Page 43 of Saint Valentine

Luciano was waiting for us. He’d chosen a restaurant this time. There were about twenty people, none of whom spared us a glance as we walked through. Luciano was in his usual spot in the back corner, his back to the wall so no one could sneak up on him and where he could see everything and everyone. He nodded at me as we approached, his eyes flicking to Aria. He picked up his glasses from the table and gave her a slow appraisal, more out of curiosity than lust or attraction, then he looked away. His hands landed on me. I wondered about his Ava. Had he taken her? Something was different in his eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “In Italian,” I said to Luciano. I didn’t want Aria understanding a word of this conversation. Whatever he called me for, it was involving her.

Luciano raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “Your father put a hit out on her,” he said, his voice low. “Five million to anyone who can kill her before the wedding. He used Giovanni to do it, as if anybody would believe he wasn’t involved.”

I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists under the table. I’d expected something like this, but hearing it out loud still made my blood boil.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. I already knew why my father was so dead-set against this wedding. He thought I’d eventually tell Aria the truth about her father’s death, or that she’d turn me against him. Either way, he was playing a dangerous game.

Aria was sitting quietly beside me, her eyes darting between Luciano and me like she was trying to piece together what we were saying. I could feel her tension, her frustration at being left out of the conversation, but I ignored it. She didn’t need to know the details. I’d handle it.

Luciano stood abruptly, tapping the table. “Let me know if you need any assistance,” he said before walking off.

I stood and pulled Aria to her feet. She didn’t resist, but I could feel the anger radiating off her as we walked back to the car.

There were four guards waiting for us outside, their expressions neutral as they fell into step behind us. Two got into the front seat after opening our door.

As soon as we were in the car, Aria turned to me, her eyes blazing. “So, you know I speak a little Italian, right?” she said.

I froze, my eyes narrowing as I stared at her. “What?”

“Not a lot,” she continued, switching to Italian, “but enough to know your father’s trying to kill me.”

I hadn’t expected that. She leaned closer, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you think it’s time to stop this marriage foolishness and let me and my friends go? I’ll disappear, and you and your father can go back to being the best of sociopaths.”

I clenched my jaw. She was annoying me. “No. You’re not going any fucking where. You will—”

The sharp crack of gunfire interrupted and cut off my words. I reached for my gun.

The guard in the front passenger seat jerked forward, his skull exploding against the windshield. Blood sprayed the dashboard.

I moved instinctively, hand diving inside my jacket, but before I could draw my gun, it was too late. The driver twisted in his seat—his pistol aimed directly at Aria. His expression was cold and unreadable.

“Don’t do it, boss,” he said, his voice calm. “I’m not supposed to do anything to you, but her…”

His words were cut short by a knife in his throat.

I blinked.

Aria’s hand was still raised, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife buried in his neck.

The driver let out a wet, choking sound, blood bubbling from his lips as he jerked, convulsed, then slumped forward against the wheel.

I glanced back. We were in a parking lot, and the SUV that had been behind us was gone. I stared at her, my heart pounding as the guard slumped forward, blood pouring from the wound. Aria didn’t even flinch. She just wiped the blade on the seat and turned to me. She was more dangerous than I’d given her credit for. I’d have to remember that.

“What?” she said, her voice steady. “For five million dollars, I knew at least one or two of your guards was going to try to get it. I’m not dying any time soon.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mind was racing, my body still tense from the adrenaline coursing through me. She’d just killed a man without hesitation, and the way she was looking at me—like she’d do it again if she had to—made my chest tighten. This was proof that she was made for me.

“Get out,” I said, my voice low and urgent.

Aria didn’t argue. She climbed out of the car, her knife still in hand, as I grabbed the driver and dragged him out of the seat. He was alive, but barely, his breathing shallow. He deserved to bleed and die slow, so I’d leave him there instead of putting him out of his misery.

“Where the fuck did you get a knife? There none in my house. There wasn’t one on the table.”

Her lips curled. Defiance and amusement flashed in her eyes.

“I took it from the restaurant off one of the tables we passed while you weren’t looking.”

---