The Villain’s Beloved by Bella J.

13

The water was too hot,but I didn’t care. I didn’t feel the burn, how it scorched my skin. All I felt was this numbing ache inside my chest, like a disease that stemmed from Elijah’s lies. No matter how hard I tried to think of possible reasons he’d lie to me, none of them made it feel any better. It made me wonder what else he was lying about, causing me to dissect every word he had ever said. But everything just came down to this one monumental thing.

I loved him.

I loved him so much I married him on a whim, an impulse that convinced me that nothing would ever change the way I felt about him, which meant I might as well take the plunge and marry him, which I did. And now here I was, not even twenty-four hours later trying to keep my heart from bleeding out. My soul was cracked, my insides torn from the sharp edges of his lies. I could barely stand up straight, every muscle weakened by the pain that throbbed inside my chest.

The only thing that got me out of the shower, dressed, and in the car next to Elijah was the thought of meeting Saint and Milana—hopefully getting answers as to what the hell was going on. Deep down I prayed that there would be a logical explanation as to why Elijah lied to me. Something that would justify his deception. I just wanted the pain to go away, to be able to look at him and not feel betrayed.

During the drive to the Trevi Fountain I glanced out the window, the streets of Rome going past us in one big blur. There was nothing beautiful about any of it today. Everything was colorless and glum. The magic was gone, the splendor faded to gray. It was impossible for me to see beauty in anything while my heart ached with doubt. How could one appreciate the brilliance of Rome when everything you felt inside was black and broken?

It was only when I stood in front of the Trevi Fountain that I was able to push back the pain and heartache for a moment, to experience the fountain’s magnificence. Just like the Colosseum, its architecture was unique and spectacular. The sound of the water was calming, and I stood in front of the fountain entranced by it all. The sculptures, the horses, every inch of it held a piece of history—most of it never to be known by man, solidified within the stone. I could only imagine the tales and secrets it held…like my husband.

Elijah wrapped his arms around me and pulled my back against his chest, his warmth enveloping me. I closed my eyes, loving and hating it all at once. My heart screamed with torment, breaking more and more with each passing second. The love I had for Elijah was crushing me from the inside, and I could hardly take a breath.

“Oceanus,” Elijah said against my ear, “he stands in the center of it all. His chariot being pulled by two sea horses, one wild and one docile, representing the opposing spirits of the ocean.”

“It’s beautiful.”

We glanced up toward the top of the fountain, four statues standing tall and majestic. “They symbolize the effect of rain on the Earth. Abundance of Fruits. Fertility of Crops. Products of Autumn. Joy of Prairie and Gardens.” The way Elijah spoke, it was as if he understood the history, lived it, felt it inside him. His voice transported me, and I was lost within the enchantment of it all. I didn’t want it to end because while I was here, caught up in the moment with him, I was able to focus on the love between us rather than on my own pain.

“Here.” He opened his palm, revealing three coins.

“Why three?”

He let go of my waist and stepped in next to me, sweeping his gaze across the crowds, consisting primarily of young couples throwing coins into the fountain. “It’s believed that if you throw in one coin, you will return to Rome.” He handed me one coin. “Throw in two coins, and you will fall in love with an Italian.” He grinned then held out the second coin. “Throw in a third coin, and you will marry the person you fell in love with.” He placed the third coin in my palm.

God, the torment was unbearable. I loved this man with all my heart, and whenever he showed me this side of him, romance seeping through his words, it reminded me how utterly ruined I was in love, and how deeply I had fallen for him.

“Now, you need to turn around and toss the coins over your left shoulder with your right hand.”

“Okay.” I smiled, and as I turned, Milana and Saint came walking toward us, and I instinctively held my breath when Saint met my gaze, a knowing look passing between us.

“Wait for me.” Milana held up her coin before stepping in next to me.

“You only have one?”

She glanced at Saint. “I only need one.”

It was insane how in love these two were. They were both besotted, and quite frankly, if I had met them a few months back, I’d have been nauseated by it.

I closed my eyes and rubbed the coin between my fingertips. A silent prayer filled my thoughts as I held my breath, my heart beating impossibly fast.

Please, God, help me survive this man.

Milana and I tossed our coins at the same time. The noise of the fountain drowned out the sound of our coins that plunked into the water. I wanted to come back here to Rome. I wanted to visit the Colosseum and be reminded of how Elijah and I got married there. How we consummated our marriage against its stone walls. My heart yearned to have those memories without dark lies to taint it.

