Page 21 of Charming Villain

Gianna lifts her gaze, questioning me silently. Her eyes are large and dark, flecked with tiny amber specks that catch the morning light, and I hate how they stir something akin to guilt in my gut. The weight of her stare makes my skin prickle with unwanted awareness.Tell her the truth.That’s what a twisted part of me demands, so I do. Because what do I have to lose?

“I brought you here to ruin you.” Uncertainty dances across her face. I press on, words tumbling out in a monologue unrehearsed. “I want to break you, Gianna. I want to make you beg. Make you realize you’re not as untouched or untouchable as your father believed. I want to sink myself so deep in you that you don’t remember who you were before I got hold of you. I want to remake you in the image of my darkest desires until there’s nothing left of the pristine daughter Giovanni Lucatello tried so hard to protect.”

Her pupils dilate, and she swallows hard. I sense the fear rolling off her, but also a spark of something else—anger, maybe, and desire, perhaps. The contradicting emotions war across her delicate features.Good. Let her resent me and want me at the same time. Let that internal struggle tear down her walls brick by brick. Anything is better than unwavering composure, than that mask of control she wears like armor.

I step closer, crowding her against the counter, letting her feel my tension and frustration. “You think this is about you?” I scoff, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “It’s about your father. I want to see his face when he realizes I’ve taken his precious daughter, used her, corrupted her. I want to watch the horror dawn in his eyes when he understands that the brand he burned into my chest five years ago was the worst mistake of his life. I want to fuck you in front of him, make you moan my name until your throat is raw, so he knows exactly what’s become of his perfect little girl. So he can witness firsthand how thoroughly I’ve destroyed everything he tried to protect.”

I can’t deny the twisted satisfaction that floods through me at the idea. My blood thrums with excitement and vengeance, overshadowed by a savage surge of lust that flares again at the memory of her bare skin pressed against mine. “And yes,” I add, voice gravelly with barely concealed desire, “I want to put a baby in you right in front of him so he’ll choke on the knowledge that I own you in every sense. So he’ll understand that his bloodline, his legacy, everything he holds dear will forever carry the mark of his greatest enemy.”

Gianna’s breath hitches. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the counter. I can see the war inside her eyes: a chaotic blend of horror twisting with fury and, beneath it all, an unmistakable flash of lust that she can’t quite suppress. She’s turned on—her dilated pupils, her breath quickening—but she’s afraid of what that means, and she’s angry, both at me and at herself for responding to my words.

A long moment passes before she speaks. “You think that’ll hurt my father?”

“It’ll hurt him more than anything else I could do,” I snap, letting my contempt seep into every word. “More than torture, more than death.”

She laughs, meeting my gaze for the first time since I pinned her against the counter. The defiance in her eyes burns bright and cold. “He won’t care what you do to me.”

A slash of confusion cuts through my chest, replaced quickly by white-hot anger that threatens to consume me. “What?”

“He never cared about me.” Her tone is bitter. “Giovanni Lucatello hates women, especially ones he can’t control. If I die, if you break me, if you do it in front of him—he’ll just shrug it off. Or laugh. And if he can gain power from it, he’ll encourage you to do it. None of this will matter to him, not the way you want it to.”

I stiffen as the air in the kitchen goes cold. That’s impossible. Her father prized her virginity, her purity above all else. I heard the whispers, the way he paraded her at events like a porcelain doll. Visible for men to see but never available for them to touch. He locked her away like a trophy, kept under lock and key. “You’re lying,” I snarl through clenched teeth, but the steady, haunted look in her eyes says she’s not.

A bitter taste floods my mouth, acidic and sharp. I’ve been telling myself I’d found the perfect leverage, the ultimate pressure point to make Giovanni bend to my will. Now Gianna is telling me he doesn’t give a damn about her? The realization scrapes across my nerves like sandpaper on an open wound.No.I can’t afford to believe that. I won’t let myself accept it. Because if it’s true, if I’ve been wrong about him this whole time, then what am I doing? Why am I marrying her? What is this all for?

