Page 43 of Charming Villain

In bed, wrapped in the half-light of a single lamp, the tension throbs. Luciano tugs me close, nosing against the crook of my neck. I can’t bring myself to resist. My body betrays me, leaning into his as if starved for it. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, and each touch feels like a brand of guilt. The steady rhythm of his breathing against my neck only makes it worse. How can I leave a man who can be so tender? But how can I stay with someone who can be so cruel?

I close my eyes, letting him press soft kisses along my neck until I pretend to drift to sleep.

At dawn, I slip out of bed before he wakes. My hand finds my belly, the faint ache pulsing.Am I pregnant?I still don’t know. I can’t confirm it; I can’t ask him for help without revealing everything. My throat feels raw with unshed tears as I pad over to the window, pushing the curtain aside to watch the city begin to stir.

Two days left. That’s all. Then, I’ll be expected to walk down the aisle in white lace and pearls, the perfect bride to a perfect monster. I shut my eyes. The heartbreak is overwhelming, and a lump lodged in my chest strangles the breath from my lungs. Because a tiny, traitorous part of me wants to stay, wants to let him be the man he showed me these past few weeks, wants to believe in a happily-ever-after that might be possible if we weren’t both so damaged.

But I can’t.I won’t.Not if there’s even a chance I’m carrying his child. Not when I remember my own mother’s neglect, not when I think of my father’s cruelty, not when I see how violent the man I’m about to marry can be.

I swallow the sob that claws at my throat.I’m leaving.I’ll pack a small bag and slip out on the morning of the wedding when everyone’s busy with their preparations. Saverio, Giovanni, Luciano, all of them will be too focused on orchestrating the day, on making sure no one ends up dead at what should be a celebration. The chaos of final arrangements and security checks will give me enough time to slip away unnoticed, to disappear into the crowd. They’ll be looking for threats from the outside, never suspecting the bride herself plans to vanish.

Turning from the window, I look back at Luciano, still asleep in the bed, one arm sprawled across where I’d been lying. He looks heartbreakingly innocent like this, eyelashes resting on cheekbones that are far too soft for the brutal man inside him. His dark hair falls across his forehead in gentle waves, and for a moment, I can almost pretend he’s just another man. The steady rise and fall of his chest makes my own ache with what could have been if we’d met in another lifetime.

I’m sorry, I think, pressing a hand to my lips as though he can hear me.But I can’t stay, not when the price is my future.Or possibly our child’s future.

I gather a slow breath and steady my shoulders, forcing steel into my spine. Two days. That’s all the time left to pretend everything is normal, to let him see what he wants to see. To play the role of the devoted bride while my heart screams for freedom.

Then, whether I’m pregnant or not, I’ll go even if it kills me. And some part of me knows it might—but death seems preferable to the gilded cage he’s built around me.

Chapter25

Luciano

When I open my eyes, there’s a tension in my chest that doesn’t make sense. I can feel it humming under my skin even before I’m fully conscious. It is a tight coil of unease that stands in stark contrast to everything that’s supposed to happen today—my wedding day.

When I turn my head to the side, the first thing I notice is that Gianna isn’t next to me. The bed is cold on her side, the sheets rumpled where she slept, and the gnawing feeling intensifies. I already knew she’d be gone early to start getting ready for the wedding. Still, it bothers me that her absence makes the morning feel off-balance.

I rub my face and sit up, glaring at the empty spot next to me. Telling myself there’s no reason to panic is pointless. I can’t stop replaying the weeks leading up to today, the sweetness Gianna showed me, how docile she’s been, how perfectly she’s fit into the role of my fiancée. I should be relieved. She’s making this wedding smoother than I ever imagined. And yet, my gut says something’s slipping through my fingers.

I drag myself out of bed, ignoring the new suit waiting on a hanger by the door, and step into the hallway. The hush of the house presses in on me, making every sound ten times louder—my footsteps on the hardwood, the faint click of a distant clock, the soft scuff of Cupcake’s paws as she pads around a corner. Gianna’s not here, but the knowledge that she left by choice at dawn to prep for her own wedding unsettles me more than it should. It shouldn’t feel like a warning sign. But it does.