I closed my hand around the other two coins, clenching my jaw as I bit back the tears.

Elijah cocked a brow, the winter breeze ruffling through his black hair. “You have two more coins.”

“No.” I held it out to him. “I only need to throw one.”

Our gazes locked, his eyes showing me the soul of a man who loved deeply—a sullen contradiction to the lies he had told.

Elijah reached out, wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck, and pulled me closer, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. It took every ounce of strength I had not to cry. Tears stung my eyes as the lies poisoned my soul. The last time I was this broken was the day my mom died. It was the first time I lost someone so important to me—and today, I was afraid I’d lose another.

“Elijah,” Mila interrupted. “Saint tells me that no one knows the history of the Trevi Fountain better than you do.” She placed a hand on his elbow. “Since my husband and I clearly don’t share the same love for ancient architecture, I was hoping you could tell me a bit more.”

To me, it was obvious what she was doing—especially when she glanced back at Saint as if she acknowledged that she was doing what he expected. Distracting my husband to give Saint and me some privacy so I could fall deeper into the despair of deception.

Saint stepped in front of me, the collar of his black winter coat turned up to ward off the cold. “How are you holding up?”

“I’d say that’s a shitty question.”

He glanced up at the gray sky, avoiding eye contact.

“You dropped a bomb on me last night, Saint. And then you expected me to keep quiet.”

“I couldn’t risk Elijah knowing.”

“Knowing what?”

Saint shifted and glanced around us. “First, I need to know exactly what Elijah told you.”

“About what?”

“About everything. Every fucking little thing, I need to know.”

I slipped my hands into the pockets of my beige trench coat, pulling my shoulders upward. “I don’t even know you. How do I know this isn’t all bullshit?”

“Do you know him?” Saint stepped closer—a dominating force that caused me to inch back. “Do you really know Elijah?”

I scoffed. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to shout from the fucking rooftops that I knew Elijah better than anyone else. That he had shown me a side to him that no one had ever seen. But the truth was, I couldn’t. I couldn’t say without a doubt that the Elijah I knew was true. “Fine.” I conceded. “When Elijah first took me—”

“Took you?”

I shifted from one leg to the other. “Elijah and I didn’t exactly meet the old-fashioned way.”

Saint lifted a brow but said nothing and allowed me to continue.

“He said that Gianni Guerra was my grandfather.”

“Yeah.” He wiped at his nose—red from the cold—then glanced at the crowds before looking back at me. “I did some research, and it turns out that part is true. Gianni Guerra did have a daughter.”

“My mother?”

He nodded, and a sliver of relief flooded through my chest knowing at least one thing Elijah told me was true.

“What else has he told you?”

“That Gianni is in some prison, waiting to testify against the Bernardi family. And that I was in danger, because the Bernardis know if they have me, Gianni wouldn’t testify. That’s why he had to take me.”

“To protect you?”

I nodded.

“What else?”

My thoughts were frantic, trying to search through every memory, every conversation we had. “Just that he had to watch over me for three years, did everything he could to keep the Bernardi family from finding me.”

“So, he stalked you?”

“Observed was the word he used.”

Saint rubbed his temples. “Anything else?”

“I don’t know. Everything that happened the past few months is like a giant goddamn blur.” I was frazzled, trying to sort through my thoughts. “Um, there was Josh.”

“Josh?”

“Yeah, this guy back in New York. He worked for Elijah, I think, but then Elijah shot him, saying that he was a traitor.”

“When was this?” Saint didn’t seem surprised at all at the mention of Elijah killing someone.

“Um”—I scratched the side of my neck—“it was the night of the attack at Elijah’s apartment. Someone was shooting at us. I don’t know who it was, I just remember Elijah saying that they found me.”

“The Bernardis?”

Shrugging, I replied, “I guess so.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” Saint paced in front of me, staring at the ground as he seemingly tried to piece it all together. “This happened the night you flew from New York to Rome?”

I nodded. “Not like I could remember anything. Elijah drugged me. One minute I was in the back seat of the car freaking out, and the next I woke up on your yacht.”

Saint stilled. “He phoned me that night. He said Plan A had been compromised.”

“I remember him phoning someone, yes. That was you?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, his eyes hard and expression stern. “Listen, Charlotte. The Bernardi family, they’re not after you.”

