Chapter 12
Frances
I sit on the edge of the St. Mary’s fountain in the front courtyard, softly chuckling to myself about this morning. It was thoughtful the way Lucky went through all the trouble to get me a cupcake from my favorite pastry shop. I have no idea how he even knew their Devil’s Double Fudge was my weakness, but I’ve long since stopped trying to figure Lucky out.
Most days, he’s a jerk. Other days, he’s sweeter than that cupcake he got me. So much sweeter.
When he asked me to skip class and hang out with him, I was beyond tempted. I would’ve gladly stayed the whole hour just to kiss his stupid, perfect lips.
But priorities and all that jazz.
Calculus isn’t the only class I need to pass to graduate, and unlike Lucky, academics don’t come easy for me. I have to fight for every good grade that I get.
If I had Lucky’s brain, I could probably wake up every morning already knowing everything without even trying.
Must be nice. Or frustrating, I guess. If you’re the smartest person in the room all the time, it probably gets old. Fast.
Maybe that’s why he snapped at me that day I punched him.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt him to learn how to give other people a little more grace.
My mind is on Lucky and our secret classroom kiss when I hear what sounds like whimpering nearby, followed by sharp, mocking laughter. The faint sound is forgotten, though, when my phone dings in my hand, announcing an incoming text. I glance down at the screen and see it’s from Lucky.
Lucky: Five minutes late. Don’t move.
But then I hear it again, a muffled broken sob, that kicks my instinct into gear. I hesitate to move, feeling torn between finding out what that sound is all about and staying put like Lucky asked. He’ll be here any second, and if he doesn’t see me, he’ll think I ditched him again.
But would he really leave without checking up on me? Probably not. Besides, that’s what he gave me the phone for, so he could find me if needed. A few minutes to investigate whatever that sound is won’t hurt.
I push up from my seat, my heart ticking faster, and start toward the foreboding sounds. The soft sobs twist into malicious laughter, each step pulling the noise into sharper focus. A knot forms in my stomach, but I keep walking in its direction.
“Let me go!” the voice cries, louder now, and I immediately know who it belongs to. That sweet, melodic voice could only belong to Annamaria.
I don’t think. I just run. I sprint past the oak trees hidden behind the chapel, the sound leading me straight to her.
There, I find Annamaria in her school uniform, her blazer ripped at the sleeve, every button in her cardigan torn from its bindings, and her books spilled out across the grass.
However, that’s not the worst of it. Two boys—freshmen, by the looks of them—have her pinned against a tree.
“Come on, Blondie. One kiss won’t kill you,” one sneers while the other picks up a stick, poking at her legs, tugging her skirt higher up her thigh.
“Kiss? The only thing I want her mouth to touch is my junk.”
“I have a better plan. Let’s see if her virgin pussy and ass can take us both in.”
They both cackle in laughter as if it were a game to them while Annamaria clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut, her entire body trembling with fear.
Most people believe when danger is at your door, you’ll react in two ways—fight or flee. However, few acknowledge the third, most common, and often overlooked response. When fear becomes so paralyzing, so crippling, the only thing you do is freeze.
Annamaria isn’t running. She isn’t fighting. She’s just frozen in place, completely petrified.
Lucky for her, my blinding rage floods my veins, burning through whatever fear I might have and readying me for a fight.
“The hell’s going on here!” I shout, smacking the stick out of the boy’s hand as I get closer.
At the sound of my voice, Annamaria’s eyes snap open, fear and gratitude stitched across her pretty face.
“You wanna play too?” the other boy jeers. “Just wait your turn. We’ll gladly make room for you next.”
This fucker.
“Actually,” I say, voice tight with fury, “I’d like my turn now.”
Before he can even process it, I swing my hand into his throat. As he clutches onto it, gasping for air, my fist lands smack into his jaw, hard enough that the skin on my knuckles splits wide open.
As that asshole falls to the ground, the other lunges at me, but I’m faster, kicking him square in the balls before he has a chance to put his hands on me. When he crumples, groaning and clutching himself beside his prick of a friend, I don’t stand idly by to wait and see if they recover. Instead, I grab Annamaria’s hand and pull her toward open ground, away from the cover of the trees, leaving all her belongings behind at the crime scene.
We don’t have to go far before a familiar face comes into view, his expression wary, scanning the area for what can only be his sister.
Damn it. Out of all the Romano siblings who could have come to pick up Annamaria, why did it have to be him?
