The Villain Duet by Bella J.

Chapter 28

Charlotte

The sound of his rhythmic breathing calmed me. The early sunrise peeked through the round windows, casting shimmering rays across the room. It was going to be a beautiful sunny day in Italy today.

Italy.

God. I had never gotten the opportunity to travel, and here I was off the coast of Italy on a yacht, yet unable to explore and experience one of the most romantic cities in the world.

I hate Murphy.

My thoughts drifted to my grandfather and what Elijah had told me about him. Just like Elijah, Gianni Guerra was a hitman for the mafia. A killer. A contractor. A soldier for this Bernardi family Elijah was so hellbent on protecting me from. I didn’t know these people. I didn’t know my grandfather. I didn’t even know Elijah until he stormed in and placed himself right in the center of my life. A man who was raised by my grandfather, trained by him to be a killer. And judging by the number of music notes inked on Elijah’s skin, I’d say he did a fucking brilliant job.

I slipped my arm from underneath the pillow, and I felt that all too familiar stiffness in my hand. It ached, my fingers burning as I moved them, trying to warm them up and get some blood flowing. It was probably too much to ask to have a sunshine day and a pain-free one as well.

Elijah tightened his hold around my waist, pulling me closer. His cock stirred and hardened against my ass, his palm cupping my breast.

I smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Mariano.”

“Oh, it’s a good morning indeed.” He traced his lips against my naked shoulder, peppering kisses along my skin. “There is no better feeling in the world than waking up and finding you here next to me. Naked and ready for me.”

He squeezed my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers, stirring to life a new flame inside my core. But as much as my body craved to be used by him once again, my mind wandered to the streets of Italy, to Gianni currently behind bars in prison somewhere.

“I want to meet him.”

He stilled, his hand paused on my breast.

“I want to meet my grandfather, Elijah.” I turned on my back so I could look at him. “Please.”

Those lustrous amber eyes I found myself lost in over and over again turned dark, the sexual tension snapping in half, leaving his body cold and his expression ice.

“I told you, it’s not safe.” The sheets swooshed as he abruptly got out of bed, and I sat up on my elbows, watching him pull on a pair of pants.

“I know. But isn’t there a way for us to make it safe? I don’t know, change my name, color my hair, something.” Despondent and frustrated, I lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. “He’s the only family I have left, and besides wanting to meet him, I’d love to…” My voice trailed off.

“Love to what?” Elijah stilled and studied me. “Love to what, Charlotte?”

I sat back up, clutching the silk sheet in front of my chest. “I’ve never been anywhere my entire life, and now I’m here in Italy, yet…I’m not.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” I brushed the curls from my face, “I want to go and see Italy instead of being stuck on this damn yacht. I want to join Saint and his wife for dinner, and at least pretend for just a little while that everything is normal.”

“We are stuck on this yacht for your protection. This is not a fucking trip around the world.” He stomped to my side of the bed, dark eyes glowering down at me. “I didn’t bring you here so you can explore Italy and sight-see.”

“I know that—”

“If you knew that, why are you saying this to me now? I thought you understood.”

I grabbed the sheet and shot to my feet. “You know what…no, I don’t understand. Everything you’ve told me has been so damn vague, it’s impossible for me to piece it all together.”

“What?” He scowled.

“I’m serious. Honestly, I don’t care whether you’re vague on purpose or not. I don’t care if there are things you’re not telling me. I just want to meet my grandfather and not be stuck on this yacht when Rome is right there.” I pointed out the window on my left, the waves rippling across the ocean outside.

Elijah roughed a hand through his disheveled hair, rubbing the back of his neck before pointing in the other direction. “It’s that side, actually.”

“What is?”

He lifted a brow. “Rome. It’s that way.”

“God,” I huffed. “I don’t care, Elijah. I just can’t believe that life would be so hellbent on fucking me in the ass by bringing me halfway across the world and not have me see at least some parts of Italy.”

His expression softened, yet his gaze remained pinned on mine—a moment of tenderness and affection flashing in his eyes. His palms were warm as he cupped my cheeks, stepping closer. “Firstly, if anyone is fucking you in the ass…it’s me.”

“Stop.” I couldn’t help but smile and tried to look away when he forced me to meet his gaze.

“Secondly,” he licked his lips followed by a tick in his strong jaw, “what kind of man would I be if I didn’t at least show half of this romantic city to the woman I love?”

The woman I love. Four words that had the power to melt any defiance I might have had.

I leaned into him, placing my hands on his chest—his skin warm with the subtle brush of chest hair against my palms. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Thirdly—”

“Oh, no.” My excitement wavered as I let my head down.

“Thirdly,” he emphasized before placing his hand beneath my chin, lifting my face so I could look him in the eye, “I can’t promise that you’ll be able to see your grandfather.”

“Elijah—”

“Besides the fact that it’s not safe, Gianni is under state protection until the trial has run its course. Most probably even after that. Maybe forever.”

