Page 58 of Charming Villain

I let out a shaky breath and lean back against the pillows. My side throbs in time with my heartbeat, but the pain is dulled by a trickle of relief from the medicine in the IV line. At least Gianna is alive, in a bed just a few doors away. Giovanni is gone, and no one can hurt her like that again. The rest… we’ll figure it out.

“Rest,” Dante murmurs. “That’s an order, from your older brother. The sooner you heal, the sooner you can hold her properly.”

I bite back the urge to resist. My body is desperate for rest, and he’s not wrong. An anxious, unrelenting voice in my head keeps demanding: When can I see her? When can I hold her? When can I make sure she’s okay?

“Tomorrow,” Dante says softly, as if reading my mind. “We’ll get you into a wheelchair, or maybe you’ll be strong enough to walk, I don’t know. But tomorrow, you’ll see her again. Let them sedate you, rehydrate you, whatever they need to do to make you better. Then you can show up at her bedside with a little more color in your cheeks.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She’s scared,” I say quietly, remembering the haunted look in her eyes. “She needs me.”

“And you need her,” he counters. “More than you care to admit. She’s not going anywhere, Luc. She told me as much before she insisted on staying in this hospital. She demanded to be near you.”

My heart clenches painfully. That simple statement ignites a spark of warmth in my chest, battling back the darkness. Despite the terror, the blood, the betrayal, she’s still here, still choosing me.

A nurse slips back into the room to check on the monitors. She administers something into the IV drip, a sedative or painkiller; I’m not sure which. My eyelids grow heavy, and the world loses its harsh edges. I fight to stay awake, but the drug is strong, and it pulls me into a fog of exhaustion and relief.

“Tomorrow,” Dante repeats, his voice distant now. “Tomorrow, you’ll see her.”

Tomorrow.That single word becomes my lifeline, the promise I cling to as consciousness slips away.Tomorrow, I’ll see Gianna.Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything I’ve been too proud to say.Tomorrow, we start over.

Chapter32

Gianna

Iwake with a gasp, lungs seizing on the first breath of morning. I don’t realize that I cried out until I feel a nurse’s gentle hand on my shoulder and hear her murmur, “It’s alright, honey. You’re safe.”

It takes a moment for my eyes to focus. My vision swims, threading with the remnants of some nightmare I can’t remember well enough to name. All I know is that my body aches in more ways than one. My entire world smells of sterilizing solution and vaguely sweet medicinal scents—reminders that I’m still in a hospital, far from home, far from Luciano’s house or the Lucatello estate. For that, at least, I’m grateful. A new place means no ghosts lingering in corners… except the ghosts I brought with me.

“Sorry,” I rasp to the nurse. “Bad dream.”

She nods kindly and checks a reading on the IV drip. “You’re alright,” she repeats. “Do you need anything?”

Before I can respond, I catch sight of my reflection in the small mirror mounted across the room. My hair’s a tangled mess around my shoulders, my skin wan, my eyes puffy from crying. It’s as if I’m looking at a stranger who’s gone through hell. It’s not far from the truth. I force myself to breathe. “Maybe just some water.”

She presses a cup into my hand and helps me bring it to my lips. The water is cool and grounding as it trickles down my throat. When she’s confident I’m steady, she leaves with a parting smile.

My hand drifts to my abdomen, cautious and fearful. The doctor said the baby’s condition is uncertain. I close my eyes, the sting of tears returning full force.Please be safe,I plead silently, not sure if I’m speaking to my body or to the universe.

A soft click from the door startles me. I lift my head, and I see Luciano stepping inside. His eyes search the room until they land on me. He’s dressed in casual clothes I’ve never seen him wear—gray sweatpants, a loose T-shirt, and a pair of slip-on shoes that don’t quite fit his usual polished image. He looks like a man who’s walked through fire: pale, hair disheveled, a faint bruise shadowing his jaw. In his right hand, he holds a small cluster of white daisies wrapped in plastic. They’re humble, the sort of flowers you find at a hospital gift shop at three in the morning. But seeing them in his grip makes my eyes sting.

“Hey,” he says softly, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey,” I reply. My voice wobbles. “You look... I mean—are you okay?”

Luciano releases a breath that’s halfway to a laugh. “I’ve been better,” he admits, his free hand lifting his shirt to show off the bandage beneath. Then he crosses to my bedside with measured, careful steps as though he might collapse if he moves too fast. He sets the daisies on the rolling tray beside me before meeting my gaze. “These are for you. I know daisies are not exactly spectacular. But the lady at the counter said white ones stand for hope.”

My throat tightens again, but I manage a small smile. “They’re perfect,” I whisper, letting my fingertips brush a soft petal. Something about his choice of flowers, simple and earnest, moves me far more than any exotic bouquet might have.

Luciano clears his throat and pulls a chair closer, easing himself onto it with a wince. For a minute, we just study each other. I can see the guilt etched into his features alongside wariness. He’s braced for me to say something scathing or to break down. I wonder if he realizes I feel the same tension, half expecting him to walk out or yell at me.

I take the risk of speaking first. “You look tired. Probably as tired as I feel.”

He nods, eyes flicking to my abdomen. “And you? The doctors said…” His voice falters, painfully raw. “They said it’s a waiting game?”

“More or less. They’re monitoring everything. I have more blood tests later today. They said with bleeding early on, it can go either way.”

A muscle tenses in his jaw as he drags in a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Gianna,” he says, forcing the words out. “For everything.”

Part of me wants to lash out and screamyoushouldbe sorry. But an even larger part of me wants to draw him close and bury my face in his chest.

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