2. Niccolò
2
NICCOLò
SENIOR YEAR AT CENTENNIAL UNIVERSITY
“N icco Silvestri?” Isabella repeats with her eyebrows drawn up. She quickly rakes her gaze up and down my body, and the searing heat accompanied with it finds its way under my skin.
“Wow, I haven’t seen you since?—”
“My mom’s funeral.”
I remember it like it was yesterday. The tear that escaped my eye as they lowered her casket into the ground, and my father’s command when he noticed it, whispering, “Get it the fuck together, Niccolò. Men don’t cry over shit like this. If you want to take over for me in the future, you need to prove to me that you’ll be the leader this family needs.”
I was eleven fucking years old.
Nevertheless, I did what I was told. I wiped away that tear with the sleeve of the suit my dad had tailored for me, and watched as they shoveled dirt on top of my mom’s casket.
It wasn’t until after the burial that Isabella’s family came up to my dad and me to give their condolences. My dad thanked them, but I could tell by his withdrawn voice and mannerisms that he didn’t really care.
My dad didn’t give a fuck that his wife—my mom—was no longer with us. That she died from fucking cancer and was never coming back.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to lash out at him for how detached he was about the situation.
But I didn’t. I kept quiet. It’s what I’ve always done. Follow his rules.
But among the dark clouds of the worst day of my life was a sprinkle of light in the form of a white dandelion from a little girl.
Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled back into two French braids, and her honey-brown eyes were filled with sympathy as they peered up at me. “I’m sorry about your mom” was all she said as she held out the white puffball.
I’d glanced at my dad to see if he was watching, but he was still engaged in conversation with her dad, so I took the dandelion out of her hand while offering a mumbled, “Thanks.”
“If you make a wish and blow the seeds away, it’ll come true.”
She smiled at me, and I knew that even though there’s no such thing as a dandelion making a wish come true, the little girl believed it in her heart, and this was her way of trying to help me feel better.
So I did what felt right in the moment. I made my wish, blew the seeds away, and we both watched as a slight breeze lifted those white fuzzies up into the sky.
She offered a small giggle, drawing my attention back to her, and for the first time since my mom passed away, I felt the smallest uptick at the corners of my mouth.
Her mom noticed the girl’s innocent act and smiled down at her, rubbing her back like she was proud of her. A look that served as a reminder of what I would never experience again.
But even though the despair of losing my mom to cancer was prominent, I remember Isabella’s gesture and the small smile it brought to my face. It was the sliver of light that brightened my darkest day.
“Yeah, your mom’s funeral,” she mutters, bringing me back to the present, but I barely caught it over the music. Her eyes under the dimmed lighting reflect the same thing as the day we met—sympathy.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask. It’s bold, but I’d regret not saying it. I want to talk with Isabella, and the club is not the place to do it.
She glances over at her cousin, Liana DiMaggio, who I forgot was still here until now, and I already know what her answer will be.
“I can’t. I’m here with Liana and?—”
“Um, do not use me as an excuse to not hang out with this guy,” Liana interrupts. “Besides, I saw a couple girls from my textiles class.” She points to herself. “How about I go and hang out with them and you”—she points at Isabella—“go and hang out with Nicco.”
She glances over at me. “It’s okay that I call you, Nicco, right? Or is that right reserved for Izzy only?” Her lips draw up into a smirk.
“The rights go all around,” I say, my own smirk forming.
I’ve always preferred going by Nicco. It’s what my friends call me. The only people who call me Niccolò are my dad and some of his men.
Isabella and Liana exchange a few words, then give each other a hug. Isabella keeps her eyes on Liana until she’s buried deep in the dancing crowd before turning her attention back to me.
I pull out my phone and tap a quick message to my friends Leo and Dante to see if they’ve handled the situation with the politician’s kid.
Henry Fordham is a bastard in more ways than one; in the general sense as a date-raping fucking loser, and in the literal sense as the product of a politician dad who cheated on his wife with one of his housekeepers.
What a fucking cliché.
“You ready to go?” I ask, nodding toward the door.
Isabella rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down on it, and while this might not be the best time to get turned on by that action, I can’t help the bolt of excitement rushing to my dick at the sight.
She fiddles with her hands while she speaks. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to leave Liana here by herself.”
“Didn’t she say she’s hanging out with some friends?”
“Well, yes, but…”
I nod toward Liana who’s dancing with two other girls on the dance floor. “Looks like she already found them.”
Isabella looks over her shoulder at her cousin, then back to me. “But we walked here together. I can’t let her walk back to our apartment by herself.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You walked here?”
“It’s only a couple blocks away,” she says with a shrug.
My phone vibrates in my hand, drawing my attention back to the screen.
“If you want, we can come back to pick her up and I’ll personally drive you both to your apartment. Or I can have my friends bring her back when she’s ready to leave. They just let me know they’ll be back shortly, and I’ll tell them to keep an eye on her.”
She does that cute nervous thing with her mouth again as she fidgets, contemplating her options before giving in with a small nod. “Okay. Let me just text her and let her know to call me when she’s ready to leave.”
I let out a long breath of relief, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to go the rest of the night without having some one-on-one time with this girl—somewhere other than in this damn club.
Isabella and what she did for me the day of my mom’s funeral have never been forgotten. She saved me without even knowing what she was doing. Hell, without even me knowing what she was doing.
Seeing her tonight in the club, in her little high-waisted black skirt and matching black crop top that mold to the curves of her body so perfectly, almost getting drugged by that fucking prick, I knew this was fate bringing us back together.
It’s not that I’ve been pining over this girl for all these years. She’s three years younger than me, which puts her around eight when we met. I didn’t know what it meant to like a girl back then. But what stuck with me from that day onward was the innocent act of her reaching out to me—a total stranger—in a time of need when she didn’t have to.
And that’s why I knew as soon as I saw her tonight—the little girl whose smile I never forgot and who’s grown into the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—I had to ignore everything my dad has tried to drill into my head my entire life. I had to ignore his voice telling me that no woman is worth the weakness they would bring. That one day he’d find me a wife who would produce me an heir and stay out of my way because that’s all they’re ever good for.
I knew I had to ignore him after I had given up hope when my mom passed away, because Isabella had shed some light, telling me everything would be okay.