TETHERED TO SIN

Stay Away From Him

Chapter Three:

I’m halfway through my bowl of cereal when Cassie drops the bomb.

“He’s dangerous, you know.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

She slides onto the edge of my bed, still in pajama shorts and a hoodie, her hair pulled up in a messy pineapple bun. “Luca De Rossi,” she says, like I should already know. “That guy from last night? Tall, dark, and staring like he’s trying to see your soul? Stay away from him.”

I snort, trying to play it off. “I didn’t even talk to him.”

Cassie gives me a look, the kind that says "Don’t be cute". “You don’t have to." He notices things. People. "He doesn’t just look at you—he clocks you. "And when the De Rossi family clocks someone…” She trails off and shrugs. “Things get weird.”

I frowned. “What kind of weird?”

She dips her head closer, her voice quiet enough for only me to hear. “People don’t ask too many questions about Luca or his family. Especially not here. But you’ll hear things if you listen.”

I laughed under my breath, trying to ignore the way her words settle like stones in my gut. “You make him sound like a villain in a mob movie.”

Cassie doesn't laugh. “You’re not from here. You don’t get how things work yet.”

I waved her off, standing to toss the cereal bowl in the sink. “Relax. I’m not planning on falling in love with the mafia.”

“Good,” she says simply. “Because he’s the kind of guy who ruins girls without even touching them.”

Later that day, the campus was buzzing with the usual Friday energy. Groups of students sprawl across the quad, stretched out on blankets or clustered around iced coffees. The air smells like cut grass and cheap cologne, and somewhere, someone’s blasting a summer playlist that refuses to die.

I slipped into one of the lecture halls for my English class, trying to shake off the fog from Cassie’s warning. But it sticks with me. I can’t even blink without seeing his face. The way his eyes found mine across the room, how still he stood in all that noise, like the world was just something he tolerated.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know him.

But I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me. Like he knew something.

The lecture drones on about Shakespeare and tragedy, and unreliable narrators. Fitting. The professor’s voice becomes background noise as my mind drifts. I doodle absently in the margins of my notebook: a skull, a rose, a pair of eyes too intense to be anyone else’s.

After class, I stopped by the library to kill time before my next lecture. I grab a spot near the back and pretend to read, but the buzz of quiet conversation nearby keeps pulling my attention. Two girls, one brunette and one with bright red braids, are whispering a little too loudly at the table behind me.

“I’m telling you, it’s true,” the brunette hisses. “Her cousin’s roommate dated one of them.”

“Dated who?”

“A De Rossi.”

I freeze.

The redhead scoffs. “No one dates De Rossis. They use people. They’ve got money, connections, and no soul.”

I shift in my seat, pretending to reach into my bag as I angle myself slightly to listen.

“She said they have dirt on half the city. Judges, cops, politicians. The dad’s barely seen in public, but when he does show up, everyone shuts the hell up.”

“Scary stuff,” the redhead mutters.

“You should’ve seen Luca last year. This one guy, Jared or Jalen or whatever, thought he could get cute with Luca’s little cousin at a bar off campus. Next morning? Broken nose, missing tooth. No one saw anything. No one ever sees anything.”

I felt a chill creep up my spine.

I leave before they notice I was eavesdropping. Outside, the sun is warm and blinding, but the things they said trail after me like shadows.

By the time I get back to the dorm, Cassie’s already sprawled out on her bed, one leg swinging off the edge, scrolling through her phone with that signature plotting face she wears when she’s about to drag me into something.

She glances up, eyes lighting up like I walked in holding pizza. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” I ask, toeing off my sneakers and mentally checking out for the night.

Cassie doesn’t answer right away. She just swings her legs around and sits up, tucking her phone under her thigh. “Okay, hear me out before you say no.”

“That’s never a good start,” I mutter, already suspicious.

“There’s this thing tonight. "Not a rager or anything,” she says quickly. Just a rooftop party. A chill one. Malaya got us on the list.”

“List?” I blinked. “That sounds like exactly the kind of place I don’t belong to.”

She waves that off. “You’re thinking about it too hard. You’ve been dragging yourself around like a ghost. You need a little serotonin. Loud music. Pretty lights. A little harmless flirting.”

I raise an eyebrow. "Is this really about me, or are you just trying to wear that sparkly top again?”

She shrugs with zero shame. “Both can be true.”

I lean against the wall and pretend to think about it, but something in me’s already leaning toward yes. Maybe it’s boredom. Or maybe it’s the memory of those eyes from the other night, the way they seemed to follow me through the crowd. I tell myself it’s not why I want to go, but I’m not a great liar.

“I don’t have anything that fits the rooftop-party-with-a-guest-list vibe,” I say finally.

Cassie practically launches herself off the bed. “Say less.”

Ten minutes later, I’m in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection with both dread and disbelief. The dress Cassie picked out is way more revealing than anything I’d choose on my own: black, silky, and short enough to make sitting down a tactical operation.

“This feels illegal,” I say, tugging at the hem.

“You look incredible,” Cassie says, planting her hands on her hips. “Like a Bond girl but moodier.”

I laugh under my breath. “Moody Bond girl. That’s the dream.”

“Exactly. Own it.”

She helps me pin my curls up in a messy, kind-of-on-purpose way and slides a pair of hoops into my ears before stepping back to admire her work. “There. Now you’re ready to haunt someone’s son.”

I smirk. “Let’s hope he deserves it.”

The Vault is already pulsing with music when we arrive. Neon lights flash across the rooftop, casting everything in electric blues and pinks. People dance, drink, and drape themselves over patio furniture like it's a runway.

Cassie disappears almost immediately into a sea of people, and I hang back, snagging a drink and watching the chaos unfold.

Then I feel it—that sensation. Like being watched.

I turn slowly, scanning the crowd, and there he is.

Luca.

He’s standing off to the side, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he doesn’t seem interested in. His eyes are on me, unreadable.

I looked away, heat crawling up my neck. But it’s too late. He’s already moving.

He walks like he owns the surrounding space—slow, deliberate, dangerous. And when he stops in front of me, it’s like the music dulls, the air shifts.

“Didn’t think you were the party type,” he says.

His voice is low, smooth. Not flirtatious, not warm. Just...watching.

“Neither did I,” I say, surprised by how steady I sound.

There’s a beat of silence between us. Then, his eyes flicked over my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My throat tightens. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle. He’s still deciding whether to solve it or leave it alone.

“Some things aren’t safe to be around.”

Then he turns and walks away, vanishing into the crowd like smoke.

I stand there, pulse racing.

Who the hell is he?

And why do I want to know more?