Page 47 of Charming Villain

But I’m already off the credenza, crossing the parlor in huge strides, ignoring the staff who recoil at my sudden outburst. Blood roars in my ears. I shoulder past a pair of wide-eyed waiters, eyes locked on the corridor that leads to the bride’s suite. They scatter, pressing themselves to the walls to avoid me.

Salvatore calls after me, but I don’t listen. The only thought in my head is that Gianna is gone—she ran from me, from the wedding, from everything we could have together. In a matter of seconds, my carefully balanced world tilts into chaos. She must’ve planned this, must’ve waited for the perfect moment to slip away.

Hot fury surges in my veins, fueled by betrayal and panic in equal measure. She’s not safe out there. She’s unguarded, with enemies on all sides.

A staffer tries to speak as I barrel into the corridor. “Sir—sir, wait! The bride’s suite?—”

I shove the door open, ignoring the halfhearted protest. The bridal room is eerily still, the hush of a place recently vacated. My eyes sweep across the plush chairs and the vanity cluttered with makeup brushes and scattered accessories. But the first thing that leaps out is the wedding dress: a sweeping tide of lace and tulle draped haphazardly over a chair, its delicate white train puddled on the floor. Gianna’s not in it. The dagger of realization cuts deeper.

My heart pounds against my ribcage. A note on the vanity catches my eye. I snatch it with trembling hands.

Luciano,

I don’t know what to say that won’t feel like a betrayal, but I can’t do this.

I can’t marry you. I can’t bring a child into this life. I don’t know if I’m pregnant. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s just stress. But if there’s even a chance I am, I refuse to do this to our child.

I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I wish I did—it would be easier.

Don’t come looking for me.

—Gianna

The paper crumples in my fist, the edges digging into my skin. My entire body trembles with violent emotion. Gianna’s gone. She left me here with nothing but a handful of illusions and the possibility that she’s pregnant. Something inside me twists so viciously that it feels like I’ve been gutted.

Before I can fully process it, the door behind me slams open. Giovanni Lucatello storms in. He’s wearing a dark suit that probably cost more than some men’s cars, but his tie is skewed, and his eyes gleam with uncontained rage. He strides forward, jaw tight. “What the hell is this?” He roars, voice echoing off the walls. “Where is my daughter?”

I’m too far gone to respond with subtlety. The devastation swirling in my chest melds with a surge of violence that demands an outlet. In two strides, I cross the space between us, seizing him by the lapel of his jacket. I slam him against the wall with a dull thud that makes the paintings rattle. He gasps, blinking at the sheer force of it.

“She left,” I grind out. “She’s gone—because of you, because of me, because of everything.”

Giovanni’s breath comes harsh, but the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. A twisted grin crawls across his face, defiance lacing his words. “Good,” he snarls. “She was worthless anyway. If she thinks she can survive on her own, so be it. She’ll come crawling back or die, and either outcome saves me the headache of this marriage.”

Red film floods my vision. My grip on his suit tightens, twisting the fabric near his throat. For a heartbeat, I consider driving my fist into his smug face or throttling him where he stands. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that it won’t bring Gianna back. But God, I want to end him.

He snorts, even as the collar of his jacket cuts into his windpipe. “You think I care if my daughter disgraced us both by running away? Let her die on the streets. At least I won’t have to be in-laws with your filthy family.”

Rage explodes. I slam him against the wall again, my arm flexing so hard my shoulder pops. He chokes, eyes bulging. “You think this solves anything for you?” I hiss. “You’ll never see Gianna again, and you’re so twisted you call that a victory.”

He tries to pry my hand loose, but I don’t let up. My knuckles whiten from the strain. “She’s your blood,” I spit. “And you’re standing here, celebrating. I swear to God if anything happens to her out there?—”

A cough sputters from Giovanni’s lips. “Save your threats, Terlizzi,” he wheezes. “If you can’t hold onto a wife, that’s your problem. She’s not my burden anymore.”

I can’t listen to another syllable. My entire being trembles with the urge to shake him until his neck snaps. But a voice inside my head reminds me that I’m wasting time; Gianna needs me.

With a snarl of disgust, I shove him away. He staggers, nearly tripping over the edge of his daughter’s discarded wedding dress.

Footsteps thunder in the corridor. Dante, Niccolo, and Salvatore round the doorway, the staff cowering behind them. They take in the scene: the mangled wedding dress, the note in my fist, Giovanni panting near the wall. Their eyes flick to me, searching for answers.

Salvatore speaks first. “Luc, what the hell happened?”

I can’t speak. My pulse pounds too loudly, and my mind throbs with a single command:Find her.The letter rustles in my grip as I turn on my heel, pushing past them without a word.

Niccolo grabs my arm, worry etched across his features. “Where are you going?”

I shrug him off. “Where do you think?” The words ring with feral urgency. “I’m going to find Gianna.”

“But the wedding?—”

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