If Giovanni doesn’t care what becomes of his daughter now that she’s in my grasp, then my revenge is worthless. It is just an empty cruelty inflicted on someone who never asked for it, on someone who might not deserve it at all.

My throat constricts as her words echo in my mind.If I die, if you break me, if you do it in front of him—he’ll just shrug it off. Or laugh. And if he can gain power from it, he’ll encourage you to do it.

Gianna doesn’t speak again. She just waits, letting me fight my own demons. Her calmness taunts me. She does not shake or cower, she does not plead or bargain. Her dark eyes hold mine with a steady acceptance that cuts deeper than fear ever could. Her quiet nothingness tells me:Your war isn’t with me.

I step back from her, needing distance and space to regroup before I lose my self-control. My voice is strangled, but I manage to speak. “Go do whatever you need to do,” I mutter, turning away so she can’t see the turmoil on my face any longer.

I sense her hesitation, but eventually, Gianna’s footsteps retreat, leaving me alone in the kitchen. The coffee she made sits half-finished on the counter, steam curling up in lazy tendrils that mock the chaos churning inside me. The rich aroma that filled me with comfort minutes ago now turns my stomach. Suddenly, I feel a sickening twist in my gut, a reminder of everything I’ve become.I never wanted it to be like this.Or did I? The question haunts me, because somewhere deep down, I know the answer might destroy what little humanity I have left.

No. Focus.She’s a Lucatello. I have vowed to take everything from her father. But if he won’t care, then what the hell am I doing?

She’s unraveling me. And maybe she’s not even trying to. Maybe I’m unraveling myself, pulling at loose threads I should have left alone, watching as everything I thought I knew about revenge and justice falls apart at the seams.

“The plan hasn’t changed,” I tell myself. I can’t let it. Damn her father, and damn him for the scar on my chest. Because if Giovanni doesn’t care about his daughter, and if Gianna’s resilience is stronger than I accounted for, what do I do now? Where do I go from here?

Chapter13

Gianna

Ican’t get his words out of my head.I want to sink myself so deep in you that you don’t remember who you were before I got hold of you. I want to remake you in the image of my darkest desires.They clang around in my mind like a hammer to an anvil, even after I slip away from him in the kitchen and retreat into the farthest room I can find.

That turns out to be the laundry room—a bright, unassuming space with a humming washer and dryer. I perch on top of the dryer, letting its steady vibrations anchor me while I wrestle with Luciano’s threats. Anger wars with curiosity, longing, and maybe even attraction. All of which leaves my stomach in knots.

My father has said worse to me over the years, though never quite in the tone of cruel promise laced with desire. Giovanni’s brand of brutality had been cold and businesslike, scarring me strategically. But Luciano? His words carry a vicious warmth that burns hotter than any of my father’s dispassionate orders.

And he wants me. Part of him hates that he wants me, but he does. If Luciano merely needed a tool for revenge, he could have forced me into his bed last night and ensured I had no illusions about my fate. Yet I slept on a thin mattress on the floor. And after that confrontation in the kitchen, he let me leave without so much as a bruise or a forced kiss. He’s holding back. Why?

I hop off the dryer and remind myself that things will get easier when I figure out what Luciano wants. We’re going to be married, bound for an eternity. That means I need to figure him out. He wants to break me, but he’s struggling with something. There’s an invisible line in the sand that he won’t let himself cross. What is it? Why does it exist? How can I use it against him?

Though I hear him moving around downstairs, I don’t return to the kitchen until lunchtime. My stomach growls and churns from missing breakfast, and I wander into the kitchen with cautious steps, half-expecting Luciano to bark a command at me and force me to wait on him hand and foot. Instead, I find him seated at the small dining table, a plate of eggs and a glass of water in front of him.

He doesn’t glance up immediately. I see his fork still for a second as if he wasn’t expecting me to disrupt him, then it continues on its journey to his mouth. My pulse flutters.Is he still angry? Has he had time to cool down, or is he ready to lash out the moment I open my mouth?

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