Charming Villain (The Terlizzis #3)
1. Luciano
Chapter 1
Luciano
For a full list of content warnings and to download the free prequel, please visit: www. corakent. com/ charming
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I slip into 324 Speakeasy, letting the door swing shut behind me with a low groan. The place is half-filled, bodies hunched over little round tables or perched at the bar. Low amber lights reflect off exposed brick walls, and a faint haze of cigar smoke meanders near the ceiling. It’s the kind of joint where secrets are traded over top-shelf whiskey, knowing nods, and handshakes that last a beat too long.
I don’t bother glancing around to see if anyone recognizes me. Instead, I head toward the back corner where my brothers said they’d be waiting. I weave around a couple sitting too close, ignoring the flirtatious looks from a woman who brushes my arm. On any other night, I’d toss her a roguish smile, but tonight, I was summoned. Tonight, I’m not here for fun.
I spot Dante first. He’s impossible to miss—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit that’s more functional than fashionable, though he carries it well. Salvatore sits next to him, leaning in as they speak in hushed tones. The overhead lamp highlights the tension in their faces, tightening the lines around Dante’s mouth and pulling Salvatore’s brows together. They both look up when they see me. Dante’s jaw tightens. Sal, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Great. If I needed a clue that this night’s about to get worse, I have one.
“Luc,” Dante says curtly as I slide into the booth across from them. “I’m glad you could make it.”
As if I had a choice. I give my oldest brother a sour glance, then gesture for the waitress to come by. “Whiskey, neat,” I say, my voice rough with impatience. “And keep them coming.” She nods and leaves, no questions asked. It’s that kind of place.
Salvatore surveys me under lowered eyelids. “Rough day?”
I scoff. “They’re all rough these days.” I roll my shoulders, trying to rid them of the knots that have been tightening since I woke up this morning. “Why am I here?”
Dante taps his fingers on the table. It’s a restless gesture that mirrors my own agitation. “We’ve got news,” he lowers his voice, and from the way his lips press thin, I know it’s not going to be good. “Saverio’s made a decision for the Midwest families.”
I snort. “When doesn’t he?” Our boss, our puppet master, my brother-in-law—call him what you will, but Saverio holds the strings. Hell, he all but owns the rest of us. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that he doesn’t bother consulting anyone below him when he makes a call. He considers his wife’s feelings when it comes to her family, but he still does what’s in his best interests.
Before Dante can continue, the waitress returns with my whiskey. I knock back half of it, letting the burn scorch my throat. The heat flares in my chest but doesn’t quell the unease picking at my nerves. “Spit it out,” I say, glancing from Dante to Salvatore, who’s suddenly become very interested in the pattern of the tabletop.
“Saverio wants to mend fences,” Salvatore begins, trying to ease into the bad news. He picks up a glass of clear liquid and swirls it as if the top-shelf vodka needs to aerate.
“Mend fences with whom ?” I ask. So many families have beef with us that it’s practically tradition at this point—a blood feud for every major holiday on the calendar. The thought almost makes me smile, but the tension in Dante’s shoulders tells me this particular fence-mending might be more complicated than usual.
Dante’s eyes flick to Sal, then settle back on me. “The Lucatellos.”
I go still, glass halfway to my lips. For a second, I’m sure I’ve misheard him. My pulse scatters and it takes every bit of self-control not to smash the whiskey glass against the wall. Slowly, I lower it to the table. “Come again?”
“Giovanni Lucatello,” Salvatore clarifies, though the last name alone is enough to send ice through my veins. “Saverio wants us to bury the feud between our two families. He believes it’s good for business. Too much blood in the streets after Nic’s wedding fiasco and your—” He pauses, swallowing. “Your history with Giovanni.”
My chest constricts. I don’t need anyone to remind me what Giovanni did to me. The memory is etched into my flesh: the brand, the sizzle of burning skin, the stench of my own body being marked with that bastard’s crest. The doctor may have burned over it, but any time I look at the scar, I see it anyway. “And how, exactly , does Saverio plan on burying the hatchet with the man who carved me up like a piece of meat?”
