The Villain’s Beloved by Bella J.

12

Dinner dragged on forever.For the entire time I sat there, all I could think about was my new wife. How I desperately wanted to pick her up, carry her to our suite, and fuck her from the foyer to the goddamn porch. We should be on our honeymoon, fuck and fornicate like animals—but instead here we were at the dinner table with friends, drinking wine and pretending to be invested in the conversation while she knew my dick was hard, and I had no doubt her pussy was wet.

Saint, the bastard, he knew what went on inside my head, purposely dragging out the conversation and making dinner longer than it had to be.

Milana and I made our way back to the table, and I noticed Saint seeming more on edge than he usually was.

I helped Milana with her chair before sitting down myself. “Did we miss something?”

Charlotte cleared her throat before taking a sip of her wine.

“No,” Saint started. “I was just telling Charlotte about Rome’s largest fountain, Fontana de Trevi. You simply have to take your new wife to toss a coin in the fountain.”

“Oh, yes,” Milana exclaimed. “Tossing a coin into the fountain will assure your return to Rome. Whenever we are here in Rome, I never leave without throwing a coin in the fountain. Saint and I are going there tomorrow morning, as we’re leaving for the US the day after. You two should join us.”

“I’m not sure—”

“That would be lovely,” Charlotte interrupted before glancing in my direction. “Elijah and I would love to join.”

There was a brief moment when Saint shot my wife a knowing look—something I would have missed had I not been so observant. “Of course,” I confirmed. “I’d love to show Charlotte around more.”

“Then it’s settled.” Milana smiled, excitement beaming from her expression.

“Great.” Saint stood and fastened his suit jacket. “This has been quite the eventful day, and I still have a few business matters to attend to before I can call it a night.” He held a hand out to Milana. “Come, segreto. I’m sure the newlyweds would like some privacy.”

“Charlotte, it was so nice to meet you,” Milana said as she took Saint’s hand. “And don’t forget that coin tomorrow morning.”

Charlotte and I both stood, and I moved to slip my arm around her waist. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Saint and Milana walked in the other direction, and I turned to face Charlotte. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course.”

I touched her chin, studying her. “You seem a bit pale.”

Charlotte placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’m not feeling too well.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just need to get some sleep. Today was filled with a lot of…excitement.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” I took her hand, and we walked out of the restaurant toward the elevator. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man standing at reception, glancing our way. There was something about him that had my instincts flare up. There was a look in his eye I didn’t trust—the way his gaze drifted from me to Charlotte. Within a second, I had memorized every visible feature of that man.

Caucasian. Large frame, around six-feet-four. Light-brown hair neatly cut, and beard trimmed. We were too far away for me to see the color of his eyes, but judging by the way it didn’t stand out and grab attention, my guess was either brown or green. Maybe a mix between. Nothing about him posed any threat in that moment. There was just…something.

We reached the elevator, and as Charlotte stepped inside, I stilled next to the concierge who held the door for us, leaning close and slipping money into his pocket without anyone noticing. “The man at the reception desk. I need to know who he is.”

The concierge nodded, and I stepped inside as he pressed the number to our floor.

The door closed, and I pulled Charlotte closer. Her body went rigid against mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her not feeling well all of a sudden.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am.” She leaned closer, but I could still feel the tension radiate off her. “I’m really just exhausted.”

“Maybe you should stay in bed tomorrow. I can cancel with Saint and Milana—”

“No,” she snapped. “Don’t cancel with them. I want to go. I’m sure a good night’s sleep will have me all better in the morning.”

The elevator chimed, and the door opened. “Why don’t you have an early night? I have a few things I have to take care of in the office.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”

About to walk off in the other direction, I grabbed her hand and pulled her back, kissing her hard. The way she kissed me back, her body relaxing into mine, reassured me that she was okay—that I could focus my attention on the man who had my instincts blazing. “I love you, Charlotte.”

“I love you, too.”

