Chapter 2 The First Glimpse

Nico

The sun was too damn bright for my taste.

I leaned against the blacked-out Range Rover, arms crossed over my chest, watching the courtyard from behind my sunglasses.

Students buzzed past like bees in designer sneakers and denim jackets, laughter ringing out without a care in the world.

Soft.

Naïve.

Easy prey.

I didn't belong here.

I never would.

But family was family.

Even when they drove you up the fucking wall.

I spotted Bianca's blonde head bobbing through the crowd, surrounded by her usual clique - spoiled, sharp-tongued daughters of men who thought money could buy anything, even loyalty.

I could've stayed in the car.

Hell, I should've.

Instead, something kept me standing there.

Waiting.

And then - I saw her.

She was sitting alone by the courtyard fountain, sunlight catching in the dark waves of her hair, painting her skin gold.

Not laughing.

Not pretending.

Just...still.

There was a sadness around her, subtle and invisible unless you knew where to look.

A kind of loneliness that felt like a whisper in a crowded room - so faint you almost missed it, but once you heard it, you couldn't unhear it.

I stared longer than I should have.

"Boss?" a low voice rumbled beside me.

Enzo, my right hand.

Always two steps behind me, always knowing when my attention had snagged on something dangerous.

I didn't look away from her.

"See that girl?" I said, nodding slightly toward the fountain.

Enzo followed my gaze, sharp and silent.

"Find out who she is," I said, my voice low.

Controlled.

Deceptively calm.

Enzo raised an eyebrow, but he didn't question me.

He knew better.

"On it," he said, already pulling out his phone.

I finally tore my eyes away as Bianca spotted me and broke into a wide, dramatic grin, waving her arms like she hadn't seen me in years instead of a week.

I pushed off the car and met her halfway, ruffling her hair just to piss her off.

"You're late," she huffed, slapping at my hand.

I smirked. "You're lucky I showed up at all."

She rolled her eyes and launched into a breathless story about some professor who "totally had it out for her," but I wasn't really listening.

Not fully.

Because even as I walked Bianca to the car, even as I threw her bag into the back seat and slid behind the wheel, a part of me stayed there by the fountain.

A part of me stayed with her.

And for the first time in a long time, a thought I couldn't shake rooted itself in my mind:

Mine.

Bianca kept talking the whole ride home, flipping between complaints about her professors and excitement about some charity gala my father's consigliere had demanded she attend.

I grunted in the right places, gave half-smirks when she looked over at me, but my mind wasn't with her.

It was still back there.

Still sitting at the fountain, where a girl with haunted eyes and sunlight in her hair had tilted her face to the sky like she was praying for a way out.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until the leather creaked under my fingers.

I didn't know her name.

I didn't know her story.

But something in my gut told me that whatever it was - it wouldn't be clean.

Nothing worth having ever was.

By the time I dropped Bianca off at the estate, Enzo was already waiting in the driveway.

Phone in hand.

Expression tight.

I killed the engine and stepped out.

The late afternoon heat baked into my leather jacket, but I barely felt it.

"Tell me," I said, without preamble.

Enzo handed over a manila folder.

Old-fashioned, but safer than texting when it came to information that mattered.

"Sofia D'Angelo," he said.

"Twenty-one. Final year at the university. Studying international relations and finance."

He hesitated.

"Engaged, unofficially, to Adrian Santiago. Her father's best friend's son."

I flipped the folder open.

A glossy photograph stared back at me - her, laughing with a group of girls I didn't recognize.

The same girl from the fountain, but...different.

Polished. Perfect.

A mask.

"Engaged," I repeated, my voice flat.

Enzo nodded once. "It's political. Old blood, old alliances."

Of course it was.

D'Angelo.

The name hit me like a blow I hadn't expected.

One of the wealthiest, most ruthless families in the city.

Deep ties to legitimate business...and dirtier ones whispered about in the dark corners where men like me made our living.

"She clean?" I asked.

Enzo shrugged slightly. "As clean as a D'Angelo can be. No scandals. No dirt. Top of her class. Obedient daughter."

Obedient.

The word tasted sour on my tongue.

Something about her - the way she had looked at the sky like she wanted to be anywhere but there - didn't scream obedient to me.

Not really.

Not deep down.

I closed the folder, tapping it once against my palm.

"I want eyes on her," I said.

Enzo blinked.

"Boss, if this ties back to you-"

"It won't," I cut him off.

It couldn't.

Not yet.

This wasn't about business.

Not about alliances or blood feuds or territory.

Not yet.

This was something else.

Something raw and reckless stirring in my gut - something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"Eyes on her," I repeated quietly.

"Discreet. I want to know where she goes. Who she talks to. What she wants when no one's looking."

Enzo nodded grimly. "Consider it done."

He hesitated again, just a flicker of warning in his posture.

"Boss...you sure you want to start something with a D'Angelo girl?"

I smiled then - slow and sharp, all teeth.

"I'm not starting anything," I said, slipping the folder under my arm.

"Not yet."

But I was already thinking ahead.

Already spinning the first threads of a web she wouldn't even see until it was too late.

Because whatever she was -

Whoever she belonged to -

She didn't know it yet, but she was already mine.