Dante pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing as if the weight of the entire family rests on him. “He wants an alliance,” he begins gently, choosing his words carefully. “A formal one.”
My throat locks. “Meaning?”
Salvatore clears his throat, glancing at Dante for backup. “He wants a marriage.”
Everything inside me goes quiet. There’s no more jazz, no more murmur of nearby conversation. The entire speakeasy might as well be swallowed by darkness. My thoughts narrow to a single point. “A marriage,” I repeat.
Dante’s gaze is fixed on me, intent and grim. “Yes. Saverio’s decided it has to be you.”
I bark a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Marry who? One of Giovanni’s foot soldiers? Don’t tell me he’s got a random cousin locked up somewhere in Bumfuck, Nowhere.” My voice is shaking with barely contained rage.
Salvatore glances lovingly at his vodka, then mutters, “Giovanni’s daughter. Gianna.”
My heart slams against my ribcage. I grip my whiskey glass so hard my knuckles bleach white. “You’re fucking with me.” A strange hush falls over our booth.
Dante lifts his hands in a tired shrug. “I wish I was. Saverio thinks it’s the perfect solution—blood for blood. Your union binds our families, ends the feud, and fosters a new alliance. In theory.” His gaze hardens. “He doesn’t care what happened to you, Lucky. All he sees is another chess piece to move around his board. All he cares about is peace and power among his men. The rest is collateral damage.”
My old nickname, Lucky, sets my nerves on edge. There’s nothing lucky about me. I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, trying to quell the sick fury roiling in my gut. “But he knows what Giovanni did, right? He knows that bastard burned his crest into my chest like a rancher branding a cow?”
“Yes,” Dante answers quietly. There, in the silence, is the unspoken truth: Saverio doesn’t care.
Of course, he doesn’t. Why would the boss care about my trauma or my scars? Why would he worry about the nights I woke up drenched in sweat from nightmares of red-hot irons and mocking laughter? My throat constricts with rancid anger, and I slam the glass onto the table. The sound echoes through the speakeasy, a small explosion that draws a few curious stares.
“Luc,” Salvatore warns, placing a hand on my arm. “Calm down.”
I rip my arm away, ignoring the startled expression of the waitress who’s passing by. “You want me to calm down? They branded me and left me to bleed to death in that filthy alley. And now I’m supposed to put on a tux and slip a ring on Giovanni’s daughter’s finger like nothing ever happened?” I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “I’d sooner burn in hell.”
Sal’s face twists with regret. “It’s not what we want, Luc. It’s what Saverio demands.”
“That’s the problem,” Dante adds. “You know as well as I do that refusing Saverio means turning your back on the organization. He’d consider it an act of betrayal. And we both know how that ends.” We both don’t know shit. Dante ignored Saverio’s orders once and got a wife and kid out of the deal. He got everything he ever wanted. I’m the one who has to suffer.
I stare at my brothers, a cocktail of betrayal and desperation bubbling in my veins. Maybe they’re right, maybe my hands are tied, but I’m not ready to accept that. Not without a fight. “Fuck him,” I snarl. “Fuck Saverio, and fuck Giovanni. I won’t do it.”
Dante’s lips tighten. “Yes, you will, or you’ll die. And they’ll probably kill the rest of us, too. That’s how it works.”
The finality in his words crushes my chest, and a trembling rage seizes me. My vision blurs at the edges. I feel the scalding memory of that brand, a twisted phantom pain that never quite goes away. “He can’t just—” My breath comes in short bursts. “No. No. I won’t.”
Dante’s expression softens fractionally. “Luc,” he says, dropping his voice. “I know it’s not fair, but you have to keep it together. If you do something rash, Saverio will have an excuse to cut you off. And we can’t protect you from that.”
Protect me. I almost spit at the idea. Where were they when Giovanni cornered me that night? “I need air,” I mutter, pushing back from the table.
Dante starts to protest. “Luciano?—”
But I’m already on my feet, rage buzzing through my veins like a live wire. I weave past the nearby tables, ignoring curious glances. My steps falter when I realize the Speakeasy’s hush feels suffocating. Even the low lamplight feels too bright, the warmth too cloying. I need out. Now.
