Page 2 of Charming Villain

“Yes,” Dante answers quietly. There, in the silence, is the unspoken truth: Saverio doesn’t care.

Of course, he doesn’t. Why would the boss care about my trauma or my scars? Why would he worry about the nights I woke up drenched in sweat from nightmares of red-hot irons and mocking laughter? My throat constricts with rancid anger, and I slam the glass onto the table. The sound echoes through the speakeasy, a small explosion that draws a few curious stares.

“Luc,” Salvatore warns, placing a hand on my arm. “Calm down.”

I rip my arm away, ignoring the startled expression of the waitress who’s passing by. “You want me to calm down? They branded me and left me to bleed to death in that filthy alley. And now I’m supposed to put on a tux and slip a ring on Giovanni’s daughter’s finger like nothing ever happened?” I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “I’d sooner burn in hell.”

Sal’s face twists with regret. “It’s not what we want, Luc. It’s what Saverio demands.”

“That’s the problem,” Dante adds. “You know as well as I do that refusing Saverio means turning your back on the organization. He’d consider it an act of betrayal. And we both know how that ends.” We both don’t know shit. Dante ignored Saverio’s orders once and got a wife and kid out of the deal. He got everything he ever wanted. I’m the one who has to suffer.

I stare at my brothers, a cocktail of betrayal and desperation bubbling in my veins. Maybe they’re right, maybe my hands are tied, but I’m not ready to accept that. Not without a fight. “Fuck him,” I snarl. “Fuck Saverio, and fuck Giovanni. I won’t do it.”

Dante’s lips tighten. “Yes, you will, or you’ll die. And they’ll probably kill the rest of us, too. That’s how it works.”

The finality in his words crushes my chest, and a trembling rage seizes me. My vision blurs at the edges. I feel the scalding memory of that brand, a twisted phantom pain that never quite goes away. “He can’t just—” My breath comes in short bursts. “No. No. I won’t.”

Dante’s expression softens fractionally. “Luc,” he says, dropping his voice. “I know it’s not fair, but you have to keep it together. If you do something rash, Saverio will have an excuse to cut you off. And we can’t protect you from that.”

Protect me. I almost spit at the idea. Where were they when Giovanni cornered me that night? “I need air,” I mutter, pushing back from the table.

Dante starts to protest. “Luciano?—”

But I’m already on my feet, rage buzzing through my veins like a live wire. I weave past the nearby tables, ignoring curious glances. My steps falter when I realize the Speakeasy’s hush feels suffocating. Even the low lamplight feels too bright, the warmth too cloying. I need out. Now.

The waitress tries to say something as I shoulder past, but her words don’t register. My entire body thrums with a single thought: I can’t stay here. My heart’s pounding so loud I think it might burst from my chest. Up ahead, the door glints under a neon exit sign. I make a beeline for it, flinging it open and stepping into the humid night air.

The sky hangs low, clouds heavy with unspent rain, streetlights reflecting off puddles along the curb. I gulp in lungfuls of city air, the smell of asphalt and garbage oddly comforting compared to the stifling warmth inside 324. For a moment, I stand there, letting the night wash over me, hoping it’ll quell the storm in my head.

It doesn’t.

Saverio took the reins after his father passed, stepping into power like he was born for it—and maybe he was. He calls himself our boss and pulls the puppet strings of every family in the Midwest, from Chicago’s gilded towers to Detroit’s crumbling streets. I’m just another one of his marionettes forced to dance to his twisted tune, jerking and twisting on command. Or maybe I’m his fucking punching bag. Because this feels like a knockout blow I never saw coming.

The door swings open again, and Salvatore steps out. “Luc, you can’t just run off. We need to figure this out.”

I huff a bitter laugh. “Figure what out? Saverio’s made up his mind.”

Sal runs a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but Dante’s right. If you defy this marriage, you’re defying him. He might be married to Lucia, but he still runs everything. And you know what that means.”

“I know.” My voice is hoarse and harsh. “That doesn’t mean I’m accepting it.” Something inside me snaps like a final thread giving way. Anger, hatred, bitterness—I can’t separate them anymore. All I know is I need to bury this feeling. Drown it. Anything so I don’t have to stare at the black abyss of my future.

I can’t stay here and look at Sal’s pitying face. I turn on my heel and stride away, hearing him call after me, but the words tangle with the night breeze and vanish. My mind fixates on one desperate solution: find a woman, or maybe a bottle, or hell, probably both.

I can’t outrun my fate, but for a few hours, I can pretend it doesn’t exist. I can lose myself in someone else’s warmth and sink so deep into oblivion that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember. The city lights blur as I pass another block. My phone vibrates in my pocket—Dante, no doubt. I don’t bother checking. My throat is tight, heart pounding. The brand itches like it’s fresh again.

A neon sign flickers across the street, half the letters dead, but it might be a club, or a bar, or something that sells cheap whiskey. That’s enough to call my attention.

I let out a ragged breath. Maybe I’ll fight it. Maybe I’ll burn the entire city down first. Or maybe I’ll drink until I can’t see straight, find a nameless body to drag me through the night and forget, if only for a moment, that my destiny is sealed. Something in me wants to lash out, to punch a hole in the nearest wall, to turn my fury on the next poor soul who crosses my path. But that won’t fix anything. It’ll just end with me in deeper shit.

I cut across the intersection, ignoring the red light and not caring if a car barrels toward me. Part of me wonders if that would be easier—one instant of impact, and everything ends. But I shove that thought away. I’m no coward. I’ll face this mess, even if it kills me tomorrow. But tonight, I need to forget.

Rain starts to fall as I approach the entrance of Finn’s, an unsteady drizzle that peppers the air. Droplets splatter across my shoulders, dotting my jacket. Lightning flickers in the sky and illuminates the wet streets in a brief, eerie glow. Thunder rumbles in the distance, or maybe it’s just the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

A flurry of patrons huddle under the narrow awning of the entrance, smoking. One woman glances my way, interest sparking in her eyes. Good. Let me chase that spark. Let me forget.

Lightning flashes again, followed by a sharper crack of thunder. I push the door open and step inside. The smell of stale beer and cheap perfume wraps around me, thicker than the smoke in the speakeasy. My gut clenches with disgust, but also with a savage relief. This place is perfect—loud, chaotic, and full of people who won’t care if I burn myself to ashes.

I close my eyes, letting the noise and heat crash over me like a wave. Tomorrow, I’ll face the unimaginable. Tomorrow, I might wake up engaged to a Lucatello, tethered forever to a family that scarred me. But tonight, I’m free to destroy myself in any way I see fit.

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