Page 34 of Charming Villain

There’s a dryness in his tone that suggests he’d rather be anywhere else.Still, he’s here, isn’t he?Doing this for me and the kitten. My chest tightens, uncertain of how to process this new, contradictory side of him.

I open the car door, cradling the kitten; she is content to be carried. The warmth of the sun contrasts with the cool blast of PetCo’s air conditioning as we step inside. The store smells of cedar chips and pet food—an oddly comforting mix. A handful of customers roam the aisles, pushing carts filled with dog toys, litter, and giant bags of kibble.

“Which aisle?” I ask softly, scanning the overhead signs. “Cat supplies…” My eyes land on a sign labeled Cat Food & Litter.

“This way,” Luciano says, stepping forward, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks out of place in his dark coat, designer shoes, and sharp haircut. The entire store is a riot of bright colors—rows of pink and yellow scratch posts, cat condos shaped like cartoon characters, and plush squeaky toys in the shape of fish.

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. If I do, he might turn around and walk out. But I can’t help the small bubble of amusement that rises in my chest. It’s insane to see him—this lethal, brooding figure—wandering between pastel cat bowls and glittery collars.

A golden retriever in a shopping cart rolls by, tongue lolling happily. It stares at Luciano, ears perking up. Luciano stares back, his brow furrowing. The dog’s tail wags uncertainly as if it’s not sure if it should be afraid or excited.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing. This is the most fun I’ve had since he plucked me out of my caged existence to plop me into a new one.

“Not. A. Word,” he mutters, finally breaking the staring contest with the dog.

I stifle a giggle. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t call me out on the smirk dancing at the corners of my mouth.

We find the cat food aisle, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed. There are dozens of brands—some labeled grain-free, some with salmon or chicken or turkey, and some claiming to be the best for kittens with sensitive stomachs. My mind whirls. I glance at the kitten, who’s dozing in my arms again, oblivious to the drama of consumer choices.

Luciano huffs impatiently, scanning the shelves. “Grab something. I’m not staying here all day.”

I bite back a retort. I haven’t done this before, and the last thing I want is to buy the wrong food. I end up choosing a reputable brand with a kitten formula because that’s what the label says, anyway. “Kitten formula,” I mumble, tossing a small bag into the cart.

He snatches it up, squinting at the label. “With real chicken. Fine.” Then, he drops it back in and pushes the cart onward.

We gather a few more essentials: a litter box, some litter, cat treats, and a feeding bowl. Every time I reach for something, he gives it a once-over, like he’s scanning for bombs. It’s both amusing and oddly sweet in a dysfunctional mafia enforcer kind of way.

At one point, I grab a pink glittery collar with a tiny bell attached and dangle it playfully at him. “Thoughts?”

Luciano’s eyebrow raises slowly, disapproval radiating from him like a dark cloud. “Absolutely not.”

I pretend to consider it seriously, holding it up against the cat’s neck. “Really? She’d look so cute. Like a little princess.”

He glances at the cat in my arms—her scrawny body, big ears, still trembling a bit from the cold despite my warmth—and snorts. “She’d look ridiculous. Like a cheap disco ball.”

I can’t help a small laugh, enjoying his grumpy reaction more than I probably should. “Don’t pretend you don’t find it charming. I saw that tiny smile.”

He scoffs, turning away to push the cart with perhaps more force than necessary. “I’m already regretting this. Next, you’ll want to put her in dresses.”

In the toy aisle, I pick up a feather wand and flick it at him. The feathers brush his shoulder, and he reacts with mild alarm, grabbing the wand from my hand. “Are you five?” he growls, his voice dropping to that low timbre that makes me shiver.

“Depends. Areyou?” I retort, batting my eyelashes in mock innocence. I don’t know if it’s the kitten, the fresh air, or something else entirely, but I feel alive for the first time in weeks.

He tosses the feather wand into the cart with an annoyed grunt, refusing to put it back, and my grin widens. We continue down the aisle, scanning for more cat-friendly trinkets. The hush between us is warmer now—less loaded with tension, more tinged with banter.

Eventually, my arms tire from cradling the kitten. I try to shift her so I can grab a bag of litter, but she starts squirming, making it difficult. Without warning, Luciano extends his hand. “Give her to me,” he grumbles.

I comply, half-expecting him to hold the kitten awkwardly or toss it back in the cart. Instead, he cradles her carefully against his chest, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She mewls once, then relaxes, pressing her face into his shirt. A rush of warmth surges in my stomach. I slow my steps, fascinated by the sight: Luciano Terlizzi, the man who threatened me in a thousand ways, now holding a stray kitten with almost paternal protectiveness.

My heart stutters. The overhead fluorescent lights catch the highlights in his dark hair, emphasizing the line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders that slowly melts as the kitten nuzzles against him. For a second, I swear I see the faintest softening of his lips. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close enough to make my chest ache.

He’s not a complete monster, is he?

I turn away quickly, pretending to study a display of catnip toys shaped like tacos and donuts. My cheeks burn with a thousand questions I can’t ask out loud:Who are you, really? Why are you letting me see this side of you? Is it because of what happened between us? Because you kissed me and can’t stop thinking about it either? Because you want me to believe you’re not the villain?

By the time we head to the register, our cart is half full—kibble, litter, bowls, a short scratching post, and an assortment of small toys that I insisted on. I feel a bit giddy, like I’m tasting normalcy for the first time in forever. The cashier, a friendly woman with bright pink hair, coos at the kitten in Luciano’s arms, and I see him stiffen as she squeals.

---