By the time I’m dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, my phone buzzes with a message from Dante telling me to get over to his place. The event staff is already there setting up flowers, chairs, a makeshift altar, and everything else needed to transform his backyard into wedding-ready perfection. I stare at the screen for a moment before I quickly text him back that I’m on my way.

The drive across town is quiet. I pass the bakery that’s delivering the wedding cake to the Terlizzi estate, its windows filled with elaborate sugar flowers and tiered confections. A few blocks from Dante’s, I glimpse a cluster of black SUVs belonging to Saverio’s men, no doubt part of the security detail. Everything’s under control, except for this uneasy throb in my chest that won’t subside. The feeling follows me like a shadow all the way to Dante’s.

When I arrive at my brother’s estate, the place is a hive of activity. The staff runs back and forth, hauling boxes of linens, flowers, and a half-assembled archway. White and gold ribbons flutter from workers’ hands as they hurry past. They’re all polite nods and “good morning, sir,” but I brush them off. My mind’s in no shape for small talk. Tuxedo covers and garment bags hang from racks near the foyer, a lineup of black formal wear awaiting the day’s ceremony. I see Niccolo’s name embroidered on one, Salvatore’s on another, and I hang mine next to theirs.

I step into the main entryway to find the sprawling staircase decked in trailing ivy and white satin ribbons. The hush of new money meeting old blood is palpable, and part of me wonders if it’s just for show or if we truly believe we can have a peaceful wedding. The notion unsettles me enough that I almost miss Niccolo waving me over from the parlor.

He’s wearing a crisp dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, sipping on coffee as if this is any other day. Salvatore leans against a wall nearby, talking to a young woman who’s typing something on a tablet. Dante stands by a wide antique table, flipping through a binder of seating charts, half-lidded eyes betraying his disinterest in all these meticulous details. They notice me at once.

Niccolo lifts his coffee in greeting. “Morning,fratello. You’re late.”

I slip inside, ignoring a staffer who tries to hand me a glass of orange juice. The young man’s expression falters, but he retreats without comment. “I got held up,” I mutter, but it’s a lie. I left on time, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I should turn around. “Is Gianna here yet?”

Salvatore smirks, walking away from the girl with the tablet. “She’s probably holed up in one of the side rooms with her mother, fussing over flowers or practicing her signature for the name change. Relax, Lucky. Your bride isn’t going anywhere.”

Something about his casually dismissive tone stings. “I’m not worried,” I reply curtly. “I’m making sure everything’s on track.” I pivot to Dante, searching for a reason to change the subject before Salvatore can read more into my unease. “You texted me to come?”

Dante sets the binder down, giving me a slow once-over. He’s got the biggest stake in all this as head of the Terlizzi family. “We wanted to finalize some security details,” he says. “We’ve got eyes on every angle. If Giovanni tries anything, or if any of his men show up uninvited, we’ll shut it down before it becomes an incident. But let’s be honest—he’s not going to start a war on your wedding day. He knows what this day means to Saverio.”

I grunt. “Better safe than sorry.”

Niccolo drinks his coffee in a long, slurping manner meant to aggravate me. “Gianna’s father is all bark right now. He wants to save face. No father of the bride’s about to blow up the ceremony while we all watch. Giovanni might hate the Terlizzis, but he understands appearances. Today’s not the day he chooses to make his move.” But we all hear the unspoken part as if he said it out loud: the day will come, it just won’t be while the entire Midwest mafia is driving to Manhattan, Kansas to celebrate the unification of the Terlizzi and Lucatello families.

Salvatore interjects with a laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past Giovanni to dosomething, but it’s probably not going to be today. He’s petty, not suicidal.”

My mouth twists, but I say nothing. My wedding day looms over me like a thunderhead, and these lighthearted remarks do little to calm me. I glance around the room, noticing tablecloth samples in a box, half-stacked crates of wine, and name cards meticulously arranged in alphabetical order. The staff moves around us with clipboard-wielding coordinators directing the flow of preparations like air traffic controllers. The normalcy of it all grates on my nerves because it doesn’t match the dread simmering in my chest. It’s as if I’m watching a perfectly choreographed dance while standing on quicksand, everything pristine and proper on the surface while underneath, my future is being decided by family alliances and old vendettas rather than anything resembling love.

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