𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍
I couldn't help but watch as Lucian started walking toward me. I had to force myself to breathe again. He was even bigger than I remembered, his shoulders wide and thick with muscle. Dressed in a sleeveless camo shirt and ripped jeans, with an assault rifle slung across his torso, he looked exactly like what he was: a ruthless second in command in a family of crime.
"I'll handle it from here, Jango," he said, approaching me, and I began to shake as he reached for me, his gaze sliding away from mine. Jango handed me over without a word, and my shaking intensified as I felt Lucian's hands on me again, his touch burning me even through the rough material of my prison jumpsuit.
