Page 8 of The Villain's Beloved (The Villain's Duet 2)

I took a sip of water, my throat suddenly dry. “This is a two-bedroom house.”

“You snooped?”

“I was just…taking a look around.” My heart slowly started to claw its way up my throat.

“Well,” he tapped his finger on the table, “the second bedroom is my son’s.”

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure whether I should say more or keep quiet. But, deep down, something told me not to mess this up. That this man sitting across from me was my last hope, and if I made the wrong move…I would have no hope at all.

My stomach tightened, and I looked down.

“Talk, boy. Say what’s on your mind.” Nothing was threatening about the way he spoke, no darkness hidden within his words.

I shifted in my seat. “The second bedroom,” I started, nervously twirling my thumbs, “it doesn’t look like a boy’s room.”

“How so?”

“It’s too neat,” I explained, my courage growing stronger. “It looks like there hasn’t been anyone in it for years.”

“Explain.” He crossed his arms, seemingly intrigued as there was no sign of hostility. If anyone knew what anger and hostility looked like, it would be me.

I rubbed my fists together in my lap. “The shutters were closed.”

“It’s nighttime. Shutters should be closed at night.”

“And there are no clothes in the closet.”

“My son keeps all his clothes in the chest of drawers.”

“There is no chest of drawers,” I countered. “But there is a bedside table.”

“And what of it?”

“It’s covered in dust.” I couldn’t be sure, but I was certain I saw a hint of a smile tug at the edges of his lips, and it gave me the confidence to go on. “And so is the pocket Bible on top of it.”

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “How does the Bible on the desk prove that I don’t have a son your age?”

I shrugged. “You don’t look like a religious man. And it’s doubtful that your son would have a Bible in his room when you don’t have one in yours.”

For the longest time, he studied me, not moving and not saying a word. The atmosphere grew heavy, and I started to regret being so candid and straightforward about “snooping” through his house while he thought I was taking an extra-long shower.

“Gianni,” he said, not taking his eyes off me. “My name is Gianni.”

I bit the inside of my mouth, my intense hunger replaced with nerves.

“You’re very observant, Elijah. It’s quite impressive.”

I had my doubts about how sincere that compliment was—if it was a compliment at all. So, I simply nodded and avoided eye contact as I stared at the bowl of spaghetti in front of me.

“Why do you have a Bible in your spare room?”

“I use it as a…reminder.”

“Of what?”

Gianni glanced at the table in front of him as if staring into open space. “My transgressions.” He looked back at me, taking a visible breath. “Now, the man coming here tonight is the reason I got you out of that house.”

I didn’t respond.

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