“What do you mean they’re not?”

“It’s not you they want.”

“If it’s not me, then who?”

Saint pulled up his shoulder as if warding off the cold, his expression sullen. “It’s him they want. Elijah. He’s the target, not you.”

“What?” My voice was nothing but a whisper.

“Elijah knows too much about what Gianni did for the family. Julio Bernardi wants Elijah killed before his dad’s trial.” His jaw clenched. “Elijah is a loose end they’ve been trying to tie up ever since Gianni died. Hell, there’s even talk that Gianni’s death was planned to look like a drunken brawl.”

My heart sank to the soles of my feet, my stomach twisted into a thousand painful knots. I was sure the ground cracked beneath my feet, swallowing me whole. “Why would Elijah lie about that? Why would he say I’m the target when it’s him they want?

He bit his lower lip. Clearly, whatever it was, he was having a hard time putting it into words.

“Saint.”

“Elijah is…well—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Elijah is not…himself.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have all the specifics. I didn’t think this was a problem anymore since it’s been years—”

“Saint, what are you talking about?”

“I knew something was off when James informed me that Elijah had brought you to the yacht. Elijah never does anything that’s not part of the plan. And you,” his gaze cut to mine, “you weren’t part of our plan, Charlotte.”

“What plan?” Jesus, my head was spinning.

“The plan to have Elijah hide from the Bernardi family until we got it taken care of.”

“Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to pass out. Nothing is making any goddamn sense.”

Saint grabbed my arms, pinning me with a glare that screamed warning. “Listen to me. Elijah was in that car.”

“What car?”

“The car, with his dad.”

I narrowed my eyes in question. “He was with his father during the accident?”

“Yes.” Saint let me go, and my legs almost gave way beneath me. “He was small, five or six, I’m not sure. All I know is he was in that accident and barely made it out alive himself.”

“Elijah never mentioned this.”

“He wouldn’t have, because according to Elijah…he never was in that car.”

My pulse raced. “What?”

Saint licked his lips and inched closer. “Elijah doesn’t remember anything about the accident. He doesn’t remember being in the car with his dad.”

“Oh, my God. Elijah has amnesia?”

“Or something.” He pulled his hand through his hair, grabbing the ends. “I honest to God thought this was all in the past. His father, Ellie—”

“His sister?”

Saint’s pained gaze met mine, the despondent expression on his face sending chills through every bone in my body. “You know about Ellie?”

“He told me about her. How she disappeared, not knowing whether she was still alive or dead.”

“Jesus Christ,” Saint cursed before settling his sullen gaze on me. “He didn’t have a sister, Charlotte. Ellie doesn’t exist. She never has.”

“No.” I couldn’t believe it. “No. No. No.”

"Yes,” Saint insisted. “Ellie was never real.”

That was the moment I was certain the Earth had split in half, sucking me into the dark center of chaos. My head spun with thoughts that were nothing but a jumbled mess, my mind refusing to believe what Saint just said. “That’s insane. He told me about her, told me about how his abusive stepdad hurt her.”

Saint shook his head. “It’s not true.”

“It has to be. I…there.” I couldn’t form a single coherent sentence as my thoughts raced. “He has this music box that he bought her, but never had the chance to give to her. Saint, he has a sister. Why…why would he make her up?”

“His injuries together with the trauma of losing his father somehow caused Elijah to create Ellie inside his head. Like an—”

“Imaginary friend?”

“Something like that. As I said, I don’t have the details. All I know is what my father has told me in the past. That when Gianni rescued Elijah from that wretched house, his mind was…” Saint wiped his palm down his face. “His mind was broken.”

My legs grew weak, and I wanted to collapse right there and be trampled into nothing but dust. Saint grabbed my arm and helped me sit down on the nearest bench, the cold winter air slicing through the skin of my neck. “His mind is…broken?”

He sat down next to me, staring out in front of us. “It’s been more than twenty years. My father and I, we were sure the therapy helped. That Gianni managed to get through to him and somehow—”

“Fixed him?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“I can’t believe this.” I placed my palm in front of my mouth, unable to think straight. “What else has he made up?”

“We can’t be sure.”

I leaned back, my mind in a state of complete anarchy as I tried to recall every conversation Elijah and I had. One in particular stood out. “He told me that the night Gianni rescued him, he killed his mom with an overdose. Is that true?”

