Page 33 of Beautiful Villain
Behind me, the hose resumed its steady hiss.Next time, I wouldn’t step on anyone’s basil.
As I walked back toward my men, I felt the familiar curl of satisfaction tighten in my chest.I always got shit done.
She got hit by a car.Then she was dragged into said car and whisked away.
When I got home, I went inside and poured myself a drink I didn’t need, hands steady, mind anything but.The glass shattered against the far wall a moment later, alcohol bleeding down marble like a sacrificial offering.
GiannifuckingCavalho.
I had to question—briefly, fleetingly—whether Mikayla was worth the effort.If not for the sheer, exquisite humiliation of losing her, and losing her tohim, I might have let the whole thing go.Written her off as a poor investment.A sunk cost.
But that wasn’t what this was.
This was now about vengeance.
About the unbearable image of her sitting in his car, in his space, breathing his polluted air.Of her looking at him instead of at me.Of his hands—those smug, capable hands—on something that belonged inmyworld, undermycontrol.
I couldn’t stand upright with the weight of it.
I paced the length of my study, pulse thrumming, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.She didn’t belong in his clutches.She didn’t belong anywhere near him.Gianni Cavalho just kept bleeding unfortunately into my life.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he would do everything in his considerable power to use her to spite me.
Because that was our language.
Territory.Leverage.Pressure points.
And Mikayla—sweet, stubborn Mikayla—was the softest one I had.
The irony almost made me laugh.
I’d assumed she’d come back to me on her own.Cold feet.Regret.Fear.She’d been bred for it—conditioned to seek safety in familiar cages.I’d been patient.Generous, even.I’d given her space to panic, to run, to embarrass herself at the altar like a foolish girl in a melodrama.
But Gianni had been there.
That was the part I kept circling back to.The coincidence of it.The timing too perfect to ignore.He hadn’t stumbled into her path—he’d intercepted it.Snatched her up in the middle of her escape like a prize he hadn’t even known he was hunting until it landed in his hands.
And now he had her.
I smiled slowly, darkly, as the pieces began to arrange themselves.
If Gianni thought he could take something from me without consequence, he was gravely mistaken.If he thought I wouldn’t come for her—come forbothof them—then he’d grown complacent.
Mikayla wasn’t lost.She was misplaced.
And Gianni Cavalho had just done me the courtesy of revealing exactly how much she was worth.
I picked up my phone and made the first call.Then the second.
By the time the sun dipped behind the hedges, I had a plan forming—elegant, inevitable, and deeply personal.Gianni wanted to play games?Fine.I’d remind him that I’d been doing this longer.Much longer.
I lifted another glass in a mock toast to the empty room.
“Enjoy her,” I murmured.“Borrowed things are always the easiest to break.”
And this time, I intended to collect what was mine—with interest.
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