breathed, her voice hoarse, “you didn’t analyze something before doing it.”

I grabbed her chin, tilted her face to mine, and kissed her slow.

Nothing—had ever felt more fucking right.

Chapter 38

Saint

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. We were supposed to take care of the Russos—finally tie off the bleeding end of that mess. But before that happened, I needed to talk to my wife.

In case it was the last time.

It was quiet—real quiet. She had been upset with me since the Luciano incident. I felt bad about making her cry, but if I was being honest… she deserved some of what was said.

Luciano didn’t pick fights. He responded. That was the difference, though they were alike in a lot of ways like Ava had said.

Ariapushed him—kept poking, prodding, trying to get a rise out of a man who usually stood still under fire.

She admitted she got some type of sick joy out of it.

So why would I ruin a friendship, or risk inner fighting with a man who knew every part of my empire—even more so than me?

Now here we were, two stubborn people sitting in the aftermath.

I cleared my throat.

Aria had one leg tucked beneath her, her fingers playing with the edge of a throw pillow. She wouldn’t look at me, not fully. And I didn’t push her.

“I heard you, Aria,” I said quietly. “The other day. When you cried.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine—quick, mean. I knew she didn’t like me mentioning that she had cried. But she had.

“I’ve never seen vulnerability from you. Not once...” I swallowed. “Seeing you cry... it was eye-opening. I didn’t realize how much you were holding in.”

Her throat worked. She blinked slowly, then sat forward, elbows on her knees.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. But you don’t really have anything to apologize for anymore,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I do.For everything. For the manipulation. For lying. I justified it. Even as I saw the resentment building in your eyes…”

She looked at me. “I need you to forgive me.” She sighed.

“I don’t think I could survive loving someone who might one day hate me,” she admitted. “I can see that happening between us.”

I nodded.

“I don’t hate you,” I said. “But I get why you think I could.”

---