Page 59 of Charming Villain

Luciano seems to sense my turmoil. He shifts in the chair, wincing at the movement, and inhales like he’s bracing himself for a bullet. “I came here to—” His gaze drops to his lap. “I need to tell you some things, Gianna. Things I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

I stiffen. This is it. The moment that might reshape us or destroy us for good. My mind flickers to all our shared moments—my father’s cruelty, the brand carved into his skin, my decision to run, his part in pushing me. So many wounds lie unhealed between us, festering beneath the surface of every conversation we’ve ever had. I wonder if we’re even capable of this conversation and if there’s enough left of what we could be to salvage what we are.

He rubs a hand across his face, weary. The morning light catches on the edges of his hair, turning it to dark gold. “I don’t even know where to start.” He gives a humorless laugh. “When you first came into my life, I was in no condition to be anyone’s husband, or partner, or even friend. I was consumed by hate—hatred for Giovanni, for what he did to me, for how he mutilated me. And when I heard that I had to marry his daughter, it was like pouring salt on the wound. I fixated on revenge, and you got caught in the crossfire. You were collateral damage in a war you never asked to join.”

I press my lips together.Yes, I think.I felt that hatred every time you looked at me, even when you tried to hide it.My lower lip trembles, but I keep silent.

Luciano continues. “I told myself you were just a means to an end. But from the moment I met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were so different. Gentle. And yet stronger than you knew. It confused the hell out of me.” His gaze lifts to meet mine, and I see tears shadowing his eyes. “I fought against it. I told myself I could never love a Lucatello. Never let myself want the daughter of my worst enemy. But it wasn’t long before I realized I had no choice. Because I was already half in love with you, and it terrified me.”

My heart constricts, raw with an ache that’s part sorrow, part longing. Did he love me that early on? The idea seems impossible, given how often we clashed, how many times I caught him glaring at me as though I were personally responsible for his scars. But there’s a ring of truth in his voice I can’t deny.

“I thought love was weakness. I still do, sometimes. And I never wanted to be vulnerable again, especially not with someone so connected to my trauma. So I tried to keep you at arm’s length, tried to punish you for existing. I never saw how much that was hurting you—how you were trapped, too. I was so busy raging at your father that I forgot you were a victim of him as well.” His lips press into a thin line of remorse. “And when I found out you might be pregnant, it knocked me sideways. I realized I wanted you and our baby more than anything else in this world.

“I told myself I could fix things if I just forced you to stay by my side, but my methods drove you away. And then you ran—God, Gianna, when I read your note, I felt like I lost everything. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t—” Luciano’s voice cracks, breaking off in the middle of his plea.

I keep trying to blink the tears away, but they slip down my cheeks in silent tracks anyway. “You came after me,” even though I told him not to. “You found me,” even though I didn’t want to be found.

His eyes brim with regret. “I would’ve torn the world apart to find you,” he says, quiet but certain. “I almost did. And when I realized Giovanni had beaten me there, I lost it. I imagined a thousand scenarios of him hurting you in the five seconds it took me to get to your hotel room. I knew I’d never be able to live with myself if that happened. Because I love you, Gianna. I love you so much it terrifies me. It’s the first time in my life I’ve cared more about someone else’s heartbeat than my own.”

A sob escapes my throat. I can’t hold it in anymore. The rush of emotional release is both painful and soothing. I want to speak, to reassure him, to rage at him, to tell him he’s too late or he’s just in time. I don’t know which. Maybe both.

Luciano reaches toward me, hesitating with uncharacteristic uncertainty before carefully placing his warm palm over mine.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he says hoarsely. “But I swear, I will spend every day of my life trying to make things right—whether or not you want me by your side. I’ll be whatever you need me to be; do whatever it takes to prove to you I can be the man you deserve. And if we…” He hesitates, eyes flicking meaningfully to my abdomen. “If we get to keep this little life—God, Gianna, I’ll do anything for them.Anything. I’ll change diapers at three in the morning, drive carpool in rush hour traffic, attend every single checkup and school play. I don’t care what it is. If it means I get to see you both happy and safe, that’s all I want in this world.”