I release Annamaria’s hand just as she bursts into tears and runs straight into Marcello’s arms, sobbing as he pulls her close.
“What happened? Why are you crying?” Marcello asks, running a gentle hand over her back while his eyes find mine—cold, hard, and merciless. “Did you do something to her?” he demands, his voice thick with dangerous malice.
Panic prickles through me, his stare more frightening than dealing with those boys trying to assault Annamaria. I want to tell him no. I want to tell him that I helped her, but my throat locks up under the weight of his glare. All I see in his eyes is death. The promise of pain and retribution. And now I’m the one who becomes frozen in place.
“She… rescued me,” Annamaria croaks out, lifting her tear-streaked face from his chest. “I don’t know what they would’ve done if she hadn’t.” She breaks down into sobs again, clutching Marcello’s shirt tighter.
Marcello’s arms wrap around her protectively, as if shielding her from the entire world. He looks back at me, the rage in his eyes dimming somewhat and replaced by utter focus.
“Names,” he says flatly.
“I don’t know who they are,” I manage to say, finally finding my voice.
Marcello’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t reprimand me for my ignorance. His attention shifts back to his sister, his only concern clear.
“Let’s go home, dolce angelo, ” he murmurs. “You can tell me what happened after I get you out of here.” Annamaria sobs into his chest but nods.
They start walking toward the parking lot, but after a few steps, Annamaria stops, turns back to me, and says with a trembling voice, “Thank you.” Her gaze then drops to my hand, noticing the blood seeping from my busted knuckles. She pulls away from Marcello to rush to me.
“You’re hurt,” she utters, gently lifting my hand.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re coming home with us so I can bandage your cuts. It’s the least I can do.”
“I’m okay,” I repeat, uneasy at the idea of riding in a car with—or being anywhere close to—Marcello right now.
“You’re coming, and that’s it,” Annamaria says with a fierce tone, leaving no room for argument.
For a girl who was just assaulted, she sure bounces back fast. Or maybe helping others is her way of coping with the trauma of what she just went through.
“I’m fine, Anna. I’m actually waiting for Lucky,” I protest quickly. “We have a tutoring session.”
“He can meet you at the house,” Marcello says, already pulling out his phone. He taps out a message, slipping the phone back into his pocket once he’s done. “There. Lucky knows you’re with us. Let’s go.”
“Okay,” I mumble, forcing a fake smile.
I’m in it now, whether I like it or not.
Annamaria leans into Marcello’s side, his arm draping protectively over her shoulders as they head toward the lot.
Reluctantly, I trail after them, praying Lucky shows up soon and rescues me from having to spend any more time than necessary with his scary-ass brother.
When we finally arrive at the Romano home, Annamaria’s first order of business is to ask their housekeeper if any of their parents are home. Lourdes informs her that their fathers are at work, and their mother is visiting their grandmother’s grave at the cemetery.
Relief floods her face at the news while I get stuck on the plural term for father. Not that I have much time to linger on that thought since Annamaria immediately pulls all her attention and focus onto me, tending to my bruised knuckles and refusing to leave my side until she is sure I am okay.
After taking care of me, Annamaria disappears upstairs to shower and change. She returns twenty minutes later and joins us in the living room, where all her siblings are now gathered, thanks to Marcello and his frantic texting.
Annamaria looks… worse for wear. Fragile. Like a broken porcelain doll that someone forgot to glue back together.
Stella crouches on the carpet in front of her, holding her hands gently and meeting her at eye level.
“Anna, you’re going to have to tell us who did this to you eventually,” Stella says firmly.
“No, I’m not,” Annamaria replies just as steadfastly, her eyes glued to the floor to avoid seeing the rage burning in her siblings’ eyes.
While Marcello still scares the hell out of me, I have to admit, after she heard what happened to her younger sister, Stella’s expression nearly made me wet myself.
“Anna,” Stella presses.
“Don’t pressure me into giving you their names because I won’t do it. They don’t matter. They’re no one of importance,” Annamaria counters, steel threading through her voice.
“The fuck they aren’t!” Lucky snaps beside me, his arm draped around my shoulders, the heat of it impossible to ignore.
“Lucky and Stella are right, bella, ” Enzo says, his tone softer, coaxing. “Those boys need to be taught a lesson.”
