Page 12 of Charming Villain

My grip on the table edge tightens.Lovely.Right, because that’s all she is—something to be displayed and traded. “So they tell me,” I reply flatly.

His smile falters, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. Saverio clears his throat, leaning forward with a diplomatic nod. “We’d like to meet her today, if possible. Hammer out final details.”

“Of course.” Giovanni waves a hand dismissively. “She had lessons first thing this morning, but she should be here now. She is eager for this marriage. She prepares for it daily.”

Preparing to be my bride. The thought sends a bitter taste into my mouth. A swirl of morbid curiosity mingles with my resentment.Who is this girl? What does she think of me?If she hates me half as much as I hate her father, this marriage will be a nightmare.

Seconds later, a door at the back of the restaurant opens, leading from what I assume is the kitchen. My stomach tenses, a knot of anticipation and dread forming. A man in a tailored charcoal suit—one of Giovanni’s men—walks in with measured steps, followed by a figure in subdued heels clicking against the hardwood floor. I catch a glimpse of dark hair falling past graceful shoulders. My pulse quickens despite myself.

So this is her.

She steps out from behind the bodyguard, and my world careens off its axis.

For a split second, I can’t breathe, can’t think. My ears ring with a high-pitched static, drowning out whatever trivial greeting Giovanni utters. Because standing there, wearing a fitted pastel pink dress that accentuates her figure in a maddeningly understated way, is the woman I’ve been replaying in my mind for the last four days. The woman I left behind in a cheap motel bed—except it was her who left me, wasn’t it?

Allegra.

No.Gianna Lucatello.

I’m sure I must look like a goddamn idiot, my mouth parted in shock and my eyes wide. Heat flares in my chest—part fury, part something too tangled to name.It can’t be her. She can’t be the daughter of the bastard who burned his family crest into my chest.But there’s no denying it. The shape of her lips, the slope of her neck, that intense darkness of her gaze. She’s the same woman who slipped away in the middle of the night, who let me fuck her senseless, whose restless energy matched mine.

Her gaze locks on me, and I see her expression falter. She recognizes me. She registers the same shock mirrored on her face.She had no idea,I realize, a fresh wave of confusion hitting me like a sledgehammer.She’s as stunned as I am.

Beside me, Dante and Sal go still, glancing uncertainly between Gianna and me. They can’t possibly understand what’s happening, what cosmic joke the universe is playing. Giovanni is oblivious, too, smiling like a goddamn proud father. “Gianna, dear,” he says, beckoning her forward with an enthusiastic wave of his hand. “Come. Meet your future husband.”

My lungs burn as I force a ragged breath. I can’t move. Can’t speak. My heart slams in my chest, adrenaline spiking to a near-painful level. She walks closer, that same uncertain stride I remember from the bar, and a thousand memories flash through my mind: her parted lips, her breathless gasps, the way her nails raked down my back.

Then she stands just a foot away from me, head bowed, posture obedient.No.This can’t be the bold, reckless woman who matched my desperation just a few nights before. But it is. Her dark lashes flick up, and for a split second, our gazes collide in raw, unmasked horror.

Giovanni continues, oblivious: “Luciano, this is my youngest daughter, Gianna. I have kept her protected for so long, but now she’s ready to do her duty for the family.”

Saverio makes a contented noise, and the entire table seems to exhale as if we’ve reached some joyous conclusion. My ears are still ringing. I can’t tear my eyes off her. I’m trying to reconcile this demure figure with the Allegra I can’t stop thinking about.She told me her name was Allegra.She told me so many things that were obviously lies.

A wave of anger surges through me, blotting out my confusion. She lied about her identity. Then again, I lied, too.But this is different.We’re enemies. She’s the one I’m supposed to marry, forced by our families to share a life neither of us asked for.

Gianna glances at me again, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face, and her lips part as if she wants to speak. But she doesn’t. A hush descends on the room, everyone waiting for me to say something.Anything.

But there’s a roar in my head and a fierce, pulsing desire to rip her away from this place and demand answers.Did you know who I was when you came up to me at Finn’s? Is this part of some elaborate ruse?

I can’t even form the words. I sense Dante and Saverio shifting uncomfortably at my silence. Giovanni’s expression teeters on the verge of concern. But I’m lost in this savage mix of lust and rage, remembering how she felt beneath me, how she made me lose control in that dingy motel.

My bride-to-be.

The concept is so insane that a short, humorless laugh escapes my lips. Gianna’s face pales, her shoulders going rigid. I see a spark of something in her eyes—fear, maybe, or regret.

Saverio clears his throat. “Well, this is a good start,” he says, forced cheer in his tone. “Should we all sit?”

But I can’t. Ican’tcalmly sit next to Gianna, sipping water like we’re negotiating a pleasant tea party. The woman I fucked is the woman I’m supposed to marry. The woman whose father nearly ended my life. A savage, wounded roar builds inside me, the brand on my chest itching like it’s fresh again.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. Dante notices and shoots me a warning glare—Keep it together.The problem is, I’m not sure I can.

Giovanni motions for his daughter to come closer. “Gianna, greet your fiancé.”

She inhales sharply, stepping to the table’s edge. Her voice trembles just enough for me to notice. “It’s an honor to meet you, Luciano.”

That small, meek greeting shreds the last of my composure. Because it’s a lie. We’ve met, intimately, and she sure as hell knows my body better than any stranger should. I slam a hand onto the table, making no effort to contain my rage. The dishes rattle, and the water glasses tremble. Everyone jolts. Giovanni’s men reach for their waistbands, hands hovering over concealed weapons, and my brothers tense as if ready for a brawl.

I want to tear this entire fucking arrangement apart.

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