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- Herausgeber: Bella J.
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
The day Elijah took me, he vowed to tame me.
I tried to fight him. Tried to survive without losing my heart.
But in the end, he did what he said he’d do… tame me.
He claimed me so unapologetically, and I surrendered willingly.
Together we found our place within the darkness.
We succumbed to wicked desires and tainted intentions.
And with every kiss, every touch, I allowed myself to fall deeper. Drowning within the seduction of a killer’s obsession.
I was reckless. Blinded by the promises of a man who wanted nothing but me.
I should have known better. Guarded my heart more fiercely.
After all—nothing good can come from falling for the villain.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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THE VILLAIN’S BELOVED
BELLA J.
Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
VIP Members
Other Novels by Bella J.
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Villain’s Beloved is the second book in The Villain’s Duet, and the conclusion to Elijah and Charlotte’s story.
The Villain’s Captive has to be read before you can dive into this one.
This is a dark romance that contains scenes and situations that some might find hard to read.
Xoxo
Prologue
Charlotte
There was always that split second of silence between hearing something and having your mind make sense of it. A fraction of time when there was nothing. No sound. No thought. No reaction.
I’d experienced a few of these moments in my life. Moments when I no longer felt my heart beat or my lungs expand. Moments when I wasn’t alive, I merely existed, lingering in space within the absence of gravity. Yet, I was here, sitting in this chair, staring at the man across from me whose glasses would slip down his nose every five seconds, prompting him to push them back in place. The wall behind him proudly displayed the degrees he’d accumulated over the years, and judging by the wrinkles around his eyes, the grooves on his forehead, gray hair, and sharp widow’s peak, he was at least sixty.
His finger tapped on the file in front of him, the sound oddly in tune with my pulse throbbing in the side of my neck. So many things had happened during the last few weeks, my life forever changed because of one man who came like a thief in the night, snatching me from my world and forcing me into his. A man who, despite my inhibitions and instincts, had me falling into his arms as if it were the only place I belonged. A man who claimed to have been seduced by my music only to have me seduced by the magnetism of a wicked darkness that dripped off him like liquid temptation.
I should have known better. I should have guarded my heart more fiercely, fought harder. But I didn’t, and there were so many reasons I gave in so easily. Maybe because deep down I was intrigued by a man who felt so passionately about my music—music I was too afraid for the world to hear. Perhaps the knowledge of me being the object of his obsession fucked with my head and made me feel flattered in some twisted, fucked-up way. Or maybe I was just tired of being alone, desperate to have someone else to lean on other than myself. Perhaps that was what I thought Elijah could offer me. After all, who better to provide security and protection than a hitman who owned as much power as he exuded with every breath?
But now, as my mind slowly digested what I had just heard, word by word filtering through that one single breath of silence, I realized with a sinking feeling in my gut that I had made an ill-informed decision. I acted on my most vulnerable instincts, and now I stood on the brink of ruin with no hope of being saved.
Not by him.
Not by anyone.
Elijah lied. So many fucking lies and half-truths, I didn’t know where the truth ended and the lies begun. But it was too late now. I flung myself into this black hole, and there was nothing I could do to escape the darkness.
I smoothed my palm across my belly, the two-thousand-dollar silk shirt unable to hide the poor, struggling New York cellist I once was.
The man across from me cleared his throat. “I know this must be a huge shock. But I can assure you there is light at the end of this tunnel.”
“No.” I looked up and straight at him, swallowing hard as a tear slipped down my cheek, my insides being ripped apart with every breath. “There is no light in any of this.”
His thin lips pressed together, his gray mustache curving at the edges. He knew as well as I did that there was no end to this dark tunnel, and therefore no hope of any light.
I got up and straightened my skirt. “Thank you for your time.”
He pushed his glasses back over the bridge of his nose and stood. “Of course. If there is anything I can help with, you have my number.”
“I appreciate that. Have a good day.”
He shot me a sympathetic smile. “Good day…Mrs. Mariano.”
Chapter1
Charlotte
A few weeks earlier
Italy’s winter cold had nothing against the chill that lingered in my spine. Elijah had been behind that closed door for almost an hour with the man who called himself Saint. He sure as hell didn’t look like any saint to me. The man had malice and mystery plastered all over him—a lethal combination, in my opinion. Something Elijah had as well, but for some reason, I was drawn to his darkness, lacking the aversion I had toward the stranger who now occupied my thoughts as well.
I hadn’t moved since they closed that damn door, my stomach twisted in knots as I rubbed my palms up and down my arms.
