Page 42 of Charming Villain

I can’t shake it. The sense that beneath Gianna’s newfound compliance, beneath her soft smiles and tender kisses, lurks a secret. And one night soon, I’ll go to bed believing she’s safe in my arms—only to wake up and find that I’m bleeding out.

The wedding is less than two weeks away now. I’ll watch her more closely, track her movements, memorize her daily patterns. I’ll lock every door if I have to, double-check the windows, maybe even hire a security guard. She said she wasn’t going anywhere, but I can’t take any chances. Not when we’re this close to making it official, not when there’s a chance that she could be my happily ever after, after all.

Chapter24

Gianna

Iwake to a hazy, pewter-colored dawn spilling across the bedroom, turning everything soft and muted. There’s a sting of tenderness in my lower belly, an ache that slithers into my consciousness before I can label it. I lie there for a moment, adjusting to the steady warmth of Luciano’s arm draped across my waist. He’s on his side behind me, one leg tangling with mine. Confusion stirs in my mind, but I shove it aside, focusing instead on the slow rise and fall of his chest against my spine.

I shouldn’t want this closeness after everything he’s done. But he’s been so gentle these past few days, so absurdly tender, it’s easy to pretend we’re just any couple sharing a lazy dawn. Cupcake is curled near my feet, purring in contentment. I think I almost envy her—so trusting, so safe.

But I’m not safe. Even lying here in his arms, I’m not safe. The pinch of a thought makes me flinch, and I ease myself out from under Luciano’s arm before he wakes. His fingers flex, tightening for a heartbeat as if he senses I’m leaving him. Then they relax, letting me slip away.

I pad to the bathroom on unsteady legs. My thighs ache from the intensity of last night, from the way he held me too tightly, the way he whispered I was his as he made love to me. It was unexpected. More so, it was enjoyable.

My reflection in the mirror looks washed out, my hair in disarray around my shoulders, lips swollen from kisses I didn’t want to stop. Another pang in my lower abdomen makes me pause, and I remember that my period is late. Not just a day or two—it’s been over a week now. Then, a question drifts through me like a chilly breeze:What if I’m pregnant? What if my period hasn’t come because a baby is growing in its stead?

I grip the edge of the sink, my breath catching in my throat. It’s such an outlandish thought—yet not impossible. I’ve never taken birth control, and Luciano’s never worn a condom. And frankly, my body feels different. My breasts throb with a bruised heaviness I don’t recognize, and I’m bone-deep tired, even after a full night’s sleep. A thousand reasons for the exhaustion swirl in my mind: the stress, the wedding looming three days away, the emotional roller coaster I’ve been on. But worry takes root anyway, sinking its cold hooks into my chest.

When I return to the bedroom, I find the bed empty. Luciano must’ve woken up during those few minutes I was in the bathroom. Cupcake stirs, stretching her legs and blinking up at me before hopping off the mattress to follow wherever he’s gone. I stare at the rumpled sheets, trying to imagine what my life would look like with a child factored in. The image sends a surge of panic through my veins, short-circuiting every half-formed fantasy I’ve indulged about letting myself stay.

No.I push the thought aside. Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just paranoia. Still, the question stalks me relentlessly:What if?—?

The day unfolds in a disquieting calm. Luciano makes coffee—usually, that’s my job, but he surprises me by bringing me a steaming mug. He presses it into my hands, his gaze lingering on my face with what looks like concern. “You look pale,” he remarks, and his thumb strokes over my wrist in a gesture so tender I almost forget to breathe.

“I’m just tired,” I reply, forcing a small smile that feels brittle around the edges. I don’t mention the nausea that unfurls the moment the aroma hits my nose, how the rich scent is suddenly too much. I murmur thanks and bring the cup to my lips, sipping carefully, willing my stomach to settle. If he notices how my hands tremble against the warm ceramic, he says nothing.

