Luciano 20
The party was over. Dre was in the hospital, Dewanda had gone with him, but not before she stood in front of me, her face twisted in rage. My father had been rushed away. The music, the champagne, the fucking celebration—all of it erased like it had never happened. Because none of it mattered. Because Ava had been taken. Her cousin had confronted me. "You did this," she hissed, voice shaking. "You're the reason she's gone." She accused me, though we had no idea why she was gone. This could have been anything. A power play, a kidnapping. I hadn’t responded. I didn’t need her to tell me any of the things she was saying. I already knew. I let my wife be taken. On my wedding night. I should’ve left her where she was. I told her I could protect her. I told her she’d be safe with me. And now she was gone. I was a man who fixed things. Who handled problems before they could become real threats. Who saw every angle before the first move was even made. And I’d let them take her. I should’ve been faster. Seen it coming. Done something. But I failed her. Now, fixing this was the only thing that mattered.
Dewanda had shoved me. She wasn’t scared of me. I could have crushed her windpipe in seconds, but she still lunged at me, still swung. Saint pulled her back before she could do any real damage, but that didn’t stop her from yelling at me. I understood her anger.
"Get her back, Luciano," she growled. "Or I swear to God, every gang banger from Cali will be in Florida by tomorrow on your ass and the motherfuckers who took her. Play with it if you want to."
Then she left.
Now, it was just me.
Those who I suspected were involved, and a line of my men—the ones who had failed Ava. Sixteen people about to meet death. Saint was beside me, silent. He knew what was coming. He had sent Aria home with guards. My hands shook. With rage. With fear. I hadn’t been scared in years. I was scared of losing Ava. Ava was out there. Somewhere. Where the same things that happened to my mother might happen to her. The thought made my stomach twist, made my vision swim with red. I couldn't think about what they might be doing to her. I couldn’t. I pushed the fear down, buried it deep. The screams were loud in my head. I ignored them. I pulled my gun and shot the first man in line directly in the heart. His body collapsed to the floor. It would be a second before his brain even registered he was dead. Blood splattered across my suit. I turned to the next man. “Do you know anything?” He shook his head frantically. Bang. Another body hit the floor. Grown men whimpered. “Let’s start over. My wife is missing.” I said it calmly, controlling my rage. "I need you all to understand something." I let the silence stretch. Let them feel it—the fury radiating off of me. “If I don’t get my wife back, if I don’t find her…” I exhaled, letting my head tilt slightly. “Not a soul among you will live to tell the story. None of your fucking bloodlines will be left to trace. Because after I kill you, I will make it my life’s mission to kill each and every one of your family members.” Someone choked on a sob, the sound muffled like they were trying to swallow it back. I didn’t look to see who it was. It didn’t matter. I lifted my arm and shot the man in front of me. Saint exhaled loudly. “You’re wasting bullets.” I didn’t look at him. “I have plenty.” Saint started to continue. “Luciano, you shoul—” “Shut the fuck up.” I heard him growl in his throat. I turned slightly—just enough to meet his eyes. I would shoot him too. I didn’t need him trying to rein me in. He had cut off the heads of two men and killed a dozen more for simple verbal disrespect towards his wife. Mine had been taken, on our wedding night. I had already asked questions and gotten nothing. Seeing death loosened tongues much faster than threats of death. Another shot. Another body dropped. Then someone broke. A young guard—sweating, shaking, desperate. His voice cracked. “I didn’t do—” My phone rang. I answered, because I already knew he was about to plead for his life rather than give me answers. I was starting to think the people lined up here didn’t actually know anything. I put the phone on speaker. Maybe the person calling me had answers. “Who— is?” I could hear how low, dangerous my voice sounded. I had never before heard this tone. “I followed them,” Aria cut me off. Saint went rigid beside me. “Aria, what the fuck are you doing?” His voice was close to panic. “You’re fucking pregnant!” “I saw two suspicious vans when I was leaving out the back way. I snuck away from the guards and followed. I couldn’t stand there and watch her just be taken,” she snapped. “I’m parked a few blocks down from where they stopped. They’re in some kind of warehouse. You need to get here fast.” Saint ripped the phone from my hand. “Get your ass home, Aria. Now. I swear to fucking God—” “I’m already here, Saint. Do you want the location or not?” I gritted my teeth. Saint looked at me like he wanted to punch something. Break something. But Aria was right. I grabbed the phone back. “Drop a pin. Now.” The call ended. A second later, the location hit my phone. I turned to Saint. “You coming?” His face was carved from stone. “Of course I’m fucking coming.”
I lifted my phone, my fingers moving quickly as I sent out the order. Soldiers. As many as I could muster. They’d be ready in minutes.
Saint was next to me, barking commands into his own phone, his voice sharp and urgent.
“I don’t care who’s on what right now,” he snapped. “Get them to the address I send you. Now.”
I didn’t know who we were up against. Didn’t know how many they had, how armed they were, or how far they were willing to go. But it didn’t matter. We’d be ready.
My hands were steady as I slid my gun into its holster, but my mind wasn’t. I could hear my mother screaming in my head.
The sound was faint, distant, but it was there, clawing at the edges of my thoughts. My thoughts were flashing a hundred miles a minute. I could see the blood on the floor, pooling beneath her body, trembling, before it went still. That could easily be Ava. I could almost feel her blood on my hands, sticky and warm. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the pain grounding me. Focus. I needed to focus.
“Luciano,” Saint called my name, his voice cutting through the noise in my head. “Move. Let’s go get our fucking wives,” he yelled.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure what would come out—a scream, a curse, or something worse. Instead, I nodded, my jaw tight, and turned toward the door.
The men would be there soon. We’d move fast, hit hard, and leave nothing standing.
But as I stepped into the night, the humidity drying the sweat on my skin, I knew one thing.
I wouldn’t survive losing Ava. Because without her, I was nothing but a ghost—a hollow shell of a man who had already died in that room with his mother years ago. Which meant I had to make sure there was no one left alive who thought they could take her from me and live to brag about it.