Elijah told me not to move. And Saint had instructed James not to let me out of his sight. I glanced up at the bodyguard who stood by the door, arms crossed and chest buff. The sheer size of this man was enough to make a person want to shrink into oneself. I was convinced he had intimidation bottled and used it as aftershave every goddamn morning, readying himself to fuck the world in the ass with a simple glare. But right now, I was more afraid of what was being said behind closed doors than the man standing in front of me like a giant brick wall.
I placed a hand on my belly, remembering what Elijah had said. “…maybe my seed has already started to bloom inside you.”
God. I still couldn’t believe how damn stupid I was. How irresponsible. What kind of person would I be if I brought a new life into this dark world I found myself in? What kind of mother would I be to a child when I was incapable of making good decisions for myself? Everything was twisted, turned upside down ever since Elijah took me.
Kidnapped.
Abducted.
Seduced.
Three words I never thought I’d put together in one sentence. One thought. Yet here I was, abducted, seduced, and maybe even in love if the flutter of nervous energy and the flicker of excitement inside my stomach was anything to go by.
God, this was all so fucked up. But I was a grown woman who knew better than to fight the inevitable—and falling deeply and completely in love with Elijah Mariano was undoubtedly unavoidable, if I weren’t already.
James cleared his throat, and I glanced in his direction. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me an answer if I ask you how Elijah and Saint know each other?”
He merely lifted a brow in a silent yet extremely fucking loud ‘no.’
“Of course not,” I huffed and leaned back in the chair. “Do you know how long they’ll be? My ass is getting numb.”
No answer.
“Can I at least go to my room and take a nap while these two catch up?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Moore. But Mr. Russo and Mr. Mariano made it clear you are to remain right here.”
I scoffed. “You make it sound like these two men own me. Just,” I held up a hand, locking my gaze with his, “let it be known that even though I’m here under questionable and extremely odd circumstances, I am still my own person. I still make my own decisions whether there are two men behind that goddamn door, discussing God knows what.” I stood, my spine straightened and feet firmly on the ground, yet nowhere near to looking James in the eye. “I am a person, goddammit. And I am allowed to get my ass off this uncomfortable chair and go take a nap if I want to.”
Determination clung to my every word, my squared shoulders broad with confidence. But James remained unmoved, glancing at me like a rottweiler would a chihuahua. It took one facial expression from him to tell me exactly what I was to him.
Insignificant.
Inconsequential.
Small.
My shoulders slumped, and I glanced down, defeated. “Ugh, I’m nothing but a goldfish in this sea of sharks, aren’t I?” I sat back down in the chair, massaging my temple with my thumb. “It’s just a matter of time before I get chewed up.”
James shrugged. But he might as well have said, “Yes, you are nothing but fish bait dangling from a little hook waiting to be eaten.”
So many nights I spent staring at the ceiling of my crummy apartment, wishing that somehow, somewhere, there’d be more waiting for me. More happiness. More love. More life.
Within that space between when my mom died and Elijah stormed in, days were nothing more than this tiring war of survival from sunup to sundown. My life was one constant struggle to get from one moment to the next without sinking, without drowning. And what made it worse were all those thoughts of wasting away with no one out there to fight for me, to help me, to not let me lose myself.
People always said nothing was as scary as death. But I disagreed. There was nothing more terrifying than the kind of loneliness that could make you disappear without another soul even noticing you’re gone. There would be nothing left of you. No memories. No thoughts. Not even the tiny space you occupied in this world. It would be as if you never existed. Never laughed. Never loved.
Nothing was worse than the fear of not leaving a mark.
If I had to die today, would my absence leave a scar on Elijah’s heart forever? Or would it simply ache for a moment, only to be gone the next?
I let out a breath, rubbing my palm across my forehead. I was never like this. Never thought of having the kind of influence that would handicap someone else. A person who would rather be a source of another’s pain than a distant memory that would eventually fade forever.
The selfish bitch in me preferred the scar—the disfigurement of what once was an oozing open wound. But I wanted him to feel something for me. Something intense. Feral. Like I felt for him. I craved to be his blessing and his curse.
Chapter2
Elijah
The door clicked closed behind me, and I watched as Saint strolled toward his desk, the Italian fabric of his suit swooshing with every step. It was an important lesson I learned early on from my mentor. The man who saved me. Never take your eyes off a potential threat, no matter who it might be. It was within that split second of letting your guard down that a friend could turn into a foe.
He leaned back against the desk, gaze pinned on me. Two predators confined into one tiny space salivating for a fight.
I crossed my arms. “This unscheduled stop of yours wasn’t part of the plan.”
“And neither was the girl.”