Anna’s head snaps up, locking eyes with each of her siblings. “No,” she says, voice low and steady. “I know exactly what kind of lesson you all have in mind, and I won’t have that on my conscience. It’s bad enough that I let it happen. I refuse to be the reason the people I love have blood on their hands because of it.”
“Blood?” I ask, blinking in confusion.
“She means us beating them up,” Lucky is quick to explain. “As you can tell, Anna here is a pacifist. Even with pieces of shit that don’t deserve it.”
I nod, but for the first time since hanging out with Lucky, I feel like he’s just lied to me somehow. Still, what else could she have meant?
“Maybe we should talk about this later, ” Enzo says, his wary gaze flicking toward me.
I don’t miss the guarded look in his eyes or the way Lucky immediately places a protective hand on my knee, as if the silent gesture carries some hidden meaning I’m not privy to.
“There’s nothing left to talk about,” Annamaria states matter of fact, rising to her feet, Stella immediately standing with her. “This issue is over and done with.”
“Not if we tell Mom and Dad,” Stella says, a wicked little smile curling her lips.
“If either of you says anything to our parents,” Annamaria warns, her voice deadly calm, “then let me remind you all that I know plenty about you too. Tell them my secret, and I’ll tell them yours.”
“Are you blackmailing us, little sis?” Lucky asks, looking absolutely delighted.
“I don’t want to, but I will if I have to,” she says, chin high and proud.
“Aww,” Enzo presses a hand to his heart. “I don’t think we’ve ever been prouder of you, bella, ” he teases, kissing her cheek.
Annamaria gives him a reluctant little smile, but it falters when her eyes land on Stella and Marcello. Neither one looks even close to being done with the issue.
“Stop looking at me like that. I told you that I’m fine,” she insists. “All they did was rough me up a little and ruin my blazer. That’s it. I can handle those two bullies myself. Even if I have to pull a Frankie.” She winks at me, causing my face to go up in flames.
Great. Kicking someone’s junk and sucker-punching them now has my name trademarked.
“Thank you again for helping me at school,” Annamaria says sincerely. “I’ll never forget it.”
“Anyone would have done the same,” I mumble, uncomfortable with the praise.
“Not everyone,” Marcello chimes in, arms crossed over his broad chest. “That school was packed with kids when I arrived there. Someone must have heard my sister in distress and did nothing about it. You’re the only one who actually took action to help her.” His blue eyes pin me in place. “We owe you. I owe you. I won’t forget what you did for my sister. Ever.”
An hour ago, those words would have terrified me. But not now. Marcello doesn’t look like a demon ready to exact his vengeance. He just looks like a big brother, desperate to protect his siblings from the evils of the world.
Huh. Talk about irony. Lucky once accused me of being Jekyll and Hyde, but I wonder if he knows he’s the one sharing a roof with such a mercurial person.
When Marcello’s heavy stare doesn’t budge off me, I start fidgeting in my seat, which Lucky notices instantly. I almost let out a sigh of relief when he grabs my hand and pulls me up from the couch.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Anna,” he says. “I promise I won’t say anything to the parentals, but we’re not done talking about this.” He shoots her a look that brooks no argument. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some tutoring to do. Call us when dinner’s ready.”
“You’re staying for dinner?” Annamaria asks me, her voice lighter.
I open my mouth, but Lucky answers first, “Of course she is. She must’ve worked up an appetite kicking those guys’ asses, right, babe?”
Babe? Since when did we start using such terms of endearment?
Before I can even react, Lucky’s already tugging me out of the living room by the hand. I let him since the tension in the living room was starting to get too stifling for me anyway.
“I don’t know if I can stay for dinner,” I say absentmindedly, trailing behind him up a flight of stairs, while taking in my new surroundings.
When Marcello first pulled up to what looked like a hideaway cabin hidden in the middle of the woods, I thought for sure he’d taken Annamaria and me to his secret bachelor pad. It made sense that someone like Marcello craved peace and solitude, away from judgmental eyes and a world he obviously didn’t trust. However, I quickly realized that this place didn’t belong solely to Marcello but to his entire family.
The Romano cabin wasn’t flashy like the mansion I’d visited for Sunday lunch that one time. There was no cold marble, no gold-trimmed anything, no feeling like you might break something just by breathing on it. This house felt alive like it had grown straight out of the forest, stitched together with stone, timber, and years of family memories. Even though it was massive, with sharp rooftops and a winding staircase leading up to the third floor, there was a warmth to it, like the walls had soaked up decades of laughter and secrets. Just standing here, I can tell this house was built for love, not for show.
