His Villain

40

Homesick. She knows all too well what it's like to be homesick.
Homesickness gripped her heart like a relentless predator, its weight constricting her throat. She swallowed back the dry sobs that threatened to escape, determined not to show her vulnerability. The evening sun, a vibrant orb of light, planned its descent behind the dark clouds, painting the sky with hues of pink, orange, and red. The cold air embraced her bare skin, sending shivers down her spine, yet she remained seated, unable to tear herself away from the captivating sight before her.

The rhythmic symphony of waves crashing against the shore reached her ears, a blessed poem that brought her solace. Her bare feet sunk into the soft sand, as the ocean waves, now more alluring under the colorful sky, beckoned to her. She released a gentle sigh, finding comfort in the embrace of the shore.

A familiar scent, a masculine cologne, enveloped her, announcing his presence. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she nodded in response to his question. "Do you like it?" Warren asked, satisfaction evident in his eyes. She replied honestly, "I love it." Warren's smile widened, contentment radiating from him. "I'm glad you love it," he said.

They had planned this visit to their beach house, a brief respite from their everyday lives. Celia couldn't help but fall in love with this breathtaking scenery once again. In her heart, she felt immense gratitude for the two men who had become her pillars of support. They had given her a reason to live, showering her with unconditional love and cherishing her. They had taught her to stand on her own, to fight every battle that came her way, to heal her wounds, and to embrace the life she had been given. And now, knowing she had nothing to repay them, she offered them her greatest strength. She would lead the way, perhaps the only one who could bring an end to their future miseries.

"He's calling for dinner," Warren informed her, breaking the tranquil moment. With that, she rose from the bench, her gaze lingering on the scenic beauty before she made her way back to the beach house. Inside, her men had prepared a delicious and heavenly meal. The tantalizing aroma of the dishes filled the air as she perched herself on a counter chair at the kitchen island. "You both are the embodiment of every woman's dream," she complimented them theatrically, gesturing with her hands.

Dante's gratifying laughter filled the room, while Warren scoffed playfully, "Ferrari, don't insult us now. We're not just girls' dreams, but women's dreams. We're not pedophiles." Celia retrieved her phone from her pocket, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "I recorded that, and now I'm going to share it to your lady, Mister Eero," she teased.

Instead of a worried expression, she was met with a daring smirk from Warren. "Who are you fooling, Lia?"

Annoyed by his pretense, she retorted, "You should have kept up the masquerade for a while. Ruined the mood, didn't you?"

"Next time, I'll remember. But right now, I'm starving," he apologized, giving her an apologetic look. She responded with an encouraging grin, understanding his hunger.

Dante served dinner, and they ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, immersed in the current episode of their lives. After the meal, the men stepped outside for a smoke, while she retired to her respective bedroom.

She changed into her comfortable pajamas, pulling the duvet up to her shoulders, this time disregarding the chill in the air. Her mind drifted back to the incident that had occurred two days prior. He had left her weak and vulnerable, a doll lying helplessly on the bed, craving his touch, a touch she despised. As she settled on the bed, the vibrations from her phone jolted the stillness. With a deep sigh, she answered the call without checking the caller ID, prepared to face whoever had disrupted her moment of peace.

"Did you miss me, sweetheart?" His deep, gruff voice resonated like thunder in her heart, causing her to sit up abruptly, her legs crossed. Her heart raced, caught off guard by the unexpected caller. Without uttering a word, her fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of her nightshirt.

"Hmm?" he inquired again.

"Ye- no, I mean, perhaps," she responded, aware of the consequences her words might bring.

"Why didn't you pick up my calls?" His tone was distant, heavier than before, foreboding warning bells ringing in her mind, giving her a chance to offer a candid explanation.

"I was busy," she replied.

"Where are you?"

Just as you don't know!

"At the beach house," she reclined on her back, turning her head towards the closed window.

"Why did you call?" she asked, growing impatient with the lack of response or further pointless questions.

There was a long pause before he rasped, "tu me manques," knowing she wouldn't understand the words. He didn't want to admit it, but she had carved a place for herself in his mind. Her presence constantly invaded his thoughts, disrupting his focus. He cursed his treacherous mind countless times for allowing her to captivate his attention more than necessary. He didn't know where this infatuation would lead them in the future, but he prayed it wouldn't turn into something else. If she continued to bewitch him, he would lock her away in his golden cage, where no one could ever free her.

"What did you say?" she innocently asked, though the butterflies in her stomach told a different story. She knew he was utterly obsessed with her now.

"When are you coming back?" he inquired once more.

"Tomorrow."

"Okay," he abruptly ended the call. She narrowed her eyes at his sudden action but shrugged it off nonetheless.

Tu me manques.

Those words served as a warning, a deterrent to their hearts and lives. She knew they were worlds apart, and there was no way for their feelings of lust or love to intertwine. He was a ruthless mafia boss, and she was a warrior who had fought and lost her own battles but emerged victorious in the eyes of others. Love was not an option for her. Those words were etched in her heart and mind, a stark reminder. Warren and Dante were exceptions, anomalies in the realm of love. Ever since her parents' death, she had held a deep respect for only a handful of people, especially Dante and Warren they were two of them. They were important to her, but no one else.

If she had to play a game of lust and obsession, she would play without an ounce of regret or failure. She knew Venezio was using her for his own purposes, and she had to follow his rules and dominion, with a hint of reluctance but eventual compliance. In the end, the weaker one would pay a heavy price, markedly by their actions.

Translation.
(Tu me manques)
(I miss you)

Author's note.....

Did you like it? I can't believe I'm writing the unplanned scenes now, but still the results are coming not that bad. What do you think about Warren and Dante? It's 12:11 am right now, and I know I should sleep but I can't even feel my eyes droopy. The plot is still there wait a little more......
Bye.