“She was a complication I didn’t anticipate.”
“Wasn’t she?”
He studied me, eyes dark with suspicion while the silence pulsed with tension that could snap at any second.
Saint placed his hands on the edge of the desk, finger tapping on the wood. “I know who she is.”
“I have no doubt that you do.”
“Why her?”
“It’s personal.”
“I’m sure it is. Still, I can’t help but wonder how this woman managed to become an unanticipated complication to a man like yourself.” He leveled me with a pointed stare. “A man like the Musician.”
And there it was. The threat. The split-second a friend could become foe.
I placed my hands in my pants pockets as I widened my stance, not backing down an inch. “This is killing you, isn’t it? Not knowing.”
He smirked. “I’m not going to lie. It does…irk me, not knowing how she fits into all of this. You know I don’t appreciate surprises, Elijah. I don’t like it when people hide shit from me.”
“If it was my intention to hide her from you, do you think I’d let James live so he could inform you of my guest?”
He crossed his arms, puffing his chest like a goddamn peacock. “I suppose not. But I still don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. I consider shit I don’t know as threats—which is why I made it my business to know everything about everyone who has ties to my family and me.”
“Bullshit,” I scoffed. “You and I both know if you considered Charlotte a threat, you wouldn’t have waited this long to come here. And honestly, was it necessary to make such a huge motherfucking entrance with that overpriced helicopter? A speedboat works just as well.”
“What can I say? I like to make an impression.”
“You like to show off.”
“That too.” His lips curled up at the corners. “What’s the point of having so much money if you can’t flaunt it to the world?”
“Good God. I thought having a family of your own would make you a little more humble, but it seems like you’re still the same arrogant bastard you’ve always been.”
“Not a chance. In fact, having a family of my own only made me more cautious. Protective. Deadlier.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t scare me, Saint. You never have.”
“Do you think I scare Charlotte?”
“After flashing a gun around? Yeah. She’s probably terrified of you—which I don’t appreciate, by the way.” I stalked closer, leveling him with a glare. “If you were anyone else, you’d be breathing out the side of your neck right now.”
Seconds ticked by like bombs going off in quick succession, the tension between us mounting to a point where it was a mere matter of moments before it exploded. His brow dipped in the center, and my top lip curled into a silent snarl. He knew I was speaking the truth that the only reason he wasn’t dead right now was because…well, I considered the man a friend.
A dear friend.
Family.
Saint smirked. “How much did it take for you not to punch me in the face when I landed?”
“A fuckton.”
“God, I love fucking with you.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Oh, I know.”
We smiled, the tension shattered as we went in for a hug, Saint slapping my shoulder before leaning back. “She’s going to kill you when she finds out we were fucking with each other.”
I pulled a hand through my hair. “I’ll just blame it on you since you started it.”
“You played along, didn’t you?”
“God, she’s going to hate me.”
We snickered, and I walked over to the cabinet, grabbing two crystal glasses, and poured us each some bourbon. I turned and handed him his drink before taking a seat on the leather couch. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
“I had some business in Rome, finalizing a project with my father.”
“Your father? You two getting along now, after everything?”
Saint took a sip of his whiskey before placing the glass down next to him. “I wouldn’t say getting along. More like…trying to tolerate.”
I smiled. “That’s better than trying to kill each other.”
“Maybe. I don’t think our relationship will ever be what’s considered normal between father and son.”
“Well,” I raised my glass, “he might be a son of bitch to you, but to me, he’s the one who gave me a second chance in life.”
Saint rolled his eyes. “If I have to hear how thankful you are for what he did, I swear to God I will hurl on my three-thousand-dollar leather shoes.”
“Can’t help it. I owe him everything. If he didn’t,” I sucked in a breath, “if he didn’t intervene, God knows where I’d be. I’d probably be rotting in a ditch somewhere, Roland’s handprints engraved around my throat.”
He took a seat next to me, and there we were, both staring out in front of us, sitting together like, well…brothers. “At least he was a good influence in one of our lives.”
It pained me to witness how fragile his relationship was with his father. Of course, from Saint’s point of view, I understood why. But it didn’t lessen the appreciation I had for what his father had done for me. If it weren’t for him, I never would have been saved that fateful night, taken to a better place with someone who showed me more love than my own fucking mother.
Saint glanced at me from the side. “If I have to be serious for a minute, my father is not a man with a lot of regrets. But not intervening and saving you sooner is one of his biggest failures and regrets.”
“Rather late than never.” I took a large gulp of whiskey, no longer feeling the sting of alcohol. “It wasn’t always bad. Before my father died in that car crash, we were happy.”