“He’s all I have left.”

“I know.” He touched my bottom lip with his thumb. “Which is why I’ll do everything I can to make it happen. But I can’t make any promises.”

To say that he’d try was better than to have him give me a straight-up no. The hope of meeting the only living relative I had left was better than having no hope at all.

Lifting myself on my toes, I kissed his lips softly before licking his taste off my own. “Thank you.”

His dark brows slanted inward. “Oh, you’ll be thanking me…tonight. Naked.”

“You know, for a man who kills people for a living, you are such a guy.”

“A man has his needs.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” he stepped back, “apparently, I have travel arrangements to make, and a huge fucking protection detail to plan.”

I was impossibly giddy with excitement—minus the daunting knowledge of some mafia family who wanted to get their hands on me and do God-knows-what to me.

A stabbing pain jolted up my fingers, into my right hand, and I tried to shake it out, fisting my fingers.

Elijah stilled as he reached the door, glancing back at me with a pained expression. “If I were a man who believed in miracles, in God…I’d pray for Him to rid you of that cross you have to bear.”

“I’m fine, Elijah. It’s—” But he was out the door before I could say anything more. It had been so long since there was someone in my life who cared so much about me that my pain became his. It was bittersweet having someone care so deeply for me.

I took my time showering, getting dressed, blow-drying my hair, and adding a touch of make-up. Even though the sun was shining, autumn meant an early winter chill would be in the air, so I opted for black denim jeans and an oversized white turtleneck. It took a moment’s glance in the mirror to convince me that I would never be able to play the part of an affluent, high society, glamor girl. A rich man’s wife. A mafia wife.

My stomach turned. Every now and then it hit me that my life had become a live action movie. A goddamn Sopranos episode with mafia bosses and assassins, my grandfather being a part of that world. The man I shared a bed with too.

There was no use denying it or trying to fight what I felt for Elijah. Whatever the future held for me, for us…all I knew was I wanted him to be a part of it. No matter what the cost, or the sacrifice.

The cello case caught my eye, and there was this overwhelming urge inside me to play. To lose myself in the music. To find silence just for a short while.

Every time I touched the neck of a cello, the feel of the smooth finish would remind me of how deep my passion for music ran—how firmly it was engraved into my soul. The bow, the strings, the earthy scent of resin—this majestic instrument and its power to create flawless vibrations and timeless tenors were the oxygen in my blood. It was the one constant in my life.

I closed my eyes as the cello’s neck rested against my heart, hyperaware of the weight of the bow in my palm. With my feet flat on the ground, posture firm and breathing steady, I waited for the music to pour out of me and resonate on the instrument. Only, it didn’t come. Not while my fingers ached and my palms burned. A two-and-a-half-pound bow suddenly weighed a ton, and I was barely able to keep it steady.

God, no. I wanted to play. I needed to play. My soul yearned for the melody while my mind craved the silence. But my body had declared war against my needs—its weapon, rheumatoid arthritis.

Frustration pulsed in the back of my head while I desperately tried to bite back the tears. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t play because of my hands, and it wouldn’t be my last. Yet every goddamn time it fucked with my head—slicing a part of my soul from my bones. As if it wasn’t enough not being able to play in front of people, I had to have this crutch forced on me as well.

Try again.I could hear her say it. My mom, standing behind me, urging me to try again after I had failed to find that perfect vibrato for over two hours.

Never give up.

If you want it bad enough, it will happen.

Every dream has its sacrifices. You either make those sacrifices and live with the consequences, or live without the dream.

“With it,” I whispered. “Not without.”

I lifted my shoulder, inhaling deeply, steadying the bow. I tried. God knows, I tried. But the pain was too debilitating and far stronger than my love for music. Today, anyway.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I lowered my arms, and as I opened my eyes I stared right at him. Elijah. Standing by the door, watching me, his expression a reflection of my pain.

There was no way I could have hidden what I felt at that moment. Frustration. Disappointment. A longing to do what I loved without limitations. Even knowing how it affected Elijah couldn’t stop all the feelings from sweeping over me.

I cried, dropping the bow to the ground. Elijah was at my feet, replacing the cello with his comforting presence, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me down to the floor with him, cradling me against his chest.

My solace. My peace. My protector.

A gentle stroke of his hand brushed at a curl that clung to my wet cheek. “I’d fight the devil for you, Charlotte. And I’d go on my knees before God…for you.”

The power that resonated from his words slammed against the deepest part of my soul. To hear a man like him who thrived on power, putting his faith in no one but himself, say that he’d surrender for me was such a defining moment, my heart could burst. This was him revealing that he loved me without telling me. Erasing those three words and replacing them with a piece of his soul. Along with the affection I already had for this man came a sense of appreciation, thankfulness…relief that I no longer had to bear this cross alone.

I nestled my face into his chest. “Where have you been all my life?”

“I’ve always been there.” His fingers weaved through my hair. “You just never saw me.”