Lucky squeezes my hand, snapping me out of my awe-struck stupor. He then flashes me a crooked smile over his shoulder. “This way,” he says, tugging me down a long hallway lined with family portraits.
“So this is your real home, huh?” I ask, though the answer is obvious now.
“It sure is,” he says, nodding with a coy smile.
I don’t ask why his family chose this place over the mansion. I don’t have to. I already know. The mansion felt like a museum—cold, untouchable, pristine. But this house? It feels like a heartbeat built from wood and stone.
“You look awfully happy,” I tease when I catch a glimpse of his face looking at me.
“Do I?” He raises a brow, pretending he wasn’t just grinning from ear to ear.
It’s cute the way he tries—and fails—to smother his grin.
Cute?
Oh, God. Did I just refer to Lucky’s smile as cute? I must be coming down with something.
Lucky stops in front of a door and opens it with a playful tilt of his head. “This is me,” he says, swinging the door wide.
The second I realize he just brought me to his bedroom, I freeze in the hallway, my feet glued to the floor.
Lucky glances back, a laugh rumbling low in his chest.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?” he teases, pressing a warm hand lightly to the small of my back, goosebumps sparking up my spine at the mere contact.
“I’m not sure I should,” I whisper.
“Come on, Frankie. We’ve been alone plenty of times before in my brother’s apartment, remember?”
Yes, in his living room, not the bedroom. I remind myself, taking a deep breath.
“Hey, you okay? You’re looking a bit paler than usual,” Lucky asks, concern knitting his brows together as he cups my cheeks in his hands to get a better look at me.
“I guess the adrenaline of what happened earlier at school has officially worn off,” I lie, even as my heart starts beating a mile a minute.
“I get that,” he says with a soft voice, so soft it only makes my heart race faster.
I don’t know why standing here in his house, his bedroom just a few steps away, makes me want to bolt. But it does.
“I think I should go home,” I blurt out before I allow myself to take another step.
Disappointment clouds his face, the shade of copper in his eyes dimming. It physically hurts to see him look at me like that…so crestfallen. But I just add it to the list of reasons why I should leave this place quickly.
“Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll take you home.” No pushback. No arguments.
And somehow, for some unknown reason, I’m the one feeling the sting of a battle he never even tried to fight. Especially when Lucky lets his hands fall away from my face and quietly leads me back down the stairs.
“You’re leaving?” Stella calls out when she spots us heading for the main door.
I just nod, not trusting myself to say anymore without spilling the real reason why I’m practically sprinting toward the exit.
“It’s been a long day,” I offer weakly.
Stella’s gaze flicks between me and her brother, her eyebrows pinching together, suspicion written all over her face.
“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” she asks after an infernal long pause.
“I… umm… no. Why?”
“Good,” she retorts, now smiling. “I think Anna needs a girls’ day out to get her mind off everything that happened today. How about I pick you up around nine?”
Not having a good enough excuse—and needing to make my great escape—I just nod and smile.
“Perfect. I’ll grab your number from Lucky later and text you,” she says before waving us off.
I lift my head to look at Lucky, ready to ask him what that was all about, but he pretends not to see me stare at him and gently steers me toward the door. Once outside, he opens his car door for me, guiding me inside without a word. I take a page from his handbook and remain silent as he walks around and slides into the driver’s seat.
I don’t know why his silent treatment has my anxiety spiking, but it does. So much so that I begin fumbling with the seatbelt as if it were some kind of unsolvable puzzle.
“Here, let me help,” he says, his voice low and patient.
He leans in, tugging the belt across me and clicking it into place. But instead of pulling back once he’s done, he just stays there for a moment. His face is so close, his warm breath skimming my cheek, his chestnut eyes searching my face, making my heart do a full-on Olympic backflip.
“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice rough and tender like sandpaper brushed with silk.
When I don’t say anything or even move, he pulls away, fastening his seatbelt before starting the car.
We drive back to the orphanage in silence, which only makes me feel even more frazzled. Normally, we can’t shut up around each other, even if it’s just trading insults.
Now?
Nothing.
Just the hum of the engine and the mellow, soothing sound of SZA playing through the speakers.
“Thank you for looking out for Anna today,” Lucky says after parking in front of the orphanage, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead of us like he can’t quite bring himself to look at me.
