"Luciano" by Eva Winners — I Wanted to Be Wrecked. Instead, I Was Just... Fine

Okay fellow romance lovers. We need to talk. You know I went into Luciano expecting to lose my mind—in the best, most dramatic, romance-book way possible. I had the wine poured. My cosiest blanket was wrapped around me. I was ready to be ruined. I wanted feral mafia obsession. I wanted grovelling, forbidden lust, a little morally gray chaos, and a whole lot of sexual tension that makes me scream internally.

And honestly? It was fine.

And that’s the problem.

Because “fine” is the absolute last thing I want to feel when I pick up a mafia romance. I don’t want soft, polite tension and a neat, safe and dare i say, a predictable storyline. I want wild. I want delicious. I want a man who would literally commit war crimes if someone even looked at me wrong. I want passion so all-consuming it feels like it’s one wrong breath from burning the whole world down.

Luciano, the man himself, should’ve been all of that. On paper, he’s got everything a woman could possibly want. He’s sexy, dangerous, possessive, emotionally constipated in a hot way, and still obsessed with the wife who ran from him. He finds her years later and does what any mafia romance hero would do—drags her, her best friend, and her secret child right back to New York, consequences be damned.

That setup alone had me ready to swoon. But then it just… didn’t deliver.

Luciano never quite jumped off the page. He didn't grab me by the throat emotionally. He didn’t haunt me. He wasn’t the kind of man I’d be texting you about at 1 a.m. in all caps. He didn’t live rent-free in my head. He barely sublet a corner. And that’s where this book fell flat for me. He checks the boxes, sure—but I didn’t feel him. I wanted him to be unhinged. Instead, he felt like the mafia-lite version of what could’ve been a truly unforgettable man.

Now let’s talk about Grace. I liked her, actually. She’s strong, self-assured, not here for anyone’s nonsense, including her controlling husband’s. She doesn’t just fall back into his arms the second he shows up—and I appreciate that, a lot. She’s protective, she’s fierce, and she’s clearly grown since the woman we’re told she once was. But again, everything about their dynamic played out exactly as I expected it to. I wanted more push and pull. More emotional unravelling. I wanted to feel the years between them, the betrayal, the longing, the pain. Instead, it all skimmed the surface. I feel as a reader, we missed out on a large part of their history, which I find to be unforgiveable.

And before you ask, yes, the spice is there. The scenes are written well. But even the heat lacked that edge I was looking for. There were no moments that made me blush and frantically fan myself to cool down. It’s spicy, but not the kind that feels earned through real emotional tension. It’s more like a checklist of steam, not something that builds with aching inevitability.

The biggest let-down? It was just too safe. And “safe” is not why any of us read mafia romance. I’m not here for predictability and Pinterest-level drama. I want to be emotionally bruised. I want to read something that makes me question my own standards in men. I want to close the book and immediately spiral.

With Luciano, none of that happened. I turned the last page, nodded like “okay,” and moved on. It’s the kind of book that feels like a decent palate cleanser between heavier, more intense reads—but not something that sticks with you. Not something I’ll be thinking about in a week. It’s fine, but forgettable.

That said, I don’t think it’s a bad book. If you’re new to mafia romance or just want something quick, tropey, and easy to devour, this could absolutely work. The writing is clean, the pacing is solid, and it hits all the familiar notes. But for those of us who live for the messy, destructive, high-stakes mafia love stories that leave you wrecked and breathless? This one won’t scratch the itch.

So yes, Luciano was fine. But I don’t read mafia for fine. I read it for obsession. For devotion that borders on delusion. For emotionally scarred men who beg with their eyes and destroy with their hands. I want to be ruined, not reassured.

That being said I have downloaded the rest of the Belles and Mobsters series so here’s hoping Eva Winners brings the actual spiral next time. Because I’m ready to lose it—I just need the right man to make me.

P.S I wonder how many times i said "fine" in one blog post.

—Your Slightly Disappointed but Still Hopeful Book BFF