Chapter 5- Seraphina.
1379 Words
It’s still dark when I open my eyes, the kind of blue-black quiet that belongs to six in the morning. The villa sleeps heavily, the windows whisper with the first breeze of dawn, carrying the scent of cypress and wet grass through the cracked glass.
I turn over slowly. Josh is still asleep, breathing deep, one arm draped across my waist, his fingers resting on my hip like they were molded there. His mouth is slightly parted, a soft snore escaping every few breaths. His hair’s a mess, boyish in a way he’d hate if I told him. My smile is soft, the kind that doesn’t touch my lips often, but it fades fast.
He needs to be gone before my brothers wake up and turn this house into a crime scene.
I lean in, brushing my lips against his cheek. “Josh… hey, baby.” He stirs, mumbling something incoherent. I kiss the corner of his mouth. “It’s almost six. You have to go.”
He blinks up at me, groggy, warm, and clearly not ready to move. “s**t… already?”
“Yeah. Come on. Before Massimo wakes up and starts waving a gun around.”
That gets him moving. He groans, sits up, and rakes a hand through his hair. I slip out of bed, tug on one of his T-shirts while he gets dressed. He moves like he wants to stay, and I move like I know he can’t.
By the time we reach the front hall, my heart’s already beating too fast.
“Well, well, well… look who got busy.”
Shit. Nico stands by the door in a hoodie, hair a mess, phone in hand, looking way too smug for someone barely awake. When did he even get back to New York?
Josh freezes.
I sigh. “Please don’t.”
Nico grins.“Don’t what? Say good morning to my favorite sister and her overnight guest?”
“You’re such a little shit.”
Josh clears his throat. “Hey, Nico. Uh… good seeing you, man.”
“Mhm,” Nico hums, clearly loving this. “Try not to limp on the way out.”
Josh looks like he wants to evaporate. I punch Nico’s arm lightly as I open the door.
Josh leans in, kisses my cheek, whispers, “See you at college, alright?”
I nod. “Text me when you get there.”
He smirks, gives me one last sharp smack on the ass, and jogs down the steps.
“Jesus Christ,” Nico mutters. “Can you at least pretend to be subtle?”
“I woke him up at six to sneak him out. That is subtle.”
We head toward the kitchen, my feet are cold against the tile; the house is still blessedly silent. I start the espresso machine while Nico flops onto a stool.
“So,” he says, voice casual. “You and college boy are still a thing, huh?”
I glance at him. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“Because I assumed you’d get bored. Or that one of our brothers would’ve shipped him to witness protection by now.”
I hand him a cup. “You’re not telling them, right?”
He takes a sip, smirks over the rim. “I haven’t yet.”
“Nico.”
“Relax. I like the guy for now. But if he hurts you, I’m not stopping Angelo.”
“Noted.”
He sips again, studying me. “Is he… good to you?”
I blink. “Wow. That almost sounded mature.”
“Don’t make it weird. Just answer the question.”
My mouth curves. “Yeah. He is. He listens, makes me laugh, and doesn’t flinch when I get quiet.”
Nico nods slowly. “And in bed?”
“Nico!”
He cackles, nearly choking on his coffee.“Okay, okay! I’m just saying—if you’re sneaking him in here, he'd better be worth the noise.”
My cheeks burn. I smack him with a napkin. “You’re done. You’re so done.”
He lifts his hands, still grinning. When I turn back to the espresso machine, something in me is heavier. I know Josh is sweet, funny, and safe. But even now, wrapped in his shirt, there’s a weight in my chest I can’t name. Something that tastes like guilt, or doubt, or something darker that I am afraid to poke too much. I glance at Nico again, sitting on the stool, cradling his mug like he’s twenty instead of sixteen. He looks lighter this morning, maybe it’s the caffeine, maybe it’s the way dawn hasn’t burned the peace away yet.
“So,” I say, leaning on the counter, “how’s school?”
His face brightens immediately, that boyish spark that the others never get to see flickering back to life. “It’s actually good. Like, really good this term.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. They switched me to the international program. More art electives, better gym hours. I’m playing basketball again—starter, not bench.”
My lips curve.“Look at you. Future NBA star of…” I trail off. “Wait. What’s the name of the school again?”
“St. Aldric’s,” he says proudly, grinning. “Just outside Geneva. Cold as hell, but clean, quiet. You’d like it. You can walk out by the lake at night and actually hear yourself think.”
That makes me smile wider. “And the food? Still pretending to like cafeteria fondue?”
He laughs, tipping his head back. “You joke, but they actually serve fondue on Fridays. And raclette. I think I’ve gained muscle and cholesterol.”
“Very attractive combination.”
“My girlfriend says the same thing.”
That word stops me for half a heartbeat.“Girlfriend?”
He smirks at my raised eyebrow. “What? You think I’m too young?”
“Yes,” I tease. “But go on. What’s she like?”
He shrugs, pretending not to care, but his ears flush pink. “Her name’s Léa. She’s from Lyon. Plays violin, beats me at chess, and laughs like she doesn’t know what homework is.”
I can’t help it; my chest softens. “You like her a lot, huh?”
He nods, looking down at his mug. “Yeah. It’s… easy. She doesn’t ask heavy questions. We just… exist. She listens. She doesn’t expect me to be tough all the time.”
Something tugs at me, maybe it’s envy. Maybe it’s relief that he still gets to be young in a way the rest of us forgot how to be. I nudge his shoulder. “I’m glad you have that, Nico. You deserve easy.”
He glances up, eyes a brighter shade of our mother’s blue. “You say that like you don’t.”
I smile, but it’s thin. “Easy’s never really been my thing.”
He frowns slightly. “You could have it, though. You just don’t let anyone see you want it.”
I look down into my espresso. “Maybe I don’t know what I want.”
He studies me for a second, then shrugs, switching back to that teasing tone he wears like armor. “Well, figure it out soon, Seraphina mia. Because the way I see it, our brothers want you locked in a tower, and I’m the only one who knows you’d jump out just to prove a point.”
I laugh, a real one this time, and reach over to ruffle his hair. He groans, batting my hand away. “God, you’re annoying,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
“And you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
The kitchen fills with quiet again, the good kind. The one that doesn’t weigh down, just hums softly between sips of coffee and shared air.
Nico talks more about school, about his coach, his dorm room with a view of the lake, and the friends he plays cards with until curfew. I listen, I memorize the sound of his laugh, because I know mornings like this don’t come often in this house, and I want to keep this one alive a little longer before the world wakes up.
- Writer
