Chapter 39 YOUR WORLD.
I knew I had asked the worst possible question the moment Luciano stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to look at me.
I swallowed hard, my lips pressing together as my heart slammed against my ribs.
“It’s… it’s just that… I…” my voice trailed off, weak and unsure.
The room felt smaller and tighter all of a sudden. It was like the walls were closing in.
Luciano stared at me for a long moment, his expression totally unreadable. No anger, no amusement, nothing at all. And somehow, that was worse.
“Who told you that?” he asked quietly.
My fingers curled into my palms. “People talk,” I murmured. “I just… heard it.”
He took one step closer to me, and then another. Slow and measured that each movement made my breath hitch.
“And you decided it was wise to ask me?” he said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I rushed out. “I was just… curious.”
“Curiosity,” he repeated calmly. “It is a dangerous habit.”
He stopped right in front of me. Too close that I could feel his presence like heat against my skin.
“Did I kill my father?” he asked, his voice low.
I nodded stiffly, unable to speak.
Luciano studied my face, like he was weighing something in his mind. Then, finally, he straightened and turned away.
“Yes,” he said.
The word hit me harder than a slap.
“Yes?”
“He deserved it.”
My chest tightened and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else entirely.
“And now,” he added, glancing back at me over his shoulder, “you will stop asking questions you are not ready to hear the answers to.”
He walked away, leaving me standing there, frozen.
Nausea rushed up my throat as I watched Luciano enter the bathroom. Before he could close the door, I hurried after him, brushed past him, and vomited into the sink.
I stayed bent over, breathing hard, aware of his presence behind me but not caring. After I was done, I rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and slowly turned around.
The door was already closed and Luciano was standing too close.
“Why?” he asked calmly. “Feeling sick?”
“N… I think…” I shook my head. “You are making me sick,” I admitted, my voice breaking.
“My father wasn’t a good man, butterfly.”
“That still didn’t give you the right to kill him,” I whispered. “He was…”
Another wave hit me and I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest.
Luciano only looked at me and there was no guilt on his face. No regret either, in fact, there was nothing at all.
Luciano watched me the way a man watches something already decided.
He wasn’t angry, or defensive.
“He was a monster,” he said calmly. “And monsters don’t deserve the privilege of old age.”
My fingers curled around the sink as another wave of nausea hit me. I bent slightly, breathing hard.
“You talk about killing like it is nothing,” I whispered. “Like it is just another chore.”
“It is,” he replied without hesitation.
I shook my head slowly. “That is not normal.”
“No,” he agreed. “It is necessary.”
The word chilled me more than any shout could have.
“You think you are different from him?” I asked, lifting my head to look at him. “You think you are different from the man you killed?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I am worse,” he said plainly. “Because I knew exactly what I was doing.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. The big bathroom suddenly felt too small, and the air too thick.
“I only asked a question,” I muttered. “That’s all.”
“And you got it.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his body warmth. “Be careful what you ask from men like me, butterfly. Truth is not always gentle.”
My throat tightened. “So if I cross you… if I disappoint you…”
“You won’t,” he cut in.
“That is not an answer.”
His eyes darkened, dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes.
“You are alive because I chose it,” he said quietly. “As long as I choose you, you’re okay.”
That was worse than a threat.
I looked away first, my chest rising and falling too fast. “I hate you.”
A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth.
“No,” he corrected softly. “You are afraid of me. Those are two different things.”
He reached past me, picked up a towel, and held it out. “Clean your face.”
I stared at Luciano long enough before I slapped the towel gently from his hand then brushed past him.
Luciano didn’t react at first. The towel fell into the sink, damp and forgotten before he then watched me walk past him like I had just insulted him without words.
I moved to the door, my hands shaking as I reached for the handle.
“Talia,” he said calmly behind me.
I stopped, but I didn’t turn.
“That was a mistake,” I said. Who knows if he would kill me just because I slapped a towel from his hand?
My fingers tightened around the handle as he answered. “So was marrying me.”
Of course, I know that much already.
Silence settled between us, and I could feel his presence without turning to look at him.
“You ask questions you are not ready to hear answers to,” he continued, his voice low. “And then you act surprised when they frighten you.”
I finally turned to face him. “You killed your own father.”
“Yes,” he shrugged.
I sniffed, “How do you say that like it is nothing?”
“Because it is nothing,” he replied.
I shook my head slowly. “You act as though killing is… necessary and normal.”
“In my world,” he said, stepping closer, “it is.”
“You don’t have to make it mine. No, I don’t want a bit of your world.”
“Well, I already have, and this world is yours as much as it is mine. There is no escaping this, Solnishko,” he said quietly.
My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. “Goodnight, Luciano.”