Instead, Luciano moves behind me, slipping his arms around my waist and pulling me against the solid line of his chest. Once, that simple affection would have made me flinch. Now, I force myself to melt into it, hoping I appear convincingly at ease.

He presses a kiss to my temple and inhales softly as if memorizing my scent. “I have a few errands today,” he murmurs, not letting go. “Mostly wedding stuff.” His voice is strangely gentle like he’s trying on kindness for size.

The past few days, he’s been so careful, so full of concern for my happiness. If it were all real—if I wasn’t haunted by the memory of his darker side, by the suspicion that I might be carrying his child—maybe I could let myself believe his actions.

Luciano steps away with one last squeeze to my waist. Cupcake meows, weaving around his feet, and he bends to scratch behind her ears. If he can care for a tiny cat with such protectiveness, maybe he could be a father. But then I remember his possessive rage, the nights he punished me just for existing. A father who loves so fiercely he might become monstrous. Is that any better than the father I had?

The rest of the morning is a haze of small tasks. I feed Cupcake, tidy the kitchen, and pretend to browse wedding RSVPs left strewn on the table. Luciano disappears into his office, leaving me to my thoughts. My gaze drifts to the locked front door. He never used to lock it during the day; now he does. My chest tightens—he’s taking fewer chances. He’s letting me roam but not letting me out of his sight. A creeping dread tangles in my stomach. He must sense something is off, or maybe he’s simply being cautious because the wedding is so close.

I push the worry aside and focus on the subtle ache in my lower belly. TheWhat if I’m pregnant?question circles like a predator waiting to strike. God, if that’s true, I have even fewer options. A child would tie me here irrevocably, bind me to a man who oscillates between gentle adoration and punishing control. And if it’s not true—if I’m just spooking myself—then I still only have three days left to escape.

Evening finds me in the living room, trying to read a book while Cupcake dozes on my lap. Luciano’s off handling some business with Dante, or so he said. The house is quiet, suffocatingly so. I set the book aside and press a hand to my abdomen, trying to quell the uneasy tension swirling in my gut.

My mother was a drunk who never cared, spending more time with bottles than her own daughter. Would I be a better mother, or do those same poisoned genes flow through my veins? I don’t know how to nurture life; I only learned how to survive, to dodge insults and empty promises, to make myself small and invisible.

And what about Luciano—what kind of father would a man be if he can’t decide whether to love me or break me? Would a child become another weapon in his arsenal of control? The thought sets my teeth on edge, and tears prick the back of my eyes, bitter and hot with memories I’d rather forget.

Cupcake stirs, blinking up at me, her purr faltering. As if sensing my distress, she nudges my chin with her soft, tiny head. I stroke her, comforted by the small rumble in her throat but not enough to quell the panic flaring in my chest.

Luciano returns after dark, his expression softening the moment he sees me sprawled on the couch with Cupcake. The shadows beneath his eyes hint at his own long day, but his features are gentle as he takes in the sight of us. I force a smile that feels fake. My heart wrenches at the tenderness in his gaze. He crosses the room, kneels by the couch, and lifts a hand to brush the hair from my face. His fingers are warm against my skin as he murmurs, “Long day?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, letting him see a fraction of my exhaustion, using it as a shield to hide the deeper turmoil beneath. “Just tired.”

He nods, his fingers drifting over mine in a caress that sends unwanted shivers down my spine. Cupcake jumps off my lap with a soft thump, yawning widely, and meanders away from us. A flicker of humor crosses Luciano’s eyes at the cat’s departure before he shifts his attention back to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

An inexplicable lump rises in my throat. “Yeah,” I lie, leaning into his touch, letting my head rest against his shoulder. For a moment, I allow myself to enjoy the warmth he offers, the softness that’s so at odds with the man I first knew. I hate that I still feel safe in his arms, even though everything about this is wrong.

Luciano sighs, helping me to my feet. “Let’s go to bed early. We both could use some rest.”

I nod mutely, following him up the stairs. He has no idea I’m counting the days until I’m gone.

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