Page 13 of Charming Villain

The metallic taste of rage coats my tongue, adrenaline spiking so high I barely hear Dante saying my name or hear Nic swear under his breath. I’m on the brink of losing my mind; I am ready to burn everything down to escape this cruel cosmic joke.

Gianna.Allegra.Fuck.

Saverio’s glare pins me, silently ordering me to keep my shit together, but I can’t hold it in any longer. “You have got to befuckingkidding me,” I hiss, loud enough for Gianna—and everyone else—to hear.

Gianna’s lips part, panic flaring in her eyes. Giovanni stiffens, about to demand an explanation. But Dante rises from his chair, voice sharp with a warning, “Luc?—”

I don’t let him finish. I shove my chair back so violently that it scrapes across the floor, echoing in the tense silence of Nico’s empty dining room.She’smy bride? The woman I’ve spent days cursing for ghosting me like a cheap fling is myfuture bride?

Chapter8

Gianna

Idon’t realize I’m holding my breath until the moment my name echoes across Nico’s empty dining room.

“Gianna, dear,” my father says, waving me forward with thinly veiled pride. “Come. Meet your future husband.”

My lungs squeeze, forcing me to exhale shakily as my patent leather heels click against the hardwood floor. All morning, I’ve steeled myself for this moment—being trotted out in a pastel-pink dress my father chose, hair smoothed into soft waves, makeup carefully neutral and understated. I’m meant to look pure, docile, and impossibly young, like a sacrificial lamb dressed in my Sunday best. My hands tremble slightly, and I press them against the folds of my skirt to still them.

My father’s guard flanks me as though I might bolt if they don’t keep watch. But they don’t need to worry; I know better than to run. My father’s wrath would be swift and brutal if I tried to escape—especially today.

My gaze flickers across the room. Saverio Castiglione sits at the head of the table while men I don’t recognize sit on either side of him. My father stands near them, arms crossed, posture as rigid as ever. But it’s the last one I set eyes on who commands my full attention because it’shim.

The world tilts sideways, my pulse thrumming loud enough to drown out the blood roaring in my ears. There’s no mistaking the broad shoulders, the intense glare, the shape of his mouth twisted into a near snarl.Luca.Only, I know now that’s not his name. Luciano Terlizzi. My fiancé.

Oh God.

Nausea churns in my stomach, but I clamp down on it. My father is watching me with hawklike intensity, and if I let a single tremor of unease show, he’ll demand answers I can’t give. Instead, I do what I’ve been taught since I was old enough to understand his expectations: I lower my chin to the perfect angle of submission, smooth out my expression into a carefully crafted mask of demure obedience, and step closer—just as he commanded.

I can practically feel everyone’s eyes burning my skin. Or maybe it’s justhiseyes. Every nerve ending I possess crackles under the force of his gaze. Because behind his shock, there’s unmistakable fury.

My father clears his throat, basking in this moment like he’s orchestrated the perfect show. “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.”

Duty. My vision blurs, and a strange, hollow laughter echoes in my mind, but I choke it down. This can’t be real. I snuck out to ruin my father’s plans, to ensure no man would want the perfect virgin bride he’d groomed me to be. My entire plan hinged on anonymity, on never seeing the man again. And now he stands before me, the future I was so desperate to avoid.

Luciano’s hand slams down on the table with a crack that jolts me, rattling plates and glassware. The men around the table tense, hands inching toward their holsters. My father bristles, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t immediately intervene.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Luciano hisses loud enough to make me flinch.

That one sentence is enough to snap the room back into motion. One of the unknown men half rises, Saverio mutters something about caution, and my father’s men go on high alert. My father himself looks like he might step forward and demand an explanation, but before he can, Luciano turns, and my heart gives a painful lurch.

One second, I’m rooted to the spot, frozen like a deer in headlights. The next, his hand latches onto my arm, fingers gripping tight enough to dimple my skin. It isn’t gentle, but it doesn’t quite hurt either. Regardless, the force behind it sends a wave of panic surging through my chest. I’ve had men handle me roughly before, but never with such obvious fury. Yet I force myself to remain calm, to keep my breathing steady—even as he drags me away from the party of men.

“Luciano!” Someone snaps, but there’s no real power behind it. Saverio’s voice carries a warning as well, but it’s overshadowed by my father’s ominous silence. He’s letting this play out, maybe because he thinks I can handle the situation. Or worse, maybe he wants me to fail. Maybe he wants Luciano to kill me with his bare hands. My father has always been impossible to read, but right now, his silence speaks volumes.

Luciano tugs me through the door into Nico’s kitchen, ignoring the shocked faces of the cooks still working. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce hangs in the air, a bizarre contrast to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Get the fuck out,” he barks at them. They’re so rattled by his tone that they scatter, leaving ladles and half-chopped vegetables behind. The moment the metal door swings shut, we’re alone.

His grip on my arm tightens, and I hiss in a breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They’re feral with rage, and something inside me curls defensively. He might intimidate me, but I’ve faced men more dangerous than him—men who wield violence like a second language. My father, for instance.

“What thefuckis this?” he demands.

His anger vibrates in the air like an electric current, making the hair on my arms stand on end, but I don’t let him see how it affects me. Instead, I square my shoulders and lift my chin, drawing on years of practice at masking fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my tone carefully even.

Luciano’s expression contorts, disbelief mingling with anger. “Don’t give me that.” He releases my arm abruptly, gesturing furiously at me. “You’re Giovanni Lucatello’s daughter? And you justhappenedto sneak out, pretend to be someone else, and fuckedme, of all people? You’re telling me it was a fuckingcoincidence?”

I swallow, heat staining my cheeks. “I didn’t know who you were,” I say, mustering every ounce of calm I don’t feel. “I swear, I had no clue.”

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