60 | Don't kill him
Two weeks have dragged by, each day heavier than the last, and the promise of New York feels like a cruel joke.
Luciano's been gone for days, vanished into the shadows after that night with the video, leaving me with nothing but silence and a new phone that feels like a stranger in my hand.
I'm alone at the dining table, the vast room echoing with the clink of my fork against the plate, breakfast tasteless in my mouth.
I stare at the empty chair across from me, Luciano's chair, and wonder when he'll come back. When he'll walk in with divorce papers, his eyes cold, and tell me to get the fuck out.
Ciara's lie shattered the reason we're married, so he doesn't need me anymore.
The door bursts open, and I jump, my fork clattering to the plate.
It's Luciano's oldest sister, her face streaked with tears, her dark hair wild.
She's always been composed, but now she's unraveling, her eyes wide with panic.
"Aurelia, please," she gasps, rushing toward me. "You have to help us. Nobody can stop him."
I push back from the table, my heart lurching.
"Stop what?" My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, suspicion prickling my skin.
Is she lying? Playing some game to drag me into their chaos? But her tears look real, her hands trembling as she grabs my arm.
"Luciano," she says, her voice breaking. "He's- I don't have time to explain. Come with me. Please."
I don't trust her, but the desperation in her eyes pulls me to my feet.
She doesn't wait, seizing my hand and dragging me through the mansion, her grip bruising.
We race down corridors, past portraits of stern-faced Costas, until we hit the basement stairs.
The air grows colder, heavier, as we descend, the stone walls closing in like a tomb.
Luciano's sister pulls me faster, down a long hallway lit by flickering bulbs, until we burst into a room that smells of blood and fear.
I freeze the moment we are inside the cold room.
Luciano stands at the center, a gun in his hand, its barrel trained on a young man kneeling before him.
The guy's face is pale, his eyes filled with terror, sweat beading on his brow.
Around them, a handful of others are standing, their faces are a mix of shock and dread.
I glance at the corner where guards are holding back Luciano's youngest sister. She is sobbing her heart out, reaching out for the young man who is about to die by Luciano's hands. Their mother looks detached, like she doesn't care at all.
The room is a place where secrets go to die.
Luciano's presence fills it, dark and commanding, his suit pristine but his stance lethal.
His eyes, they're feral, wild with something that makes my stomach twist.
He's not the man I know, not the one who held my wrist at night, counting my pulse like a prayer.
This is the mafia don, the killer, and he's terrifying.
Luciano's sisters grip tightens, and I wrench my gaze to her.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask her in a low voice.
"Please, stop him," She only pleads, tears streaming down her face.
I whirl back to him, my mind racing.
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask.
Why am I here?
Her voice drops, urgent, broken. "Luciano is going to kill him, my youngest sister's fiancé. You have to stop him."
"Why?" I ask, my eyes locked on Luciano, on the gun steady in his hand. "Why is Luciano doing this? He must have some valid reason."
"Because he's not from our world," Sofia says, her words rushed. "He wants in, but Luciano thinks he's not worthy of our youngest sister. Please, Aurelia, you're the only one he'll listen to."
I don't understand, none of it makes sense.
I have never even heard of Luciano's youngest sister's fiancé until today. What if he cheated on her? What if he hurt her? What if Luciano has a good reason for this?
The room feels like it's shrinking by the second, the air thick with the promise of blood and death.
Everyone's keeping their distance, cowering from Luciano's rage, but I can't.
Something drives me forward, a reckless urge to reach him, to drag him back from the edge he's teetering on, because it feels like he's about to do something he'll regret.
I take a deep breath before stepping closer, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.
The others fade, their faces blurring, and it's just him, his broad shoulders, his dark hair falling into his eyes, the gun an extension of his will.
I reach out for him, my hand trembling, and close my fingers around his.
The metal is warm from his grip, and I feel the tension in him, coiled like a spring.
His head snaps to me, and for a moment, I think he'll shove me away, that feral glint promising violence.
Though, the second our eyes meet, it's like a switch flips in his gaze.
The wildness melts, his gaze softening so fast it steals my breath away.
He's not the don anymore, not the killer, he's just Luciano, the man who looked at me like I was his anchor, his salvation.
His shoulders sag, just a fraction, and I feel the shift, the air lightening around us.
"What's going on, Luciano?" I ask, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest.
I keep my hand on his, grounding him, grounding us.
He blinks, like he's seeing me for the first time, and his voice is low, rough. "You shouldn't be here."
I glance at Luciano's oldest sister, her face pleading, but I don't call her out. I don't risk telling Luciano that she asked for my help.
I won't risk her life,not when Luciano's like this.
Instead, I force a smile, soft and teasing, though it feels like a lie.
"You've been ignoring me," I say, stepping closer, my thumb brushing his knuckles.
His eyes darken, not with anger but with something deeper, something that makes my pulse skip.
He lowers the gun, tucking it into his suit with a fluid motion, and shakes his head.
"That wasn't my intention," he says, his voice quieter now, raw. "Never that."
The room is still, the others watching, but it's like we're alone in this world.
I hold his gaze, searching for the man who's been gone for days, the one I'm terrified will cut me loose.
"Then what's this?" I ask, nodding toward the young guy, who's still kneeling, trembling and begging for his life. "What are you doing?"
Luciano's jaw tightens, and he glances at Matteo, the feral edge creeping back, but it's muted now, restrained.
"You should go back," he says to me, his tone firm but not cruel. "I need to finish here."
I don't move.
"Will you kill him?" I ask, my voice steady, though my heart's racing. "Why?"
"He's not fit for our world," Luciano says, his eyes narrowing, but there's no heat in it, not aimed at me. "He doesn't belong here, he doesn't belong with my sister."
I tilt my head, studying him, the gun no longer in his hand but the threat still there, heavy in the air.
"Does he treat her badly?" I ask, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my stomach. "Does he hurt her in any way?"
He pauses for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully, before shaking his head slowly.
"No, but he's not the one for her." He lets out a breath, his eyes hardening with something akin to resolve.
"He won't be able to protect her, not like she needs.
She's a Costa, after all. Our enemies will stop at nothing to bring her down, and she can't afford to be with someone who's too weak to shield her. "
"If I tell you not to kill him, will you listen?" I ask, soft but deliberate, testing the thread that binds us.
He doesn't hesitate to answer.
"Yes," he says, his voice low, certain, like it's the easiest truth he's ever spoken.
My breath catches, and I push further.
"And if I tell you to kill him, will you?"
His gaze locks on mine, intense, unwavering.
"Yes."
The word hangs between us, heavy with power, with something darker that makes my skin burn.
I squeeze his hand, my smile softening, real this time.
"Then don't," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't kill him."
He nods, a single, sharp motion, and I know he'll keep his word.