Chapter 24
Luciano
The warehouse’s fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars over Matteo’s broken form. He sat before me, a ruined man, his breathing wet and labored. Blood dripped from his split eyebrow onto the concrete—each drop a ticking clock counting down his final moments.
I adjusted my cufflinks, the silver catching the dim light. “There’s a saying, Matteo. ‘A man who doesn’t understand the rules of the world he lives in won’t live long enough to break them twice.’”
My polished Oxfords clicked against the floor. “I thought you understood that much, at least.”
Matteo spat a glob of blood and phlegm near my shoe. A final act of defiance, I guess. He wasn’t going to beg. That, at least, I respected.
Aria shifted impatiently, her manicured fingers tapping against her thigh. Saint stood statue-still beside me, his expression unreadable—but I knew he was angry beyond reason. Ava stood behind me, half-hidden. The sight of her face—bruised and battered—made my jaw tense.
But my focus stayed on Matteo.
“I didn’t think you had it in you to cross me,” I admitted. “I knew you were vengeful over your son. But I credited you with sufficient wisdom to comprehend the delicate equilibrium that keeps our world from descending into chaos. The order. The rules that keep men like us from turning into fucking animals.”
My voice rose. “Wives are off-limits. Children are off-limits. Or at least they should be.” I shouted.
Ava jumped, taking a step back. That angered me. This was Matteo’s fault. He should’ve come for me—not her.
Matteo let out a wheezing breath, his chest heaving. “He was my only son.”
“Your son’s death brought me no pleasure.” I crouched, bringing us eye to eye. “But he knew the rules. He made a choice, and that choice got him killed. It’s your fault, really. One doesn’t introduce a lamb to wolves, then feign surprise at the carnage.”
I grabbed his face, forcing him to meet my eyes when his head seemed too heavy to keep straight. “Your son died by the code you raised him on.”
I stood, withdrawing the Beretta from my waistband. The metal was warm against my palm.
“These are the rules we live by.”
The barrel lifted to his forehead. The safety clicked off.
“Wait.”
Ava stepped forward, chin lifted. “Let me do it.”
A beat of silence. Saint’s eyebrows rose. Aria’s lips curled into something between approval and amusement.
“Taking a life changes you,” I warned.
Her fingers flexed at her sides. “I shot you,” she reminded me.
She had. She hadn’t hesitated. My shoulder throbbed as if her speaking about the bullet she’d put there had activated the pain.
I reversed my grip on the Beretta and offered it to her.
Matteo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t let her—”
“This is perfect,” I cut him off. “Megghiu moriri d’un colpo di l’omo ca d’una ferita di fimmina.” Better to die from a man’s blow than a woman’s wound.
It was a belief the old mafia held like gospel. A wound from a woman dishonored the bloodline.
Ava took the gun with both hands. She settled into a shooter’s stance. I’d heard her father taught her to shoot.
Matteo cursed us in Italian.
“Che le vostre anime brucino all’inferno per l’eternità! Maledico il tuo sangue, la tua stirpe… e quella puttana che chiami moglie! Non troverete mai pace, né in questa vita né nella prossima!” May your souls burn in hell for eternity! I curse your blood, your bloodline… and that whore you call a wife! None of you will ever know peace, not in this life, not in the next!
“You’re not the first man to curse me before dying.”
Matteo spat again, his teeth red. Then he looked toward Ava.
“Che le vostre anime brucino all’inferno! E tu, Ava Porter—la figlia di una traditrice—credi davvero di essere al sicuro con lui?” And you, Ava Porter—the daughter of a traitor—do you really believe you’re safe with him?
“What did he say?” she asked, eyes locked on mine.
I told her the truth. “He said you’re not safe with me.”
She stared at me for a second, scanning my face— Then shepulled the trigger. And when the shot rang out, she didn’t flinch, she didn't look away.
Matteo’s body jerked, then collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, nearly tipping the chair he was tied to. The Beretta clattered to the floor.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Ava broke.
A sob ripped from her chest, her whole body shaking.
She didn’t resist when I stepped forward. Didn’t say a word when I scooped her up into my arms.
I walked past Saint, past Aria, holding her. No one moved. No one spoke.
Outside, the night was cool. The scent of salt water hung heavy in the air.
One of the guards stepped toward me. I didn’t slow.
“No. Stay,” I ordered “Tell no one to follow me.”
He nodded.
I opened the passenger door, set Ava down gently. Her face was wet. Her shoulders trembling.
I got behind the wheel, closed the door, and drove. No headlights behind me. Just us.
Ava curled into herself, one hand gripping the hem of her ruined dress, the other pressed to her mouth.
I kept my eyes on the road.
I'd read what felt like a million books on grief. My vocabulary was extensive.
But there were no words I could think to say to her to make her better. I knew from experience. So I didn't try.