Chapter 7
Luciano
I was leaned against my father’s heavy wooden desk, my eyes fixed on Ava. I watched her reaction as my father laid out the inevitable terms of our arrangement. Ava sat straight-backed, chin lifted, her entire body a lesson in defiance. She was stunning to look at.
She shook her head. “Mr. Genovese, you know I don’t belong in this world. I don’t have the bloodline, the upbringing. I’m an outsider.” Her voice was deceptively soft, trying to appear less hostile, reasoning her way out of this. But I could see past the performance.
The signs all pointed to her being scared. It was in the subtle tension in her jaw. The way she gripped the chair, then her purse. Her body language was a textbook case of fear masked by defiance. She was attempting to project control, but her physiological responses betrayed her. Her dilated pupils, the faint tremor in her hands gave her away.
She was scared. But she was also strong. She was holding on to control when most would have been frantic. It was proof that she was strong enough to endure this world.
“You can’t want that for your son. He needs someone else. A woman like you all. Who wants this.”
My father merely leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. His expression indifferent, he looked down his nose at her as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. Ava read him well. She turned to me.
“You don’t want this,” she tried, shifting tactics, her eyes searching mine for something—mercy, doubt, anything she could work with. I gave her nothing.
“Just marry someone else,” she pressed, leaning forward. “For an heir. You can have anybody.”
She was right. I could have anyone. Many women would gladly take my last name, bear my children, slip seamlessly into the life that came with being my wife.
But I didn’t want just any woman. I wanted this. I wanted her. I had wanted her since the first time I saw her. I had just killed a man for the first time when we crossed paths. Most people would have looked away after seeing my blood-stained clothes. She hadn’t. Her wide eyes had locked onto me, not with fear, but with something else.
That moment had sealed her fate. My blood had flared in my veins. It wasn’t lust, nor infatuation. It was like an instinct. She was mine and my mind and body had knew it.
“I want this,” I said simply. My voice was rough from disuse, but I made sure she heard every word.
Ava swallowed hard. “I don’t.”
I tilted my head slightly, watching the way she gripped the strap of her purse tight like it was an anchor. “You will.”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small black velvet box. I opened it to reveal the platinum eternity band inside, its large, flawless diamonds catching the dim light like cold fire. “I want this,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse. I was the reason she was there.
Out of guilt for what he did to her mother, my father had planned to let her be free, to let her disappear into whatever new life she had built after she ran. But when he said it was time for me to be married, I insisted on claiming her.
“My mother told me once that I’d know the woman I was supposed to protect. To devote myself to.” I lifted her hand and pressed the ring into her palm, closing her fingers around it. “I knew the moment I saw you, Ava.”
Ava shook her head frantically. Her hand slid into her purse. When she pulled out a gun—I almost smiled. I hadn’t predicted this. I would have expected her to have a flimsy, girly thing—maybe a pink .22 that would fit neatly in her manicured hand. But no. This was a real weapon, a Glock 43, all matte black and unforgiving. Her hand was steady, her eyes cold as she leveled it at my chest.
“I’m not marrying the son of the man who killed my mother,” she hissed, her voice low and full of venom. Her anger was radiant.
A poisonous smile spread across my father’s face. “She ran away.”
Ava sneered in his direction. “Bullshit. You killed her and buried her in the backyard like fucking trash. I won’t pretend that’s not what happened anymore.”
Her anger radiated off of her.
I stepped forward before she actually decided to turn the gun on my father and shoot him. “Then why is the gun on me, not him?” I asked. I could understand her wanting to kill him. He had killed her mother after all. I would not be cross with her if she shot him—but I couldn’t let her. Because then I’d have to kill half the mob to keep her safe. I understood vengeance more than any other emotion, but now was not the time.
“I have never caused you harm or pain, Ava.” I had officially spoken more words to her than I’d spoken to anyone in years. I’d been practicing, forcing myself to find words through the noise that was always in my head. Sometimes it was my mother’s screams; sometimes it was just a chaotic roar. But right now, my mind and thoughts were clear.
“Because you’re closer and faster. Stay back!” Ava shouted, her grip tightening. She clicked off the safety. “I’ll shoot your ass.”
I chuckled, low. “Do it,” I taunted, inching closer.
She began to back away toward the door, her eyes darting between me and my father. I followed, matching her retreat step for step. She had nowhere to go.
But then she pulled the trigger.
The crack of the shot was deafening, the bullet tore into my shoulder, burning like hot coals. I could tell she had been aiming for my heart. That was wise. I staggered slightly—but the pain barely registered. I’d been hurt worse before I turned ten. Ava, the supposed prey, had struck first. It was exhilarating in a twisted, cerebral way. It made my dick hard.
I took another step toward her, keeping my expression blank. “Impressive. You aimed too high though.”
She gave me a look that told me she thought I was crazy. Then she spun on her heel and ran.
I took chase. My father yelled for the guards.
Sudden blood loss slowed me. By the time I reached her, Carlos had already grabbed her. He lifted her easily, then slammed her to the floor like she was nothing. Her gun skittered across the tiles, and her body hit the ground hard, a pained gasp escaping her lips.
Rage blinded me.
I stalked forward, stepping over Ava’s crumpled form, my focus on Carlos. He had been with me since I was twelve. But he had been warned—all the guards had. Nobody laid a hand on her.
I picked up her gun from the floor and pressed it to his forehead. “Luciano, wait—” he started, panicked.
I was beyond reason.
I pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed across the floor, splattering Ava’s face as Carlos collapsed, dead weight on the ground beside her. Her eyes went wide, horrified. She tried to move away, wiping at the blood she was covered in. She barely managed to push herself up before I reached down, grabbing her by the arm.
“Please…” she whimpered, her voice small. I lifted her easily, scooping her into my arms. She passed out. Shock and pain put her under.
My father had caught up with us. His face was red and he was breathing heavy. “What the hell have you done, Luciano?” he yelled, eyes blazing. Carlos’s father was one of Vito’s oldest allies, and I knew the implications of what I’d just done—and I didn’t care.
“He touched her,” I replied simply.
I lifted Ava easily, cradling her against my chest. She went limp before I even took my first step, shock and exhaustion dragging her under.
“Because he touched her? You’ve just started a war within our circle,” my father snapped.
I didn’t stop walking. Didn’t even look at him. “I don’t care.”
I didn’t care what my father said. I didn’t care about wars, debts, his fucking empire. All I cared about was her. She was the only thing I wanted. And now that I had her, I wasn’t letting go, and I wasn’t letting anyone harm her.
She was mine to protect now.
I heard my father calling my name. I ignored him. He wouldn’t follow.