Page 37 of Beautiful Villain
I sat on the edge of the bed, robe pulled tight, my heart still thudding in my throat like it hadn’t quite gotten the message that the danger had passed.Every nerve in my body was lit, humming, waiting for the next explosion that didn’t come.
Eventually, the silence pressed in too hard.
I stood.
The pain felt proportionate.Earned.I opened the door slowly, half-expecting to be snapped at, ordered back inside like a nuisance who didn’t know her place.
But there was no one at the door.No one shouted at me to get back inside or stay away from the chaos outside my room.
A few of the men glanced my way, then deliberately looked elsewhere, like they’d all agreed not to make me feel like an intruder.Or maybe so I wouldn’t feel like this had been my fault.
Gianni stood near the front door, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, blood smeared along one knuckle—not his, I hoped.He was speaking quietly to Enzo, his posture relaxed in that way that meant he was anything but.
I cleared my throat.
“Is there… something I can do… to help?”
The words surprised me as much as they seemed to surprise him.
Gianni turned slowly, eyes landing on me with that same unreadable calm—but something shifted when he took me in.The bare feet.The robe.The fact that I was standing there.
He studied me for a moment, then shook his head once.“No.”
I nodded.Of course.Stupid question.
But then he added, quieter, “Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”
He shot a quick look at Dunn, who answered with a tight nod—the kind meant to sayI’ve got this, even if no one fully believed it.
I almost argued.I wanted him to know that I was fine, and I didn’t want to take him away from his work.But I already knew it wouldn’t change anything.When Gianni was determined, he didn’t ask.He simply decided.
He walked me back to my room—far enough from the broken door to feel safe, but close enough that the damage still felt real, like it was stuck in the walls.The night pressed against the windows, dark and heavy, as if it was waiting to see what would happen next.
I sat down.
He followed and sat at the other end of the sofa, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.He didn’t speak.He just stayed there—steady, alert, impossible to ignore.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
The silence felt fragile, like it might shatter if either of us moved too fast.
“Did anyone get hurt?”I asked finally.
There was no pretending nothing had happened.The sound of gunfire still rang in my ears—the sharp cracks, the violence of it, the certainty that this wasn’t a mistake or a false alarm.Someone had crossed a line tonight, and the house still felt bruised from it.
Gianni didn’t look at me.
“Everyone’s safe,” he said.“Accounted for.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“What happened?”My voice came out barely louder than a whisper.
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his palms together slowly, like he was trying to warm them—or delay what he was about to say.The movement made my stomach tighten.This could not be good.
“It looks like you want to tell me something,” I said gently.“But you can’t.”
He didn’t answer right away.