The waitress tries to say something as I shoulder past, but her words don’t register. My entire body thrums with a single thought: I can’t stay here. My heart’s pounding so loud I think it might burst from my chest. Up ahead, the door glints under a neon exit sign. I make a beeline for it, flinging it open and stepping into the humid night air.
The sky hangs low, clouds heavy with unspent rain, streetlights reflecting off puddles along the curb. I gulp in lungfuls of city air, the smell of asphalt and garbage oddly comforting compared to the stifling warmth inside 324. For a moment, I stand there, letting the night wash over me, hoping it’ll quell the storm in my head.
It doesn’t.
Saverio took the reins after his father passed, stepping into power like he was born for it—and maybe he was. He calls himself our boss and pulls the puppet strings of every family in the Midwest, from Chicago’s gilded towers to Detroit’s crumbling streets. I’m just another one of his marionettes forced to dance to his twisted tune, jerking and twisting on command. Or maybe I’m his fucking punching bag. Because this feels like a knockout blow I never saw coming.
The door swings open again, and Salvatore steps out. “Luc, you can’t just run off. We need to figure this out.”
I huff a bitter laugh. “Figure what out? Saverio’s made up his mind.”
Sal runs a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but Dante’s right. If you defy this marriage, you’re defying him. He might be married to Lucia, but he still runs everything. And you know what that means.”
“I know.” My voice is hoarse and harsh. “That doesn’t mean I’m accepting it.” Something inside me snaps like a final thread giving way. Anger, hatred, bitterness—I can’t separate them anymore. All I know is I need to bury this feeling. Drown it. Anything so I don’t have to stare at the black abyss of my future.
I can’t stay here and look at Sal’s pitying face. I turn on my heel and stride away, hearing him call after me, but the words tangle with the night breeze and vanish. My mind fixates on one desperate solution: find a woman, or maybe a bottle, or hell, probably both.
I can’t outrun my fate, but for a few hours, I can pretend it doesn’t exist. I can lose myself in someone else’s warmth and sink so deep into oblivion that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember. The city lights blur as I pass another block. My phone vibrates in my pocket—Dante, no doubt. I don’t bother checking. My throat is tight, heart pounding. The brand itches like it’s fresh again.
A neon sign flickers across the street, half the letters dead, but it might be a club, or a bar, or something that sells cheap whiskey. That’s enough to call my attention.
I let out a ragged breath. Maybe I’ll fight it. Maybe I’ll burn the entire city down first. Or maybe I’ll drink until I can’t see straight, find a nameless body to drag me through the night and forget, if only for a moment, that my destiny is sealed. Something in me wants to lash out, to punch a hole in the nearest wall, to turn my fury on the next poor soul who crosses my path. But that won’t fix anything. It’ll just end with me in deeper shit.
I cut across the intersection, ignoring the red light and not caring if a car barrels toward me. Part of me wonders if that would be easier—one instant of impact, and everything ends. But I shove that thought away. I’m no coward. I’ll face this mess, even if it kills me tomorrow. But tonight, I need to forget.
Rain starts to fall as I approach the entrance of Finn’s, an unsteady drizzle that peppers the air. Droplets splatter across my shoulders, dotting my jacket. Lightning flickers in the sky and illuminates the wet streets in a brief, eerie glow. Thunder rumbles in the distance, or maybe it’s just the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
A flurry of patrons huddle under the narrow awning of the entrance, smoking. One woman glances my way, interest sparking in her eyes. Good. Let me chase that spark. Let me forget.
Lightning flashes again, followed by a sharper crack of thunder. I push the door open and step inside. The smell of stale beer and cheap perfume wraps around me, thicker than the smoke in the speakeasy. My gut clenches with disgust, but also with a savage relief. This place is perfect—loud, chaotic, and full of people who won’t care if I burn myself to ashes.
I close my eyes, letting the noise and heat crash over me like a wave. Tomorrow, I’ll face the unimaginable. Tomorrow, I might wake up engaged to a Lucatello, tethered forever to a family that scarred me. But tonight, I’m free to destroy myself in any way I see fit.