Chapter 29
Ava
The car ride home was quiet. Luciano had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap, and his jaw was tight the entire way. I didn’t push. Not yet. But I would. My curiosity didn’t believe in timing.
We walked into our home. I still couldn’t believe that in less than a month I’d been forced to marry, accepted my fate, shot my husband, and been kidnapped by a vengeful father—who I killed. I kicked off my heels before he could even close the door. My ankles were sore, and my head was full of questions—one in particular I couldn’t shake loose.
He dropped his keys into the dish near the door and loosened his collar.
“Why do you hate Aria?” I asked. No preamble. He had been heading toward the bedroom but paused. He frowned. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even dislike her,” he said finally. “I just don’t trust her.”
I raised an eyebrow. “She saved both our lives.”
“I’m aware.” He met my gaze. “I thanked her for it. That doesn’t mean I ignore who she is.”
I studied him quietly.
“She loves Saint. And Saint’s your friend. I think you should be nicer. You really seemed to hurt her feelings. That’s why she lashed out. She had a smirk on her face, but her eyes were sad.”
He nodded. “She did save us. And if you want me to be kinder I will. If you choose to be also—remember, kindness with people like her should be deliberate. Not automatic.” He turned and kept walking toward the bedroom, loosening his tie now, his voice low but even. “You should observe her the same way I taught you to observe a threat.”
We were in our bedroom now. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now tell me about the room. The one Aria mentioned. La Stanza whatever.”
Luciano didn’t answer me. He walked out of the room. I heard the refrigerator open. He came back with two bottles of water.
“It’s an old dungeon my grandfather had built under the house my father inherited—the one you lived in. They used it for enemies.I tracked down the men who killed my mother,” he said.“Every single one of them. It took years.” He set the bottle down. “It’s where I took them. One by one. I tortured them. Then killed them.”
I thought about it. “I can understand that. And respect it. Also—what Aria said about your father. I would never ask you to kill him because of what he did to my mother.”
He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Why wouldn’t you ask me to?” he asked—like it was unbelievable that I wouldn’t.
I took a slow breath. “Because… I believe you would.”
He stared at me unblinking. I felt he was waiting for me to elaborate, so I did.
“I think you’ve already suffered enough. You lost your mother. You lost your childhood. If I asked you to kill your father… you would. Not for justice. Not even for me. You’d do it because you think that’s the cost of keeping me.”
He blinked. Slowly.
“And I don’t want that,” I said, stepping closer. “I told you I was tired. I think you can afford me the peace I need to rest. I didn’t marry you to hurt you. You having to kill your father would hurt you. He’s who you have left. He’s my enemy, not yours. I married you because I saw something in you no one else seemed to see—and that would be lost.”
He crossed his arms, watching me closely. “And what is it that you see in me?”
I looked up at him. “A man who’s still capable of something feeling something other than grief and anger. A man who survived terrible loss. A man who doesn’t know what peace feels like, but who still wants it for like me.
His jaw flexed. He looked like he was chewing on those words.
“I don’t want you to lose one more piece of yourself on my behalf,” I said quietly. “Not for revenge. Not for history. I want you whole. Or at least, whatever version of whole you are right now.”
He stared at me like I’d just unraveled some equation he’d never been able to solve. And for once, Luciano didn’t have anything to say.
Abruptly, he turned and continued getting undressed. I wondered what he was thinking. He was probably overanalyzing my words and compartmentalizing them like a robot. I didn’t ask.
I just watched him from the bed as the shadows the cracked blinds let in played across his skin while he moved through his nightly routine. He would undress, brush his teeth, gargle, waterpik, shower for thirty minutes, take a swig of Listerine on the way out of the bathroom because it "helps brighten the teeth," he told me.
He peeled his shirt from his body, revealing the lean muscle stretched tight across his back.
I looked away. I thought about that room again. Those men deserved everything he gave them for what they did to his mother. I had thought about doing the same—but I wasn’t brave enough. I still wasn’t. Not yet.