“No problem,” I reply automatically, chewing on the corner of my bottom lip. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Anna?” He huffs a dry laugh. “She’s a Romano. She’ll be fine.”
I don’t really know what that means—she’s a Romano—but I let it slide.
“Are you going to tell your parents?” I ask, desperate for any excuse to stay in the car with him a little longer.
I’m not sure if it’s the public setting that makes it easier for me to breathe, but suddenly, I’m in no rush to leave him. Not when I still feel this unnamed tension and awkwardness between us.
“Marcello’s got it handled,” Lucky says vaguely. “He’ll figure out who those assholes are and deal with them.”
“How will he deal with them?”
Lucky finally turns to look at me, causing an icy shiver to trail down my spine at the dark look clouding his face.
“Let’s just say those assholes will never bother my sister—or any girl—again.”
My brows pull together, uneasy. But before I can press further, he leans in until we’re just inches apart.
“You freaked out on me back there,” he says quietly. “Was it something I did? Something I said?” His eyes plead with me, raw and vulnerable. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, all I do is swallow hard. “Talk to me. I can handle it,” he adds, his vulnerable gaze searching mine.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to answer. “I honestly don’t know why I got so overwhelmed. Maybe… maybe it just felt too familiar.” I pause, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside to add, “I’ve never really had a friend before.” He draws back slightly, his expression softening.
“Then I’ll be your first,” he says, his voice thick with meaning.
His gaze then drops from my eyes to my lips, then back up again, making my stomach twist into a thousand anxious knots.
“Is that what we are?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer. “Friends?”
“Would you rather we go back to being enemies?” he teases, but his gaze stays serious, locked on mine.
I think about it.
I always knew where we stood when he was my enemy.
So enemies would definitely be easier. Cleaner, too. Less messy.
But friends? Being his friend feels… nice. Different.
Maybe that’s why I freaked out.
I’m not used to having nice things in my life. Not used to people choosing to stay in it.
And the scariest part of all? A part of me hopes he will. That he stays for the long haul.
“No.” I shake my head when I realize he’s still awaiting my reply. “We can be friends.”
“Good,” he says with a little smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze flicks back down to my lips before he pulls away. “Guess I’ll see you Monday then… friend. ”
My heart sinks straight to the pit of my stomach.
Two whole days without seeing him? Why do I hate the sound of that?
“Guess so,” I mumble, frowning.
I reach for the car handle, ready to get out, but Lucky’s hand on my thigh stops me. I freeze, glancing over at him. He’s staring straight ahead again, his jaw tight.
“I know we just said we’re friends and shit,” he starts, voice low, “but I gotta tell you something.”
I try not to read into why my breath catches and instead ask him, “What is it?”
“I really hate that we didn’t have our tutoring session today.”
“I think my grades will survive.” I smile, relaxing a little.
“That’s not why,” he says, frowning deeper. “I hate that I have to wait two whole fucking days to kiss you again.”
The world tilts a little as my heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.
Lucky flicks his gaze back to me, his brown eyes darker now, almost smoldering. And to my chagrin, I can’t help but look at his mouth, at his lips, and for a split second, I swear they call out to me. However, I don’t lean in. I don’t let myself. Instead, I let out a long sigh, my shoulders sagging.
“I hate it too,” I admit in a whisper, then gather whatever bit of courage I have left and lean in to press a soft kiss on his cheek.
Lucky closes his eyes, breathing me in like he’s trying to memorize my touch, his fingers squeezing my thigh gently.
When I pull away, my breath is ragged, my body buzzing. Lucky’s eyes open, and his usual soft, burnished brown is no longer there but a stormy, midnight shade, dark and burning.
I know if I stay even one second longer, I’ll do something reckless like kiss him right here where anyone can see us.
Where Sister Margaretta can see us.
So instead, I whisper a rushed, “Goodnight,” and practically bolt from the car, sprinting up the stairs and slipping inside the orphanage.
Once the door clicks shut behind me, I slump against it, clutching my chest, my heart racing like a runaway train.
Lucky said he was my friend, but friends don’t kiss like we do.
Friends don’t make each other feel like they’re standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall.
Friends don’t turn the air into electricity every time they’re near one another.
What have I gotten myself into?
Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps having Lucky as my enemy was the safer bet.
Because being friends with him is starting to feel like the biggest risk I’ve ever taken.
A risk not just to my heart but to everything I thought I knew about my future.