Our fingers entwined as she stepped back and turned to make her way down the hall. God, she was the most perfect woman I had ever laid eyes on. And now I had the honor of calling her my wife.

It was a risky fucking move I pulled tonight. But for her, there was no risk too high. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her—to keep her safe. The Bernardi family was a powerful one in our society. Every one of them were cruel motherfuckers and would stop at nothing to get what they want. And what they wanted was Charlotte. They knew she was the key to all of this, and if they had her, their secrets would be buried along with Gianni. But they were making a vast goddamn mistake if they thought I’d ever let them near her. She was mine, and I’d have to be dead before I’d ever allow anyone to take her from me.

* * *

Charlotte

I glancedover my shoulder at Elijah fast asleep next to me. It was early hours in the morning when he eventually came to bed. He climbed in behind me, kissed my shoulder, and whispered into my ear, “Are you awake?”

I was but pretended to be asleep. It was so damn hard to do as Saint had said—to keep quiet and not mention anything to Elijah. I wanted answers, and more than anything I wanted Elijah to tell me that he didn’t lie, that Saint had it all wrong. My heart was bleeding for the truth not to taint what I felt for Elijah.

I lay awake that night for hours thinking about what Saint had said. Was I a fool for doubting Elijah? For believing a man I hardly knew over the man I now called my husband?

The same man who kills people for a living.

The same man who kidnapped me.

I repeated the conversation with Saint over and over inside my head. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Saint described Gianni’s supposed death almost precisely the way Elijah had described the death of my father. What did Saint have to gain by lying to me?

What does Elijah have to gain by lying to you?

There were too many questions, too many variables, and the more I tried to fit the pieces together, the less anything made sense. There had to be a way for me to figure out what the hell was going on.

I gently eased off the bed, trying my best not to wake up Elijah. He stirred, and I stilled, waiting for him to turn on his side.

My feet hit the plush carpet, and I barely breathed as I grabbed my nightgown and sneaked out of the room. The halls were extra cold. Maybe it was just my racing heart and frozen nerves, my desperation for none of what Saint had said to be true.

Entering the lavish dining room, I spotted Elijah’s laptop on the six-seater oak table. I glanced down the hall, wondering if I had time to do some research of my own while I waited for Saint to tell me what the hell was going on.

Of course, it was password-protected, and I sighed as I leaned back in the chair staring at the screen. I thought of a few possibilities of what it could be.

Ellie.

The Musician.

Password, one, two, three, four, five.

All predictable and highly unlikely. But then I thought about the music box, the one Elijah bought Ellie, but never got the chance to give it to her. And then it occurred to me…

The music box.

Edelweiss.

The song Elijah said he heard me play for the first time.

Hastily, I typed in the word, and the browser opened. Inching to the edge of my seat, I typed in the name Gianni Guerra, my pulse racing at a thousand miles an hour. Every two seconds I would look at the arched entrance of the dining room, expecting Elijah to walk around the corner at any moment. This was why I never did shit I wasn’t supposed to do—except marrying my kidnapper on a whim. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, I didn’t do stupid shit because it made me feel like I was going to have a heart attack at any moment and go straight to hell.

The search came up, and there was only one article toward the end of the page that mentioned Gianni Guerra's name.

SON OF NOTORIOUS MAFIA BOSS SPOTTED AT FUNERAL

Julio Bernardi was spotted making an appearance at suspected Mafia hitman Gianni Guerra’s funeral last Saturday.

Jesus.Saint was right. Gianni Guerra was dead, and the article was dated three years ago. Ice erupted through every vein, my heart hammering against my chest and spine at the same time. It was like someone sliced me wide open, and I was bleeding out, unable to stop it from happening.

What else was Elijah lying about? And most importantly, why?

I typed in the name Ellie Mariano and clicked enter just as I heard footsteps coming down the hall. My heart leaped up my throat, and I slammed the laptop shut before shooting upright and darting to the front of the table.

Elijah strolled in. “What are you doing in here?”

