Chapter 19
Luciano
I should’ve been handling business.
My father sat to my left, his presence a heavy, unspoken reminder of the empire I was meant to inherit. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, a habit he’d had for as long as I could remember. He was calm on the surface, but calculating. To my right, Saint leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room like a predator. He didn’t trust the mayor, and neither did I.
He was conniving just as much as he was sniveling. He sat across from me in his expensive bespoke suit, his hands folded neatly, pretending they weren’t stained with the same blood as the rest of us.
He’d shown up at my wedding, begging for my father’s favor, and now he sat there, acting like he belonged.
The room was a powder keg of power—men who owned this city, men who’d built their empires on blood and silence. They could make or break me when I took over. But none of it mattered.
Not when she was looking at me like she wanted to set the whole damn room on fire.
Dre told her.
I knew it the moment her lips pressed into that thin, dangerous line. The way her jaw tightened, the way her eyes narrowed—like she was dissecting me, peeling back layers to expose the rot underneath. Dewanda, who had been cold to her all night, suddenly softened, placing a hand on Ava’s arm. Sisterhood. Ava had figured it out. She knew I’d been in her world long before she knew my name. That I wasn’t just some ghost passing through her life.
I’d been watching her.
And now she hated me for it.
There was a faint tightness in my chest, a sensation I couldn’t quite categorize. It wasn’t guilt—I didn’t do guilt. It wasn’t fear—I didn’t feel fear. I couldn’t name it. That was a variable I hadn’t accounted for. I didn’t like it.
Then I saw Aria.
Wearing one of her fake smiles, heading in the direction of Ava. Aria was poison—subtle, insidious, sinking in before you even noticed the wound.
I didn’t need her planting ideas in Ava’s head. She was already teetering on the edge of understanding after what Dre probably told her, and Aria would only push her over.
I stood abruptly, the legs of my chair scraping against the floor. I didn’t bother saying anything to anyone as I walked away.
I was halfway across the room when—
Pow, pow, pow. Gunshots rang out.
The first shot cracked through the air like a whip. The second came a heartbeat later. One of my men dropped about ten feet away from me from a headshot. The third shot took another guard down.
I cataloged the details. Three shots. Two dead in seconds. The shooter was skilled, efficient. My pulse remained steady. My hands didn’t shake. Fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford, even if I’d been capable of feeling it.
I needed to get to Ava.
I saw Dre grab Ava and start running. He was pulling her along. She stopped long enough to kick off her shoes.
Good girl.
My body moved before my brain could catch up. Pushing through the chaos. Cutting through the crowd. My eyes scanned the room, analyzing every movement, every face. The shooter wasn’t in the open.
There were screams. Tables flipping. Glass shattering.
Another shot.
I saw Dre stumble, his body jerking as the bullet hit him. He dropped.
Ava barely caught herself before hitting the ground beside him. She was wide open and exposed.
I moved. Faster.
Out of nowhere, a shooter stepped out of the crowd. Weapon raised.
My heart rate didn’t spike like it should have. I wasn’t afraid of dying. Death would be a reprieve for me. I’d made peace with it when I was eight years old, watching the life drain from her eyes. Death was just an end. A conclusion.
But Ava wasn’t safe yet. That meant I needed to live.
My hand went for my gun—
A shot rang out from behind me.
The shooter jerked. A hole tore through his skull.
I spun, gun already in hand—
Aria stood behind me. Gun smoking.
I hadn’t expected her intervention in saving me.
She didn’t like me. Not even a little. So why? Why risk herself while she was pregnant?
Her eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I saw it—the flicker of something softer beneath the ice. She nodded. Just once. And that was enough.
Then Saint was on her, lifting her off the ground, pulling her to safety. She let him, but her fingers stayed curled around the weapon.
Another shot rang out, then another. Two more guards were dead. More than half the room was cleared out.
Where were the shots coming from?
Everyone had been searched. Everyone had been cleared.
My eyes slid off the man Aria had killed.
The shooter was in a catering uniform. This had been set up—in twenty-four hours. That was troublesome.
I heard my father’s voice. Sharp and urgent.
I turned—saw him being rushed out by his security, his face pale but composed. He caught my eye for a split second.
I only looked away for a second.
When I turned back—
Ava was gone.
A void opened in my chest.
Not fear. Not panic. Just... emptiness.
For the first time in forever, I felt helpless.
I hadn’t felt this since I was eight years old.
But I wasn’t eight anymore.
Now I had the power and capability to move the world to get her back.