The Villain’s Beloved by Bella J.

11

Dinner would have beengreat if Elijah hadn’t been leering at me with those amber eyes that glimmered with promises of pleasure. I could practically see the images inside his mind. Him. Me. Us. Fucking and fornicating as if there were no tomorrow. He made sure I stayed hyperaware of his demand, that my body would be ready for him when we got to our hotel room.

I had to make a conscious effort to pretend like I was immersed in the conversation, Milana telling me all about Rome and how she loved it whenever Saint brought her here.

I heard all about their beautiful little daughter and tried to bypass any questions she had about Elijah and our very unconventional relationship.

Milana held her glass of wine, her blue eyes nothing short of brilliant beneath the elegant lights of the restaurant. “You are a very talented cello player.”

My cheeks burned. “I can’t believe you heard me play. That was a real sly move by Elijah.”

“How so?”

“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 an unorthodox relationship. 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.”

I frowned. “His funeral?”

“Judging by the attendance alone, one would have thought he was mafia royalty.”

I shifted to the edge of my chair. “Gianni Guerra is dead?”

“Yeah. He died about four or five years ago, I think. It’s actually quite sad that a legend like him had to die the way he did. He got stabbed during a drunken brawl at one of the Bernardis famous whore parties.”

Blood turned to ice in my veins, my heart nothing but a solid rock that weighed a ton inside my chest. “Stabbed,” I whispered, “during a drunken brawl at a… a whorehouse?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue as I repeated the words Saint had just said—words Elijah had used when he told me my father was dead.

“Yes,” Saint confirmed, his eyes studying me before shifting in his seat. “I do apologize. That was quite tactless of me, talking about your grandfather’s death in that manner.”

“Elijah told me Gianni was in prison somewhere in Northern Italy.”

Saint straightened, his eyes narrowed. “Prison? No. Gianni is dead.”

My thoughts raced in a thousand different directions, trying to sort through the memories and stories Elijah had told me. My skin was cold, my spine frozen solid while I was sure my stomach would drop to my feet at any moment. “Why…” I sucked in a breath, “why would Elijah tell me Gianni is in prison when in fact…he’s dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, are you sure? Is there a chance that you might be confused, maybe thinking of someone else?”

“No. I’m absolutely one-hundred-percent sure. Gianni Guerra is dead. I know that because I was at his funeral, standing right there beside Elijah.”

“Oh, my God.” I couldn’t form one coherent thought, my mind racing through every possible reason Elijah didn’t tell me the truth—that was, if Saint was telling the truth.

“Charlotte.” Saint shot me a pointed glare. “Has Elijah ever mentioned someone by the name Ellie?”

“Ellie? Yes, um…” I placed a palm on my forehead, “Ellie is his sister. She went missing when he was a child.”

“Jesus Christ.” He tossed his napkin on the table, his cutlery clanking against the plate. “I fucking knew it. Goddammit!”

“What?” My pulse raced impossibly fast, my palm sweating as my skull prickled with warning. “What is going on?”

Mila’s laugh broke through the tension, both Saint and I looking at her and Elijah making their way back to the table.

“Charlotte, listen to me.” He leaned closer, his expression hard and painted every shade of seriousness. “Do not say anything to Elijah about the conversation we just had. You hear me?”

“What is going on right now?”

“I’m serious, Charlotte. Do not say a word to him.” He leaned back, shooting a glimpse in Mila and Elijah’s direction as he straightened the lapels of his suit. “I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow, but until then. Do not say. A goddamn word.”