Chapter 41
Ava
The library smelled like old leather and polished wood. It was familiar. I used to get lost in it when I still lived there, reading my life away.
I was curled up in the oversized armchair tucked near the window, trying to read but not really absorbing a word. The book was open on my lap— The Prince by Machiavelli. It was about cold, calculated men. Just like the man whose house I was in.
I didn’t like being in Luciano’s father’s house, but Luciano had insisted I stay here until things with the Russos were cleaned up instead of going back home. It wasn’t like anyone knew where we’d been. But he said it was a precaution. “Temporary.”
I hated it. I hated the heavy quiet that hung over this place, it made mw feel like the walls themselves were listening. I hated the way everyone tiptoed around his father like he was some fucking king.
But mostly—I hated that Luciano was out there. Hunting. Being hunted.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the page I wasn’t reading, trying not to let my mind spiral. But it did anyway.
Four days had passed since he’d left. He hadn’t called since yesterday morning. I had spoken to Aria, though. She said he and Saint were moving in phases, orchestrating calculated hits. She assured me they’d be fine, and I believed her. But it didn’t stop me from worrying.
I thought about calling Dewanda but didn’t want to involve her in anything dangerous. Last time I spoke to her, she said she had been dodging Brooker. My cousin was a commitment-phobe, and that worked out for her because she liked gangbangers and fuckboys—they didn’t care. But despite Brooker running a criminal organization, he didn’t seem like either. She might have a problem on her hands, especially when it came to men in this town—it seems they’d kidnap a bitch quick.
A breeze shifted the sheer curtain beside me, and I looked up.
I watched Vito Genovese walk into the library. I felt my nose flare but didn’t curse and tell him to get the fuck away from me like I wanted to—curiosity got the best of me.
He was big and heavy but always moved with the kind of calm, lightness that came after too many years of watching people bleed at your command. He felt untouchable. I would too, I guess.
“I don’t want trouble,” he said, lowering himself into the chair across from me like this was just another conversation between family. “I want understanding.”
“Do you?”
He nodded. “I know you’ve drawn your conclusions,” he continued, voice low. “About what happened with your mother. But we need to move forward.”
I tilted my head. “Do we?”
“Yes. For Luciano’s sake. Don’t you think he’s lost enough?”
There it was. The plea dressed up as strategy. He had a lot of fucking nerve.
I nodded and folded my arms. “You want peace. For Luciano’s sake, I can give you peace. But you have to tell me the truth.”
He didn’t say anything. I continued.
“Say it. Out loud. Admit it to me.”
Silence.
“Admit that you killed my mother,” I said, voice calm though I was feeling anything but. “And then explain why.”
Saint’s father met my eyes, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Just a little. Just enough for me to see part of the truth in him. He had loved my mother. I assumed that.
He studied me, then exhaled like he’d been holding something in for a long time.
“Your mother came to me,” he said. “After your father got himself killed.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the cushion.
“He fucked the wrong woman. I know you know of their infidelities—you lived with them, everybody knew.” I nodded because he was correct. They fought all the time, and I’d listened to my mother cry night after night, rode with her to other men’s houses—men who gave her the attention she wanted, or men she used to make my father jealous—just for them to end up back together.
He continued, “A Colombian’s wife. They were going to wipe you both off the map after they killed him. No witnesses. No mercy. She came to me because she knew I had weight. Because your father and I were cordial. Because she knew I’d protect you both.”
I didn’t speak. Not yet.
“She offered herself to me, then you as collateral,” he continued. “She knew I wanted her. I’d made no secret of it over the years. I had one caveat—don’t embarrass me. Don’t take what I offer and spit on it in public. And she agreed.”
I heard him, but I didn’t hear him.
“But your mother…” he paused, jaw flexing. “She fucked one of my enemies’ sons. After all the blood I spilled in her name, after everything I’d done to build respect back after losing Maria… after Luciano was taken. She made all that moot.”
His voice was tight now, but not remorseful. Just bitter.
“She didn’t even try to hide what she was doing. That’s what pissed me off the most. She made a fool of me. So I did what I had to do.”
I didn’t know if it was rage or nausea crawling up my throat. Maybe both. Everything he was saying was probably true from what I’d pieced together. But still. She was my mother, and he killed her. My anger couldn’t be reasoned with.
“And you expect me to be understanding?” I asked, nearly yelling.
Vito didn’t react. He leaned back in his chair, eyes cold and unapologetic. “I expect you to be smart,” he said simply. “You’re married to my son now. It’s too late for revenge.”
I said nothing. Just stared. Deciding eventually I would slit his throat.
He continued. “And I expect you to be grateful. I let you leave. I gave you a chance to disappear, to run and hide like your mother should’ve. But you didn’t. You went to the most obvious place—to your father’s family—like it wouldn’t be easy to trace you. You sat in that life and wasted the time I bought you.”
My jaw clenched.
“I knew Luciano would come for you eventually,” he said. “As soon as he handled the men who took his mother from him, I knew you’d be next. He’d go looking. I knew you would end up right where you are the moment I saw the way he looked at you. When he disobeyed me and went to that school and nearly killed that kid because of you.”
“You’re framing this as my fault?”
“No. I do think,” he said slowly, “you’re part of the reason you’re here. I stalled. I gave you time. Even after everything your mother cost me.”
His condescending words crawled under my skin like ants.
“After she betrayed me,” he added, “I still fed you. Protected you. Clothed you. Kept the Colombians from finishing what they started. Until this day, you’re under my protection from them. You don’t have to like me, Ava—but I kept you breathing. That should count for something.”
I could feel my blood heating beneath my skin. He was such a self-righteous motherfucker.
“You might not like what I did, but you understand it.”
The worst part? I did. I understood that there were no clean hands in this world. And it was natural to try and justify the mess the you made.
I nodded, giving him that.
“I know you’ve got a mean streak under that soft skin. I saw that hatred in your eyes for me. I knew you would have shot me instead of Luciano if you could have. Don’t make me kill you Aria. I know you’re plotting against me.”
I didn’t deny it.
He leaned forward slightly. “You won’t be able to turn Luciano against me either. You won’t be able to trick him into pulling the trigger like Aria did Saint. I know you’ve talked to her. Don’t let her put any ideas in that pretty little head of yours. Luciano’s not that weak.”
I smiled. Slow. Even. Sweet.
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that.”
That much was true. I didn’t need to. If it came down to it and I asked, Luciano would do it willingly. But that wouldn’t please me.
Because the truth was, I didn’t want Luciano to take that burden. I didn’t want him haunted by it the way he is with his mother.
This was my cross to bear. One day. When the time was right, I’d get rid of it.
So I took a slow breath and lied.
"I forgive you,” I said softly.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
“I do. For Luciano. Because this is a twisted world we’ve all been dragged into and sometimes you have to do things that don’t make sense to survive. Let’s keep things… amicable.”
He looked relieved. Even proud of himself. He thought this was the end of it.
I stood up and returned The Prince to the shelf, letting my fingers trail over the spines of the books. Then I left the room, leaving him sitting alone, thinking he had won.