He drew my attention back to him when he stepped out of his pants. His body looked like it had been cut from something ancient—like marble or clay pulled straight from the cradle of earth.
There was nothing soft about him. Not in his stance. Not in the way he moved. Not in the way he existed in the world.
My thighs pressed together as heat bloomed low in my belly, spreading like fire through my veins.
Is it possible to cum just from looking at someone? I was so horny. I was tripping.
It wasn’t just the way he looked—it was what he was. Power in its purest form. A man who could kill without blinking, but who also bandaged my wrists like I was made of porcelain.
That contradiction was the turn-on.
I said slowly, “Can I ask you something else, Luciano?”
He turned, one brow arched. “You can ask anything.”
“Why haven’t we had sex?”
He blinked once. “I didn’t expect that from you.”
“Why not?”
“I married you under duress.”
“Understandable.”
“Why else? I can see in your eyes there’s something else. The blank stare is gone.”
He frowned—and that was as rare as a smile. Silence stretched a beat too long before he exhaled.
“I’m a virgin,” he said.
I stared. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me.”
“No way. What was all that about days ago? ‘I’ll have you beneath me,’ and all that. How are you threatening me with pleasure when you’ve never had sex?”
He cocked his head. “I don’t need experience to understand what I want. Or what I’m capable of.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping slightly. “I read. I observe. I listen. You don’t think I’d study how to touch the woman I want?”
He let a beat passed. “I’ve imagined it. With you. Every detail. Every breath. So no—I haven’t done it. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be good at it.”
His fingers brushed the side of my face—barely a touch—but it tightened my nipples and caused my pussy to leak.
The pad of his thumb traced the curve of my jaw, the shell of my ear, down my neck. His hand wrapped around my throat—he applied just enough pressure to make my pulse stutter.
A tiny whimper slipped out of my mouth and my pussy walls clenched. Then his hand was gone. A single finger dragged slowly down the center of my chest, before splaying his hand over my heart.
He chuckled. “Why is your heart beating so fast, Ava,” he murmured, “ You look like you want tobeg me to fuck you. Virgin or not.”
I stepped back immediately, heat rushing to my cheeks. Luciano just smirked. I had to compose myself with a deep breath.
He was off, but he was sexy.
“Now I really don’t believe you. Not after that little display. And look at you… You’re handsome, terrifying, and emotionally constipated, sure—but look at you. Like, really. You're all the things most women go crazy for.” I shook my head. “No woman ever tried to give you any pussy?” I couldn’t believe it.
To me, it looked like he cringed. “They did. Most of the women… reminded me of her though. I can see her naked, being abused, her pale skin bruised.”
“Your mother?” I said softly.
“That’s fucked up but it makes sense.”
He nodded.
I crossed the space between us. I pressed my hand to his chest. He tensed instantly.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “No pressure. No more sex talk.”
He looked down at me, his voice lower than before. “You don’t remind me of my mother.”
I tilted my head. “No?”
He shook his head slowly. “You make me think things I’ve never thought. I’ve been turned on since the first time I saw you. I just… didn’t know how to approach you.”
“Well, we can figure that out together. We can build up to it.”
He nodded once.
I leaned back just a bit. “One more question.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Another?”
“All those things in this place. My lotion. My soap. My favorite candle scent. Even the hair products I use. Clothes in my size in the closet. You watched me, didn’t you? How did I miss that you were there?”
He didn’t deny it. “Yes,” he said simply. “I watched you. I wanted to make sure you were protected. And you didn’t see me because it wasn’t the right time.”
“That’s… kinda creepy,” I said, half smiling.
He didn’t smile back. “I know.”
I stepped closer again, resting my hands on his chest. “But it’s also kind of… sweet. In a dark, obsessive, fucking crazy type of way.” I chuckled. “Endearing, even,” I added.
He looked at me like he didn’t understand the words I was speaking and was about to ask me why—or the logic or science behind it. I sighed.
God help me. I was starting to actually like my emotionally stunted husband.