Prying it open cautiously, each creak of the lid peels back layers of time buried. Photographs discolored by age, letters inked with his handwriting, and small, forgotten treasures spill out onto the floor.
My fingers trace each item. Tears silently fall down my cheek. “Why did you keep Mom a secret?” I ask the photo of Dad in my hand.
Looking through the boxes of his belongings, there is no trace of Caterina at all—every possible memory has been wiped from existence. Flipping through our photo albums, I never noticed before that there are no photos from the hospital or of our life before I was one. How strange…
I keep a handful of valuable items from the box and pack the rest away, scribbling ‘storage’ on the front of it for Luciano.
Monday morning arrives and I’m running late, thanks to my alarm not going off. I bolt from my apartment while tying my hair into a messy bun, my heart pounding as I make it out the front just as my watch turns to 9am, the same time a blacked-out Mercedes SUV rounds the corner and halts in front of me, its dark presence cutting through the morning calm. The driver’s door swings open and out steps a familiar face.
“Glad to officially meet you, Charlotte.” He grins, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
“YOU!”
“Yes, it is me, Charlotte. Your friendly diner loverboy,” he jokes, clutching his chest withhis hand.
“Don’t call me Charlotte. I hate that name.” I place my hands on my hips in defiance. “It’s Charlie.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, Charlie,” he says. “Where’s your stuff? Luciano said you’re moving into the big house. You got a ton of bags to bring?”
Without waiting, he strides into my building, taking two stairs at a time, heading straight for my apartment as if he’s been here a hundred times before. Strange, but I shrug the thought away.
“I haven’t packed as much as you think.” I storm past him with my arms crossed tight. “Look, four bags,” I say as I pick them up awkwardly. “It’s okay, don’t offer to help or anything…”
He leans against the wall, watching me with a quirked brow, trying to figure me out. Today his hair is in a long braid instead of the topknot, giving him a Viking vibe.
“What’s your name, anyway?” I ask, hauling the heavy bags down the stairs and towards the SUV.
“Mattia.”
“Mattia?” I repeat, and the word hangs in the air. “That’s Italian?” Then I remember it’s one of the names in my new phone.
“That’s right,” he says, holding the back door of the SUV open for me to get in.
But instead, I dump my bags on the backseat and storm around to the passenger side, irritation starting to flare. “Well, Mattia, I’d rather not feel like I’m being chauffeured to my new home,” I say. “I’ll sit in the front, thank you very much.”
A grin tugs at his lips as he shuts the back door and slides in behind the wheel. “You and I are going to be best friends, Charlie.”
“Doubt it.” Cranking the radio louder, I press my forehead against the glass, watching the city’s chaos fade into quiet suburban sprawled with mansions and manicured lawns stretching endlessly.
We’ve been driving for nearly an hour when, looming ahead, is the most massive brick wall I’ve ever seen, stretching for what seems like forever. There are no other mansions in sight. When did they stop appearing?
We pull up to the front gate, the car idling quietly. Mattia rolls down his window, eyes sharp as he nods to the two soldiers in the security booth.Where the hell are we?I think to myself as they press a button and the big iron gates in front of us slowly open.
Mattia catches the look I’m trying to mask, shaking his head with a sly grin. “You look confused,” he says. My father always said I didn’t have a good poker face.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I snap, voice thick with sarcasm. “Of course I’m confused. I haven’t the faintest clue what my mother did for a living.” I tried looking her name up online, but I couldn’t find a single thing, which is strange considering the sprawling estate before my eyes. Driving down the winding driveway, the family mansion finally comes into view, but to me it looks more like a fortress masquerading as a home, tucked away from prying eyes. Something doesn’t seem right here.
Mattia steps out of the car, stretching his long frame. “Let’s just say our businesses stretch across cities worldwide,” he says casually.
“What kind of businesses?”
Before Mattia can answer, a deep voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. “Mattia! Prendi le sue valigie dalla macchina. Suite est. Subito!”Mattia! Get her bags out of the car. East suite. Now!
“Si,” Mattia yells back at him, strolling around the car to get my bags.
A cold chill races down my spine. No. It can’t be… The man who claimed ownership of the club is here, at my mother’s estate? A million thoughts start rushing through my mind. Is he family? Oh shit, did I try flirting with my own blood? Did I think about fucking my brother? Ewww. The letter said no siblings, though. Cousin? Uncle? None of it fits, but the dread is real, twisting inside me as each footstep of his crunches louder on the gravel.
He appears at the front of the car, hands in his pockets, his energy fierce and unyielding, a triumphant grin carving across his face. “Principessa,” he declares, his voice thick with victory. “I told you I’d be seeing you soon.” Oh fuck, he must be Luciano…
