Page 1 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

Prologue

There was alwaysthat split second of silence between hearing something and having your mind make sense of it. A fraction of time when there was nothing. No sound. No thought. No reaction.

I’d experienced a few of these moments in my life. Moments when I no longer felt my heart beat or my lungs expand. Moments when I wasn’t alive, I merely existed, lingering in space within the absence of gravity. Yet, I was here, sitting in this chair, staring at the man across from me whose glasses would slip down his nose every five seconds, prompting him to push them back in place. The wall behind him proudly displayed the degrees he’d accumulated over the years, and judging by the wrinkles around his eyes, the grooves on his forehead, gray hair, and sharp widow’s peak, he was at least sixty.

His finger tapped on the file in front of him, the sound oddly in tune with my pulse throbbing in the side of my neck. So many things had happened during the last few weeks, my life forever changed because of one man who came like a thief in the night, snatching me from my world and forcing me into his. A man who, despite my inhibitions and instincts, had me falling into his arms as if it were the only place I belonged. A man who claimed to have been seduced by my music only to have me seduced by the magnetism of a wicked darkness that dripped off him like liquid temptation.

I should have known better. I should have guarded my heart more fiercely, fought harder. But I didn’t, and there were so many reasons I gave in so easily. Maybe because deep down I was intrigued by a man who felt so passionately about my music—music I was too afraid for the world to hear. Perhaps the knowledge of me being the object of his obsession fucked with my head and made me feel flattered in some twisted, fucked-up way. Or maybe I was just tired of being alone, desperate to have someone else to lean on other than myself. Perhaps that was what I thought Elijah could offer me. After all, who better to provide security and protection than a hitman who owned as much power as he exuded with every breath?

But now, as my mind slowly digested what I had just heard, word by word filtering through that one single breath of silence, I realized with a sinking feeling in my gut that I had made an ill-informed decision. I acted on my most vulnerable instincts, and now I stood on the brink of ruin with no hope of being saved.

Not by him.

Not by anyone.

Elijah lied. So many fucking lies and half-truths, I didn’t know where the truth ended and the lies begun. But it was too late now. I flung myself into this black hole, and there was nothing I could do to escape the darkness.

I smoothed my palm across my belly, the two-thousand-dollar silk shirt unable to hide the poor, struggling New York cellist I once was.

The man across from me cleared his throat. “I know this must be a huge shock. But I can assure you there is light at the end of this tunnel.”

“No.” I looked up and straight at him, swallowing hard as a tear slipped down my cheek, my insides being ripped apart with every breath. “There is no light in any of this.”

His thin lips pressed together, his gray mustache curving at the edges. He knew as well as I did that there was no end to this dark tunnel, and therefore no hope of any light.

I got up and straightened my skirt. “Thank you for your time.”

He pushed his glasses back over the bridge of his nose and stood. “Of course. If there is anything I can help with, you have my number.”

“I appreciate that. Have a good day.”

He shot me a sympathetic smile. “Good day…Mrs. Mariano.”

1

A few weeks earlier

Italy’s wintercold had nothing against the chill that lingered in my spine. Elijah had been behind that closed door for almost an hour with the man who called himself Saint. He sure as hell didn’t look like any saint to me. The man had malice and mystery plastered all over him—a lethal combination, in my opinion. Something Elijah had as well, but for some reason, I was drawn to his darkness, lacking the aversion I had toward the stranger who now occupied my thoughts as well.

I hadn’t moved since they closed that damn door, my stomach twisted in knots as I rubbed my palms up and down my arms.

Elijah told me not to move. And Saint had instructed James not to let me out of his sight. I glanced up at the bodyguard who stood by the door, arms crossed and chest buff. The sheer size of this man was enough to make a person want to shrink into oneself. I was convinced he had intimidation bottled and used it as aftershave every goddamn morning, readying himself to fuck the world in the ass with a simple glare. But right now, I was more afraid of what was being said behind closed doors than the man standing in front of me like a giant brick wall.

I placed a hand on my belly, remembering what Elijah had said. “…maybe my seed has already started to bloom inside you.”

God. I still couldn’t believe how damn stupid I was. How irresponsible. What kind of person would I be if I brought a new life into this dark world I found myself in? What kind of mother would I be to a child when I was incapable of making good decisions for myself? Everything was twisted, turned upside down ever since Elijah took me.

Kidnapped.

Abducted.

Seduced.

Three words I never thought I’d put together in one sentence. One thought. Yet here I was, abducted, seduced, and maybe even in love if the flutter of nervous energy and the flicker of excitement inside my stomach was anything to go by.

God, this was all so fucked up. But I was a grown woman who knew better than to fight the inevitable—and falling deeply and completely in love with Elijah Mariano was undoubtedly unavoidable, if I weren’t already.

James cleared his throat, and I glanced in his direction. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me an answer if I ask you how Elijah and Saint know each other?”

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