The Villain’s Beloved by Bella J.

2

The door clicked closedbehind me, and I watched as Saint strolled toward his desk, the Italian fabric of his suit swooshing with every step. It was an important lesson I learned early on from my mentor. The man who saved me. Never take your eyes off a potential threat, no matter who it might be. It was within that split second of letting your guard down that a friend could turn into a foe.

He leaned back against the desk, gaze pinned on me. Two predators confined into one tiny space salivating for a fight.

I crossed my arms. “This unscheduled stop of yours wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And neither was the girl.”

“She was a complication I didn’t anticipate.”

“Wasn’t she?”

He studied me, eyes dark with suspicion while the silence pulsed with tension that could snap at any second.

Saint placed his hands on the edge of the desk, finger tapping on the wood. “I know who she is.”

“I have no doubt that you do.”

“Why her?”

“It’s personal.”

“I’m sure it is. Still, I can’t help but wonder how this woman managed to become an unanticipated complication to a man like yourself.” He leveled me with a pointed stare. “A man like the Musician.”

And there it was. The threat. The split-second a friend could become foe.

I placed my hands in my pants pockets as I widened my stance, not backing down an inch. “This is killing you, isn’t it? Not knowing.”

He smirked. “I’m not going to lie. It does…irk me, not knowing how she fits into all of this. You know I don’t appreciate surprises, Elijah. I don’t like it when people hide shit from me.”

“If it was my intention to hide her from you, do you think I’d let James live so he could inform you of my guest?”

He crossed his arms, puffing his chest like a goddamn peacock. “I suppose not. But I still don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. I consider shit I don’t know as threats—which is why I made it my business to know everything about everyone who has ties to my family and me.”

“Bullshit,” I scoffed. “You and I both know if you considered Charlotte a threat, you wouldn’t have waited this long to come here. And honestly, was it necessary to make such a huge motherfucking entrance with that overpriced helicopter? A speedboat works just as well.”

“What can I say? I like to make an impression.”

“You like to show off.”

“That too.” His lips curled up at the corners. “What’s the point of having so much money if you can’t flaunt it to the world?”

“Good God. I thought having a family of your own would make you a little more humble, but it seems like you’re still the same arrogant bastard you’ve always been.”

“Not a chance. In fact, having a family of my own only made me more cautious. Protective. Deadlier.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t scare me, Saint. You never have.”

“Do you think I scare Charlotte?”

“After flashing a gun around? Yeah. She’s probably terrified of you—which I don’t appreciate, by the way.” I stalked closer, leveling him with a glare. “If you were anyone else, you’d be breathing out the side of your neck right now.”

Seconds ticked by like bombs going off in quick succession, the tension between us mounting to a point where it was a mere matter of moments before it exploded. His brow dipped in the center, and my top lip curled into a silent snarl. He knew I was speaking the truth that the only reason he wasn’t dead right now was because…well, I considered the man a friend.

A dear friend.

Family.

Saint smirked. “How much did it take for you not to punch me in the face when I landed?”

“A fuckton.”

“God, I love fucking with you.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

We smiled, the tension shattered as we went in for a hug, Saint slapping my shoulder before leaning back. “She’s going to kill you when she finds out we were fucking with each other.”

I pulled a hand through my hair. “I’ll just blame it on you since you started it.”

“You played along, didn’t you?”

“God, she’s going to hate me.”

We snickered, and I walked over to the cabinet, grabbing two crystal glasses, and poured us each some bourbon. I turned and handed him his drink before taking a seat on the leather couch. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”

“I had some business in Rome, finalizing a project with my father.”

“Your father? You two getting along now, after everything?”

Saint took a sip of his whiskey before placing the glass down next to him. “I wouldn’t say getting along. More like…trying to tolerate.”

I smiled. “That’s better than trying to kill each other.”

“Maybe. I don’t think our relationship will ever be what’s considered normal between father and son.”

“Well,” I raised my glass, “he might be a son of bitch to you, but to me, he’s the one who gave me a second chance in life.”

Saint rolled his eyes. “If I have to hear how thankful you are for what he did, I swear to God I will hurl on my three-thousand-dollar leather shoes.”

“Can’t help it. I owe him everything. If he didn’t,” I sucked in a breath, “if he didn’t intervene, God knows where I’d be. I’d probably be rotting in a ditch somewhere, Roland’s handprints engraved around my throat.”

He took a seat next to me, and there we were, both staring out in front of us, sitting together like, well…brothers. “At least he was a good influence in one of our lives.”

It pained me to witness how fragile his relationship was with his father. Of course, from Saint’s point of view, I understood why. But it didn’t lessen the appreciation I had for what his father had done for me. If it weren’t for him, I never would have been saved that fateful night, taken to a better place with someone who showed me more love than my own fucking mother.

Saint glanced at me from the side. “If I have to be serious for a minute, my father is not a man with a lot of regrets. But not intervening and saving you sooner is one of his biggest failures and regrets.”

“Rather late than never.” I took a large gulp of whiskey, no longer feeling the sting of alcohol. “It wasn’t always bad. Before my father died in that car crash, we were happy.”

“My father doesn’t feel affection easily, but I know he cared for your father. As cousins, they were close growing up.” Saint scoffed. “When I was little, my father would bore me with all his childhood stories of him and his cousin Edgard.”

“Edgard,” I muttered while staring at my glass with the amber liquid. “I haven’t heard someone say my father’s name in quite some time.”

“Okay,” Saint stood, “let’s not continue with this conversation since your past combined with mine is any psychologist’s fucking wet dream.”

I laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”

“So, tell me about the girl.”