“No,” he answered, clipped. “The night Gianni found him, Elijah was hiding in the bedroom closet. He saw everything, how Gianni shot Roland and injected his mother to make it look like a homicide and suicide. The trauma of witnessing that gruesome scene was enough to cause some short-circuit inside his head, his mind fabricating what really took place that night.”

“Jesus,” I sighed, tears stinging my eyes as I watched Elijah and Milana in the distance. Elijah glanced my way, shooting me the most handsome fucking smile, and it knocked the wind right out of me. My heart was nothing but pieces of pain—the toxic lies and rancorous truths, it was unreal. I didn’t want to believe any of it. I wanted all of this to be nothing more than a horrible nightmare, to wake up and realize that my husband was the man I fell in love with. That the man who stole my heart so unapologetically was real, true, and not some broken version of the man I thought I knew.

“How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” I didn’t look at Saint, but I wanted him to be the liar in this story. I needed him to be the villain and not Elijah.

Saint held out a business card, and I took it from him. “Dr. Angus Hillebrand. Who is this?”

“That’s the psychologist who knows Elijah’s case. He’s expecting your call.”

Saint stood, and on cue Milana turned and strolled in our direction, her hand hooked into the crook of Elijah’s elbow as they chatted with smiles on their faces. They seemed like two people who didn’t have a care in the world.

Saint turned to face me. “You can come with us.”

I glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Come with Milana and me, and we’ll take you back to New York.”

I stood. “What about Elijah?”

“Leave him to me. I know how to deal with him.”

Tears slipped down my cheek, the cold air causing the salty liquid to sting my skin. “We can’t just leave him—”

Screeching tires sounded, both Saint and I looking in the direction of a speeding car pulling up close. The door opened, and Saint’s low voice cracked through the air as he screamed, “Mila!”

Adrenaline surged through the ice in my veins as I stood frozen, unable to move as I watched a man lean out of the car, gun in hand. It happened in slow motion, Elijah and Milana running toward us.

Saint grabbed his wife and pulled her down to the ground, Elijah still running in my direction. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. Time stood still, yet my pulse raced, and all I heard was the sound of my own heartbeat as it tried to rip through my chest.

An arm wrapped around my throat, and the eerie silence got shattered with the sound of my own screams, fear pulsating through my veins.

I grabbed at the strong arm that choked me, my nails scratching and clawing as I got dragged toward the car. “Elijah!” I cried.

“Charlotte!”

I watched as he ran toward me, and I kept fighting the man pulling me against him, thrashing and screaming. Too much was happening at once, and I struggled to focus, adrenaline throbbing inside my head.

The man tightened his hold around me, and he yelled something in Italian. I didn’t care what he was saying; all I cared about was breaking free.

I scratched harder. Clawed deeper, but he didn’t let go. Desperate to get away, I lifted my foot and kicked down, aiming for his leg, his foot, anything just to hurt him so he’d let me go.

By the way he cursed, his arm loosening just a little, I knew I got him somewhere, and I jerked out of his hold, my feet ready to run. But Elijah’s screams cut through my chest, every muscle in my body instantly frozen.

“Charlotte, stop!”

I stilled, my spine ice and the back of my neck cold. The man grabbed my arm and yanked me back, pressing the cold muzzle of his gun against my temple. I shuddered as fear clamped down on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.

Women screamed, men cursed, and children cried around us as people scattered. It was chaos, the air rancid with panic.

Elijah had stopped, holding his hands in the air, and I closed my eyes, biting my tongue as the threat loomed behind me.

“Don’t hurt her,” Elijah pleaded. “Put the gun down.”

“You get in the fucking car first.”

I suppressed a sob, tears slipping down my face.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, man. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Hurry the fuck up! Get in the car before I kill both of you right here.”

I opened my eyes and watched as Elijah kept his hands in the air, slowly walking toward the black SUV. “If you hurt her, I swear to God—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The man pressed the muzzle harder against my head, and I shut my eyes, holding my breath as a whimper rippled from my throat. “Get in the motherfucking car!”

“Okay, just let her go.” There was a tremor in Elijah’s voice—something I had never heard before. The sound of fear laced around his words, and it instilled a kind of terror inside me that I had never experienced before.

“Elijah,” I whispered, keeping my eyes closed as panic gnawed at my bones with every pounding heartbeat.

The man tightened his hold on my arm. “On second thought, I think she’ll join us.”

“No!” Elijah yelled…and then everything went black.