I could feel every drop of blood drain from my body, yet my cheeks burned and sweat trickled down my back. “I…um,” I lifted myself onto the table, “I was waiting for you.”

“You were?”

Christ. What the fuck do I do now?

You improvise, Charlotte. You survive.

Pushing back the nerves that had my skin ice-cold, yet palms clammy, I slid the skirt of my nightgown up my legs and over my thighs. “I’m feeling guilty about last night, not being able to spend our wedding night doing what we do best.”

Elijah’s irises darkened, almost as black as the sweatpants he wore which hung low around his waist showcasing the prominent V which I was sure had magical fucking powers, making my fingertips itch to trace along the sensual clefts. His roped muscles were physical proof of how strong he was, and the way he leveled me with his dark gaze proved just how much power he wielded over me. Everything about him was alluring, intoxicating, and utterly hypnotic. I could feel it in my bones how this potent attraction crackled between us. It was undeniable, and too strong to fight.

He stalked toward me already wearing the mask of a predator, his expression wicked and eyes hungry. My body shivered as he placed his palms on my knees, abruptly jerking my legs open.

I gasped, and he moved in between my thighs, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me to the edge of the table. My sex started to throb the moment he rubbed his hard length against my panties.

With a gentle finger, he touched my chin, staring down hungrily at my mouth. “I’m starting to think I created an insatiable little wench.”

I placed my palms on his naked chest, his skin warm to the touch. “I think you might be right.”

“Well,” he slipped his hand between us and pulled out his cock, “I can promise you, you’ll never hear me fucking complain.”

This might have started as a way to cover up what I was really doing here, but my body was reacting to his as if I didn’t doubt him at all. As if I hadn’t just caught him in a lie about Gianni Guerra.

Elijah had a hold on me, completely enthralled me in a way that left me incapable of fighting the sensual allure that oozed from his pores. I couldn’t ignore the glimmer of dark promises in his eyes as he studied me.

So, I let him fuck me right there on the table as if nothing was wrong. I allowed him to move inside me with hard, fast, relentless thrusts. Kissing my neck, nipping at the skin of my shoulder before sucking my nipple into his mouth, Elijah played my body like a goddamn instrument. Possessed and utterly consumed, I forgot about the lies, the doubt, the questions. I forgot about the fucking world, not caring about anything but how he made me feel.

Elijah was my cocaine. My drug. Being fucked by him had me in a haze of pleasure and rapture—my skin electrified and mind numb. The racing thoughts desperately searching for reasons Elijah lied were quieted by our moans and the sound of him penetrating my wet cunt over and over again. God, it was a filthy ballad of lust—proof that primal instincts were far more potent than reason and common sense.

I leaned back on the oak table, surrendering to the euphoria as his fingers dug into the skin of my waist, pushing and pulling my body to match his thrusts. I was high on him, on the scent of sex, and the anticipation of an orgasm that would tear me in fucking half. And the moment my climax stirred inside my belly, I closed my eyes and relaxed every muscle. Rather than chase the pleasure, I allowed it to burn and build, my blood simmering as my body climbed slowly, leisurely, reaching the plateau. And then finally, it exploded, and I shattered into a million pieces, my sex pulsing as my orgasm ripped through me.

He continued to fuck me, impaling me until he too found his release. But this time he didn’t come inside me. Instead, I felt the warm squirts of his cum on my cunt and thighs. I glanced down to watch him jerk his cock in his palm, milking it for the last drop of jizz.

“Jesus Christ,” Elijah said as he looked down where his cum stained my skin and dragged a finger through it. “I have never seen anything as hot as my cum covering your cunt.”

I moaned when he inserted that same finger inside me, my sex sensitive and still throbbing.

“You are truly mine, in every sense of the word. And there is no better sight than seeing you like this, my sweet cellist. Utterly spent and thoroughly fucked.”

“I am,” I whispered, the lies slowly starting to penetrate the haze. “I am truly…fucked.”