Page 38 of Beautiful Villain
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.“Whatever it is… it can’t possibly be that bad.”
Gianni lifted his head then and met my eyes.
“Archie Popovich is the one who attacked the house tonight.”
The wheels started spinning in my head.If Archie attacked Gianni’s house, that meant he knew…
“My stepfather?—”
“He’s dead.”
The words landed without warning.No soft edges.No preparation.Just blunt force.
The air left my lungs in a rush, like something had punched straight through my chest.I couldn’t breathe for a second—couldn’t even remember how.There was a sharp ringing in my ears, loud enough to drown out everything else, and then nothing but the sound of my own pulse.
I nodded once.Then again.Like my body needed repetition before it would accept what my mind already knew.I had known.Somewhere deep down, I had known the moment I ran.I’d just been too afraid to say it out loud.
“I ran,” I whispered.My voice barely sounded like mine.“And he paid for it.”
My throat burned.Tears gathered instantly, hot and fast, blurring everything in front of me.
“No,” Gianni said.“He paid for gambling with men who don’t forgive losses.He got himself killed.”
The words should have helped.They didn’t.
“Marrying Archie was supposed to save him,” I said.My voice cracked halfway through Archie’s name.“That was the deal.That was the point.That’s all he wanted from me.How could I…”
My chest started to shake.I pressed my lips together, trying to keep it in, but the first hiccup tore out of me anyway.Then another.Ugly, sharp little sounds I couldn’t stop.
Gianni didn’t interrupt.
He just watched me.
“You are not responsible for Archie’s behavior,” he said.
I didn’t answer.I couldn’t.My face twisted, and the tears spilled over properly now, sliding down my cheeks, dripping off my chin.I swiped at them angrily, which only made more come.
Ihadbelieved it.Or maybe I’d forced myself to.
I knew what Archie Popovich was.Everyone did.I knew what he did to women he claimed.I knew marrying him would have destroyed me.
But George was still my stepfather.
And I’d been raised to believe that love meant sacrifice.That a good daughter swallowed her fear and was obedient.Walking away felt like betrayal—even if staying would have killed me slowly and quietly.
“I feel…” My voice broke completely.I sucked in a breath that hitched halfway up my chest.“I feel…”
The words tasted awful.
“I feel guilty,” I said, sobbing now, shoulders shaking.“I feel like I’m a terrible person, and that makes me feel like I killed him myself.”
My breathing turned ugly then—sharp inhales, hiccupping sobs I couldn’t control.My nose ran.My chest hurt.My hands curled uselessly in my lap like I could hold the feeling still if I just squeezed hard enough.
“Guilt,” Gianni said finally, “is a luxury for people who believe they had better options.”
I shook my head, tears flinging free.“There’s always a choice.”
“Yes,” he said.“And sometimes every choice ends on the same road.”
