Page 59 of Beautiful Villain
He blinked, as if coming back to himself, then studied me—deciding whether to finish what he’d started.
“Tell me,” I said.I couldn’t stop myself now.
“Legend says a man lived up there,” he said at last.“Lost his wife and son in a mafia war.Walked into the mountains and never came back down.Chose solitude over the world that took everything from him.”
A chill slid down my spine.I looked back at the mountain, at that lonely light pulsing against the dark.
“How true is it?”I asked.
Gianni shrugged, but his eyes stayed fixed on the distance.For a moment, he looked almost haunted.
“It’s a story,” he said.“Passed down.”He paused before he added “but some legends survive for a reason.”
“Such as?”
“People that have tried to reach that summit have never come back.That, too, is a legend.But there could be some truth in it.“
“It’s strange,” I said.“Choosing to live alone like that.”
He finally looked at me then.“I can understand it,” he said quietly, “sometimes it’s people who bring you to your knees.”
For a moment, I couldn’t tell if he was talking about the man on the mountain—or about us.
The wine blurred the edge of the question.The way he watched me sharpened it again.
Without a word, Gianni stood and held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
“There’s no music,” I said.
“There is,” he replied, already pulling me to my feet.“You just have to listen for it.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t resist.He guided me toward the window, toward the glass and the dark beyond it.His hand settled at my waist—firm, possessive—while his other closed around mine like it had always belonged there.
We moved slowly.Barely a sway.Just enough to feel each other breathe.
The glass reflected us back—two shadows stitched together by candlelight and stars.It felt private in a way that made my pulse jump, like we were doing something we shouldn’t be allowed to do.
His breath brushed my ear, controlled and deliberate.I didn’t think.I leaned in, the urge sharp and reckless, and traced my tongue along the shell of his ear.
24
Gianni
Iwent completely still.
Whatever instinct usually kept me contained finally caught up with what she’d done.My hand tightened at her waist before I could stop it, fingers digging in like I needed the contact to stay upright.My breathing shifted—slower, deeper—giving me away in the quiet space between us.
“Mikayla,” I murmured.
Her name coming from my mouth sounded like salvation and confession all at once.
She brushed her lips against my skin and smiled as she pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.The glass behind her reflected everything without mercy: the way my jaw locked, the way her gaze burned—reckless, alive, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with wine.
I could feel the line between us.Thin.Fraying.About to get crossed.Again.
My pulse hammered high in my throat.I forced myself to breathe, to drag my eyes back to her face instead of the mouth that had just undone me.
