Page 30 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

“I don’t…I have what some would consider a bad case of stage fright.” I wiped a curl from my face. “I can’t play in front of people. It’s like every nerve in my body freezes when people watch me.”

She smiled warmly. “Good thing we weren’t watching, then. We only listened.”

“Still feels weird, though. I can’t explain it.”

“Does it feel weird when Elijah watches you?”

Oh, that’s open to more than one interpretation.

“Not as much, no,” I answered simply.

“I can see you’re not too keen to discuss your relationship with Elijah.” She smiled, and my cheeks burned. “Believe me,” she glanced at Saint, who seemed deep in conversation with Elijah, “I know everything about anunorthodoxrelationship. One that wasn’t supposed to happen…under normal circumstances.” She took a sip of her wine and placed the glass down. “But you and I both know there is nothing normal about these two men.”

I snickered, feeling quite at ease with her. There was a softness to her, a kindness that lingered all around her—the exact opposite of her husband. Kind of like Elijah and me.

She wiped her mouth and put the napkin on the table. “I need to go to the ladies' room.”

Elijah stood. “I was going in that direction myself.” And nodded at me as a way of acknowledgment before falling in step with Mila, the two of them chatting and smiling.

“How are you feeling?”

I glanced up at Saint, and he shot me a half-smile. “It’s been quite the eventful day.”

“It was.” I grinned. “I’m feeling good. Still a bit dizzy with everything happening so fast.”

Saint straightened and placed his elbows on the table, leaning to the front. “I’ve known Elijah for years, and I have never seen him like this. How he’s with you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” I placed my hands in my lap, feeling a slight tremble under his intense gaze.

“He finally seems happy. And Elijah is never fucking happy.” He raised a brow. “So, I’d say it’s a pretty damn good thing.”

“Elijah is…” I tried searching for the right word, “intense.”

“That is an understatement if I ever heard one.” He took a sip of his bourbon and leisurely swirled the liquid in the glass, the ice clinking against the crystal. It was easy to see that this man was pure power, the way his presence dominated a simple dinner between friends. Even I found myself nervously rubbing my palms together. But I was determined not to show it.

“I can see you and Elijah have a special friendship.”

Saint nodded. “We do. One can say our friendship is built on mutual respect. I admire Elijah, a lot. He didn’t have an easy life. I suppose he’s told you about his childhood.”

“He told me,” I cleared my throat, “about his mom and Roland, yes. And my grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes. How my grandfather saved him, took him in.”

Saint frowned. “Your grandfather is Gianni Guerra?”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward. “Gianni Guerra didn’t have any kids.”

“Oh,” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, “according to Elijah, he did. Some woman he fell in love with, but he left her without knowing she was pregnant.”

Saint stared at me, his eyes filled with confusion. Surely, he would have known this story if they were such good friends?

“Apparently, he was trying to protect her from, you know, getting caught up in the world he found himself in.”

Saint tapped his finger on the table, a pensive expression on his face. “Well, that’s really interesting. I didn’t know that.” He tapped his finger some more. “Gianni Guerra was a hitman for the mafia.” He said it as if it was just another normal conversation between two normal individuals eating a regular dinner. “His reputation paints him as one of the Cosa Nostra’s best contractors. I swear to God, I think the entire goddamn mafia attended his funeral.”

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