I study the sweeping staircase, the fresh flowers arranged in vases taller than Lily, the oil paintings that look old enough to belong in museums. Everything gleams.
My mind flashes to my apartment. The water stain on the ceiling.
This is what he saw when he walked into my home.
This is what my life looks like through his eyes.
Nothing. Less than nothing.
Rich people build these palaces and never think about the rest of us. Never wonder how someone goes home to a one-bedroom with a temperamental toaster. Why would they? We're invisible until we're useful.
"Follow me." Nico's voice cuts through my spiral.
Not please follow me. Not would you like to. Just a command. Two words. Like I'm one of his employees.
I guess tonight, I am.
I follow him through a hallway lined with more art, more fresh flowers, more evidence of a life I'll never understand. My flats make soft sounds on the hardwood floors. His expensive shoes make none.
He moves like he owns the world. I've never met a person with such confidence.
We enter a living room that's bigger than my entire apartment building's lobby. A fireplace dominates one wall—not for warmth, I bet, but for atmosphere. Leather furniture. More of those floor-to-ceiling windows I noticed from outside.
And people. So many people.
My stomach drops.
A young woman with dark hair and striking features rises from one of the couches, her smile warm. She moves toward me.
"You must be Kristen." She takes my hand before I can decide if I should offer it. "I'm Vittoria. Nico's sister. Thank you for saving our mother."
"I just—it wasn't—" I stumble over words like an idiot.
But Vittoria's already turning, gesturing to the room like a tour guide at a museum.
"Let me introduce everyone." She points to a dark-haired man with brown eyes sitting beside a honey-haired woman. "That's Lorenzo, my brother, and his wife Sophia."
Lorenzo nods. Sophia offers a small wave and a softer smile.
"Nora and Pietro." Vittoria indicates a red-haired woman with striking green eyes and a man who radiates authority even while seated. He's got the same dark coloring as Nico, the same intensity.
"Valentino and Carmela." A broad, silver-templed man with the posture of a soldier. An older woman beside him with kind eyes and the same elegant bone structure as Aria.
"And you already met Liam." Vittoria finishes with a gesture toward the corner where the driver stands.
Too many names. Too many faces. Too many people who belong here when I absolutely don't.
Lorenzo. Sophia. Nora. Pietro. Valentino. Carmela. Liam.
I'll forget half of them in five minutes.
"Please, sit." Vittoria guides me toward an empty armchair. The leather is so soft it feels like butter. I perch on the edge, afraid to lean back. Afraid to leave a mark on something this expensive.
Nico doesn't sit. He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"So, Kristen." Vittoria settles onto the couch across from me, tucking her legs beneath her like we're old friends at a sleepover. "Tell us about yourself."
My mind goes blank.
