Page 28 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

“Now, as I was saying—if you wanted to get away from some bad people, where do you think is the safest place for you to hide? Someplace they couldn’t easily find you?”

It clicked, sliding in like a puzzle piece. “The ocean.”

“The ocean,” he reiterated. “Hence why we’re currently on my friend’s very expensive, and if you ask me, far too extravagant yacht.”

What I wouldn’t do to find answers without engaging in more conversation with him. It seemed he loved treating me like a child, talking to me with sarcasm, patronizing me. But right now, my mind was spinning in a thousand different directions, and I had to somehow figure out what the hell was going on before my thoughts would drive me mad.

“So, I’m assuming we’re hiding from someone.” My voice was soft, my head still pounding along with the racing beats of my heart. “And that this has something to do with someone shooting at you back in New York. And you shooting Josh.”

“Wow,” he smirked, “that is one loaded assumption.”

“What the hell is going on, Elijah?”

“Firstly,” he held up a finger, his shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders, “that someone wasn’t shooting at me. That someone was shooting at you.”

Ice exploded in my spine.

“Secondly, I shot and killed Josh because the man was a fucking snitch. He sold me out, and that’s how they found you.”

“Who are they?”

“The Bernardi family.”

“You say that like the name is supposed to mean something to me.”

He slipped his hands in his pants pockets and stilled on the other side of the bed, his gaze as intense as ever. “Does the name Gianni Guerra sound familiar to you?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “That’s understandable, the fact that you don’t know of him.”

“How so?”

His eyes met mine. “He’s your grandfather, from your father’s side.”

My skin went cold. “Excuse me?”

“Your grandfather.” A grin tugged at his lips as if my shock amused him. As if dropping a bomb like this on me gave him sort of fucking kick, mindfucking me. “Gianni Guerra is your grandfather.”

My legs felt weak, and I needed to sit down, but I wanted to look the devil in the eye, to not show him how he had just pulled the rug from right under me. “How do you know?”

He scratched his temple and shot me a cocky grin. “Really? You’re going to ask me how I know who your grandfather is? Your father? Charlotte,” he took a step closer, “I know what you had for dinner last Tuesday. I know what flavor cupcake you bought yourself on your birthday last year.”

I frowned.

“Red velvet,” he stated to prove his point, then twirled his fingers, “but with the meringue topping, not the cream cheese. You’re not a big fan of cream—”

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it? A sick, twisted hunt where you can play God and fuck with people’s lives.”

His expression hardened, and his jaw clenched. “I can assure you this is no fucking game.”

“Then tell me what is going on.” My skull prickled with a curiosity that had a thousand questions bombard my thoughts, but at the same time, my instincts sounded with alarm. “How do you know my grandfather,” I breathed out, a sharp pang slicing through my chest, “my father?”

There were so many nights I lay awake wondering where my father was, who my father was. My mom never spoke about him, never made any reference of him. He might as well have been a phantom, a ghost, someone who didn’t exist. I used to watch other dads with their kids—dropping them off at school, playing with them in the park, laughing and smiling. And one day after school, I asked my mom about him, and why he wasn’t with us. I never made that mistake again. The hurt, the pain, the complete heartbreak I saw in her eyes was too much for a little girl to take. She never answered me that day. She simply hugged me and said good night. But I heard her cry that night, and I hated that I was the cause of her tears.

I never asked again after that.

For the longest time, Elijah just stood there, easing his fingers along the silk sheets on the bed, looking down as if he too tried to sort through his thoughts. Maybe trying to choose his words wisely.

---