It’s too much. My tears come in earnest now, hot and unstoppable. He’s offering me everything, baring himself in a way I never thought him capable of. The man I knew was a fortress of rage and bitterness, sealed behind a thick wall of heartbreak. And here he is, handing me the key, letting me see every scar on his soul.

I force myself to look up, tears blurring my vision. “I… I can’t hate you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I wanted to. I really did. After everything, after how you manipulated me, I tried to hate you. But I couldn’t. Because underneath all that pain, you protected me, even when I didn’t realize it. You saved me time and time again. And I—I fell in love with you, too, even though I knew it was foolish.”

Luciano bows his head, lips parted in a silent exhale. The relief in his expression breaks me further, as though he never once imagined I might return his feelings.

“I’m still angry,” I warn him, voice trembling. “Angry that we never had a chance to be together without all this violence. Angry about my father, about what he did to you, about the child I might lose. But I love you enough to try. If you’re willing to put away the hatred, to let yourself be vulnerable, then I’ll forgive you. We’ll forgive each other.”

His breath catches, eyes glistening. “I promise,” he chokes out. “I promise you. No more secrets. No more walls. If you’ll have me, Gianna, I’m yours.”

Luciano stands, wincing as a fresh wave of pain hits him. He’s clearly not fully healed from the gunshot wound. He clutches his side, a hiss of breath escaping through his lips. My entire body clenches with worry, but he presses on, gently maneuvering around the bed rails. He lowers himself onto the mattress next to me with exaggerated caution, every movement telegraphing agony. Finally, he manages to curl up behind me, bracing himself on one elbow so he doesn’t crush my IV line or jostle my abdomen.

I settle against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest and the steady thud of his heartbeat. My tears continue to trickle, but I let them flow. His arm slips around my waist with exquisite care, hand resting lightly where my hospital gown slopes over my stomach. The tenderness of the gesture ignites another wave of sobs in me—except these are softer, gentler, a grief-laced peace.

For a while, we just breathe like that. The hush of the hospital corridor seeps through the door, mingling with the gentle beep of the monitor tracking my vitals. I close my eyes, letting his presence steady me. Every exhale is a prayer, a vow to hold onto this fragile moment of safety.

Then, a stray thought surfaces, a sliver of normalcy amid the chaos. “What about Cupcake?” I ask, my voice muffled against the crook of his arm. “Who’s taking care of her?”

He gives a low, breathy laugh that tickles the hair on the back of my neck. “Lucia, probably. She’s always loved cats, but Saverio’s allergic. She’s probably sneaking Cupcake all kinds of treats and spoiling her rotten.”

A watery smile stretches my lips. “That furball must think she’s in heaven.”

His cheek brushes mine, and I can almost feel the curve of his mouth. “Trust me, Cupcake’s living her best life. Lucia probably took her back to Saverio’s estate. She has an entire mansion to roam and my sister to dote on her. She’s better off than we are right now.” He presses a tender kiss to my hair, his breath warm against my temple. “But I think our luck might finally be turning.”

A tremor courses through me that isn’t sadness this time, but relief mingled with the last flickers of heartbreak. “Promise?” I whisper, my voice small.

Luciano shifts minutely, wincing as he nestles closer. The arm around my waist tightens just slightly. “Yeah,” he says, voice steady. “I promise.”

My mind churns with the uncertainties: Will the baby make it? Will he be able to look at me without seeing my father? Will we be able to put aside all the hurt we caused each other to make this work? But then I feel the warmth of his body, the gentle press of his lips against my shoulder, and the endless swirl of what-ifs recedes.

Eventually, the morning light begins to shift toward afternoon gold. The nurse returns, letting us know it’s time for my next round of tests. I feel Luciano tense behind me, reluctant to leave, but he eases away carefully and helps me sit upright. My back aches, and my head swims with fatigue, but his presence keeps me steady.

“Need help?” He asks, brow furrowed with concern. When I nod, he steps around the bed, offering his arm. He’s unsteady himself, wincing as he braces his side, but he stands firm, letting me lean on him as I rise. Together, we shuffle toward the wheelchair the nurse provided. The strain on our bodies is obvious—me from stress, him from the bullet wound. We move like two battered souls learning to walk again.

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