Page 1 of Charming Villain

Chapter1

Luciano

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Islip into 324 Speakeasy, letting the door swing shut behind me with a low groan. The place is half-filled, bodies hunched over little round tables or perched at the bar. Low amber lights reflect off exposed brick walls, and a faint haze of cigar smoke meanders near the ceiling. It’s the kind of joint where secrets are traded over top-shelf whiskey, knowing nods, and handshakes that last a beat too long.

I don’t bother glancing around to see if anyone recognizes me. Instead, I head toward the back corner where my brothers said they’d be waiting. I weave around a couple sitting too close, ignoring the flirtatious looks from a woman who brushes my arm. On any other night, I’d toss her a roguish smile, but tonight, I was summoned. Tonight, I’m not here for fun.

I spot Dante first. He’s impossible to miss—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit that’s more functional than fashionable, though he carries it well. Salvatore sits next to him, leaning in as they speak in hushed tones. The overhead lamp highlights the tension in their faces, tightening the lines around Dante’s mouth and pulling Salvatore’s brows together. They both look up when they see me. Dante’s jaw tightens. Sal, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Great. If I needed a clue that this night’s about to get worse, I have one.

“Luc,” Dante says curtly as I slide into the booth across from them. “I’m glad you could make it.”

As if I had a choice. I give my oldest brother a sour glance, then gesture for the waitress to come by. “Whiskey, neat,” I say, my voice rough with impatience. “And keep them coming.” She nods and leaves, no questions asked. It’s that kind of place.

Salvatore surveys me under lowered eyelids. “Rough day?”

I scoff. “They’re all rough these days.” I roll my shoulders, trying to rid them of the knots that have been tightening since I woke up this morning. “Why am I here?”

Dante taps his fingers on the table. It’s a restless gesture that mirrors my own agitation. “We’ve got news,” he lowers his voice, and from the way his lips press thin, I know it’s not going to be good. “Saverio’s made a decision for the Midwest families.”

I snort. “When doesn’t he?” Our boss, our puppet master, my brother-in-law—call him what you will, but Saverio holds the strings. Hell, he all but owns the rest of us. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that he doesn’t bother consulting anyone below him when he makes a call. He considers his wife’s feelings when it comes to her family, but he still does what’s in his best interests.

Before Dante can continue, the waitress returns with my whiskey. I knock back half of it, letting the burn scorch my throat. The heat flares in my chest but doesn’t quell the unease picking at my nerves. “Spit it out,” I say, glancing from Dante to Salvatore, who’s suddenly become very interested in the pattern of the tabletop.

“Saverio wants to mend fences,” Salvatore begins, trying to ease into the bad news. He picks up a glass of clear liquid and swirls it as if the top-shelf vodka needs to aerate.

“Mend fences withwhom?” I ask. So many families have beef with us that it’s practically tradition at this point—a blood feud for every major holiday on the calendar. The thought almost makes me smile, but the tension in Dante’s shoulders tells me this particular fence-mending might be more complicated than usual.

Dante’s eyes flick to Sal, then settle back on me. “The Lucatellos.”

I go still, glass halfway to my lips. For a second, I’m sure I’ve misheard him. My pulse scatters and it takes every bit of self-control not to smash the whiskey glass against the wall. Slowly, I lower it to the table. “Come again?”

“Giovanni Lucatello,” Salvatore clarifies, though the last name alone is enough to send ice through my veins. “Saverio wants us to bury the feud between our two families. He believes it’s good for business. Too much blood in the streets after Nic’s wedding fiasco and your—” He pauses, swallowing. “Yourhistorywith Giovanni.”

My chest constricts. I don’t need anyone to remind me what Giovanni did to me. The memory is etched into my flesh: the brand, the sizzle of burning skin, the stench of my own body being marked with that bastard’s crest. The doctor may have burned over it, but any time I look at the scar, I see it anyway. “And how,exactly, does Saverio plan on burying the hatchet with the man who carved me up like a piece of meat?”

Dante pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing as if the weight of the entire family rests on him. “He wants an alliance,” he begins gently, choosing his words carefully. “A formal one.”

My throat locks. “Meaning?”

Salvatore clears his throat, glancing at Dante for backup. “He wants a marriage.”

Everything inside me goes quiet. There’s no more jazz, no more murmur of nearby conversation. The entire speakeasy might as well be swallowed by darkness. My thoughts narrow to a single point. “A marriage,” I repeat.

Dante’s gaze is fixed on me, intent and grim. “Yes. Saverio’s decided it has to be you.”

I bark a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Marry who? One of Giovanni’s foot soldiers? Don’t tell me he’s got a random cousin locked up somewhere in Bumfuck, Nowhere.” My voice is shaking with barely contained rage.

Salvatore glances lovingly at his vodka, then mutters, “Giovanni’s daughter. Gianna.”

My heart slams against my ribcage. I grip my whiskey glass so hard my knuckles bleach white. “You’re fucking with me.” A strange hush falls over our booth.

Dante lifts his hands in a tired shrug. “I wish I was. Saverio thinks it’s the perfect solution—blood for blood. Your union binds our families, ends the feud, and fosters a new alliance. In theory.” His gaze hardens. “He doesn’t care what happened to you, Lucky. All he sees is another chess piece to move around his board. All he cares about is peace and power among his men. The rest is collateral damage.”

My old nickname, Lucky, sets my nerves on edge. There’s nothing lucky about me. I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, trying to quell the sick fury roiling in my gut. “But he knows what Giovanni did, right? He knows that bastard burned his crest into my chest like a rancher branding a cow?”

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