Page 33 of Charming Villain

I glance at the floor, noticing the puddles of water she left. I snatch a towel from the counter, dropping to one knee to soak up the worst of it. The wet prints trail from the door to the laundry room, each one a reminder that Gianna ran out into a storm to save a kitten. Even though she’s facing my personal storm, even though she had no idea how I’d respond.

Lightning flashes outside, illuminating the kitchen for an instant. My reflection in the window stares back, disheveled and haunted. Who am I anymore? The brand on my chest aches with phantom pain, a reminder of the reason I should loathe all Lucatellos. Yet here I am, kissing one with more tenderness than I’ve ever shown anyone. It’s more than just lust. It’s something bigger, deeper. Something that might break me if I let it.

I stand, dropping the soaked towel into the sink, and bury my face in my hands for a moment. My only choices are to retreat into cruelty or to follow this path wherever it leads. And that path might lead to something dangerously close to love, heartbreak, or a union so twisted that neither of us can walk away unscathed.

When Gianna reappears, hair still damp but now with a fresh T-shirt on, I straighten, masking my turmoil behind a guarded expression. She notices the towel in the sink, the newly dried area on the floor, and the set of my jaw. “You’re soaked, too. You should change.”

She’s not wrong. I can’t resist a hollow laugh. “Yeah,” is all I manage.

Then I turn and head for the bedroom.Gianna,I think as I climb the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind me.What are we doing?

Lightning flashes across the sky again, and for a moment, her face is all I see. I shut my eyes and press my palm to my chest where the scar from her father itches beneath my shirt. The pain of that burn is nothing compared to the uncertain ache in my heart. Because in a single, all-consuming kiss, she might have done the impossible—she might have begun to set me free.

Chapter19

Gianna

I’m in the laundry room, kneeling beside a makeshift bed of towels I arranged for the tiny gray kitten I found two nights ago in the storm. She stretches her spindly legs, mewls once, and proceeds to curl into a tight little ball. A small pang of affection tugs at my chest. I’ve done my best to keep her safe and warm—slipping her bits of boiled chicken, letting her sip water from a cereal bowl—but I know it’s not enough. She needs real supplies.

Since Luciano let her stay, he hasn’t once complained about her presence. That, in itself, is as shocking as when he pulled out the first-aid kit when I burned my hand—and as shocking as the two kisses we’ve shared. My cheeks still heat whenever I recall them.

I stand up, pressing my uninjured hand to the dull ache in my bandaged one. That dull ache reminds me of the complicated swirl of emotions I feel whenever Luciano is near—equal parts fear, attraction, anger, and something that might be dangerously close to hope.

My stomach flips as I hear footsteps approaching. The faint squeak of the laundry room door warns me to look up. Luciano stands there, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes flick toward the kitten, then back to me.

“Get your shoes on,” he says. No greeting. No explanation. Just an order, as usual. “Bring the cat.”

I blink, carefully bundling the kitten into my arms. She squirms, squeaking in protest at being awakened from her nap, her tiny claws pricking through my dress. “What? Why?”

“You need supplies for it, don’t you?” His tone is clipped, a sign that if I press him, he might close up. There’s a tension in his jaw that warns me not to make a big deal out of this unexpected offer.

“You’re taking me to get cat stuff?” I ask, hesitant to believe my own ears.

Luciano scowls. “I’m taking you because I don’t want a dead cat in my house. That’s all.” His fingers drum against his bicep, where his arms remain firmly crossed.

Right. Of course. The last time I believed he was being kind, I ended up with my emotions in knots. But I can’t keep a small smile from ghosting across my lips. I press the kitten close—she’s so warm and trusting, which only makes the pang in my chest sharper. “Then… let me get my shoes,” I murmur. “I’ll be right out.”

He gives a curt nod. I slip into the hallway, grab the pair of sandals I keep by the door, and carefully secure the kitten in the crook of my elbow. She wriggles, big, curious eyes looking around the house. My pulse thrums with a faint thrill.He’s taking me out for cat supplies. This is new.

Outside, the sky is bright with early afternoon sunshine. The storm from two nights ago, the one that brought the kitten into my life, has given way to crisp blue skies and a warm breeze. I settle into the passenger seat, kitten on my lap, while Luciano starts the engine. There’s a tension in the air—like we’re both aware of the oddness of this errand.

He pulls out of the driveway, jaw set, eyes fixed on the road. I stroke the kitten’s tiny head with one finger, marveling at how something so small can survive a storm so fierce. But I guess, in a way, she’s just like me.

Halfway down the street, Luciano breaks the silence. “You still haven’t named it.”

I blink, letting the kitten bat at my sleeve. “I’m still deciding.”

“You had two days,” he mutters, as though he’s personally offended by my lack of efficiency.

I shrug. “I want to get it right.”

He makes a noise—somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. I press my lips together to hide a grin. There’s something almost endearing about how perplexed he is by my indecision.

I meet his eyes briefly, and my stomach flips. He’s not glowering, exactly, more like he’s extremely inconvenienced by the idea of me taking so long to pick a cat name. But even inconvenience is better than cruelty, and for that, I’m weirdly grateful.

We pull into the PetCo parking lot, which is a bit more crowded than I expected on a weekday. The sign’s neon pawprint flickers in and out. I haven’t been to a place like this in—God, how long? The last time I remember stepping into a pet store was as a child, guided by a nanny to buy fish food. Fish were the only pets my father let me have.

Luciano parks near the entrance. He cuts the engine, stares at the store sign for a second, and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

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