“You can’t know everything, Saint.”

“Of course I can. It’s easy. Just open your mouth and tell me. Why is she here?”

I got up and straightened. “She needs protection.”

“Well,” he rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, “I vaguely remember your stay here on my yacht is because you need protection. And now here you are, offering that which you don’t currently have to a girl I can’t quite place in this equation.”

“It’s quite a conundrum, isn’t it?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Elijah.”

“I’m not.” I swirled the whiskey in my glass, contemplating how much Saint needed to know about how Charlotte fit into my current circumstances. There was no doubt that he already knew everything about her. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew her motherfucking blood type. But what he didn’t realize was my reasoning behind having her here.

“Who is she to you?” Saint pushed for more information, making his presence heavier by squaring his shoulders.

I emptied my glass and placed it on the side table. “She’s a debt.”

“What kind of debt?”

“A debt I swore I’d repay.”

“By protecting her?”

I nodded.

“From who?”

“The Bernardi family.” My blood heated just thinking about them, about how they thought they owned everything and everyone, the fucking leeches who sucked everything good out of this motherfucking world.

Saint paced a few steps, still rubbing his jaw as the wheels turned inside his thoughts. “So, am I supposed to believe that the Moore girl being here is just a coincidence or an unplanned complication—as you put it?” He settled back, his eyes meeting mine. “Or would it be safe for me to assume that you needing my yacht to lay low for a while was bullshit and that she was part of this plan all along?”

I smirked and chose silence as my answer. Saint was a smart man, like me. There was no puzzle we couldn’t solve. No problem we couldn’t fix. And that was precisely what I’d been doing until now…fixing a fucking problem and ensuring I protected that which I had claimed ownership of years ago.

Charlotte.

But like me, you didn’t get into Saint’s good graces by spitting bullshit and reciting riddles. We were straight shooters.

I stepped up to him, not even fucking blinking as I looked him in the eye. I wanted him to see how damn serious I was. I wanted him to witness my resolve as I confessed both my weakest yet strongest vulnerability. “I love her.”

Silence stretched between us—a taut rope tightening around our throats. That was what love was like for men like us. A cord that could either snap and let us plummet to our deaths or a chain that would take our last breath while our hearts exploded. Love was the one thing that could destroy us and leave us crippled. The one thing we couldn’t control.

Saint cleared his throat. “I know firsthand how love can come out of nowhere and derail everything. And I am the last man to stand here and preach, reminding you what’s at risk.”

“Then don’t.”

“But she could get hurt.”

I cocked a brow. “And your wife couldn’t?”

“It’s different with us.”

“How? Explain to me how it’s different from how your relationship started with you not giving a fuck about your wife. Me, on the other hand, I feel something for Charlotte. I want to protect her and not use her for my own gain.”

“I’d watch what you say next if I were you.” He stepped up, making himself seem taller to emphasize his challenging threat.

I matched it by moving closer, not backing down. “As you said, you are the last person to preach to me. So, here’s a friendly warning. Don’t.”

Men could be family. Brothers. Uncles. Best friends. But all those close relationships meant nothing whenever wives, girlfriends, and women got brought up. It would make us turn from civil acquaintances to savage beasts.

Saint studied me while I refused to look away. “Does she know?”

I shifted. “She knows what she needs to know.”

“That’s a shitty answer.”

“To a shitty question.”

“I’m serious, Elijah.”

“And so am I.” The room seemed to get smaller with every passing second. “My past is just that. Past. Charlotte is my present. My future. There’s no need to confuse one with the other.”

Saint inched back, rubbing his fists together, the wheels inside his head turning rapidly. “It’s not her confusion I’m worried about here.”

The back of my neck prickled with warning. “If you have something you want to say, just say it.”

“Listen, Elijah. I am not the bad guy here, and I sure as fuck didn’t come here to fight.”

“Why did you come here, Saint? Why, after you heard I had Charlotte here, did you go through all the trouble to pay us a fucking visit?” I knew my anger was misdirected, that Saint and I had the type of relationship where we would never mean each other any harm. But I was on edge, my skin feeling too tight while my skull throbbed. It was like I waited for something terrible to happen, for shit to hit the fan, and I’d end up losing her. The thought alone had rage knocking at my chest, begging to be set free and devour everyone who got between Charlotte and me.

Saint straightened his black suit jacket, the epitome of calm composure. But I saw it in his eyes, the glint of his intention to tread on broken glass. To touch a subject we chose to avoid at all cost as a way to preserve our friendship.

“Do I have to be worried here, Elijah?”

“No,” I spat out.

“Then why does it feel like I do?”

“Then I’d say married life has made you paranoid, worrying about shit you don’t have to.”

He shook his head then pointed to the door. “There’s another woman’s safety at stake here.”

Anger simmered, and I pressed a finger against my own chest. “And you think I’d do anything to jeopardize that? Do anything to put Charlotte in harm’s way?”

“If you love her as you claim, no. Not intentionally.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Saint pulled a hand through his hair, black curls falling back into place. “I didn’t come here to argue. I’m just concerned.”

“About what?” I snapped. “Me? Or the girl?”

“Both.”

I threw my hands in the air and let out a mocking laugh. “Just ask me what we both know you’re dying to ask me. Go on.” I dared him with a challenging gaze. “Ask me.”

“Fine.” He crossed his arms. “When was the last time you saw her? Huh, Elijah? When was the last time you saw Ellie?”

It was like a goddamn knife in my throat, slicing down to my goddamn chest. I stalked right up to him, stilling so close I could feel his goddamn breath on my face. “Do not fuck with me, Saint. You and I both know Ellie never existed.”