Chapter 7
1499 Words
Nicoletta rose carefully from the bed, trying not to disturb Lucci’s sleep. His face in slumber looked almost boyish — peaceful, unguarded.
She glanced around. The dress was hopelessly torn. Her gaze caught a dark gray hoodie thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. She picked it up, pressed it to her face, and breathed in the scent. It was saturated with the warmth of his skin, and something faintly wild — something wolfish. Her body remembered his touch.
The hoodie was far too big, reaching almost to her knees, but she wrapped herself in it like armor — protection and comfort all at once.
Approaching the bed again, Nicoletta looked at him one last time. In the moonlight streaming through the half-closed curtains, he seemed unreal — beautiful in a way that didn’t belong to this world.
“If the stars align,” she whispered, leaning closer, “fate will bring us together again, Lucci.”
Her lips brushed his temple in a gentle goodbye.
For a moment she hesitated by the door, glancing at the crumpled, torn dress on the floor. It no longer had any use or beauty — but it held a story. This night. This escape. This kiss. This “almost.”
She picked it up, ran her fingers along the ripped seam, as if saying farewell, then laid it carefully on the armchair beside the bed. Let it stay. Let it remind him. Or puzzle him.
She left behind the scent of her skin, the trace of her presence in his bed, and the ruined dress — a silent symbol of the choice she had made.
She looked at him one last time, then slipped out quietly, dissolving into the hush of the Roman night.
Nicoletta walked home slowly. Rome at night was breathtaking — the streets damp with dew, the air warm and rich with the scent of jasmine, heated stone, and cigarette smoke drifting from late cafés where laughter still lingered.
Her steps were light, almost floating. She could still feel his touch, his scent, his voice. Inside, everything trembled — with fear, relief, desire, and secrecy.
As she turned into her neighborhood, a sudden screech of brakes split the silence. A motorcycle stopped abruptly in front of her, exhaust clouding the air. A familiar figure jumped off.
“Nicoletta?!” The voice was tight, edged with fury.
She froze. Her twin brother, Nico, stood before her — his face hard, eyes blazing, fists clenched.
“Where have you been?” His voice was too quiet — dangerously so.
“I… just went for a walk,” she tried to sound calm, clutching the hoodie tighter around her.
He scanned her from head to toe. His gaze lingered on the hoodie — not hers. His eyes narrowed.
“That’s not your clothing. Where’s your dress? What have you done, Letta?” His voice broke into a growl.
“Leave me alone, Nico. I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her voice was sharp, but trembling.
“You really did it…” He stepped closer. “You actually did it? You lost the gene?”
Nicoletta stayed silent.
“You have no idea what this means!” he hissed. “Father… the Alpha… Marcus… everyone!”
“I’m not an object, Nico,” she said evenly, though her hands trembled. “I don’t belong to the pack like property.”
He turned away, running a hand through his hair, lost for words. Then he looked back at her — not angry now, but hurt.
“I just don’t want to lose you. We’re bound, you and I. You’re my sister. A she-wolf. Or you were supposed to be…”
“I’m still deciding who I am.” She walked past him, not looking back. “And that’s my choice.”
She stopped. The night wind brushed her hair, carrying away the city scent, leaving only the heat in her chest.
“So you really did it?..” His voice came again, softer this time, almost a whisper.
She exhaled slowly, fists hidden inside the sleeves of Lucci’s hoodie.
“No,” she said quietly but clearly. “Not completely.”
Nico took a sharp step toward her.
“What do you mean, ‘not completely’?”
“I was on the edge,” she said, turning to face him. In her eyes flickered the stars — and a strange, weary maturity. “But I stopped. Because I realized I wasn’t running from marriage. I was running from myself.”
He studied her face, then looked down.
“The gene can still awaken?” he asked almost breathlessly.
“Yes. For now.”
He nodded — relieved, though not happy. He knew it only made things more complicated.
“And him?” he asked.
“Who?”
“The one you were with. Does he know who you are?”
Nicoletta looked away.
“No. And I don’t want him to.”
Silence. A gust of wind.
“So you can still become a wolf,” Nico said, his voice low with faint hope.
She met his gaze steadily.
“I can still become myself,” she replied. “Not what others want me to be.”
“Let’s go home before someone sees you,” he said, scanning the street warily.
But it was already too late.
At the gates of the Bellucci mansion, beneath the cypress shadows, stood their father.
Stern as ever. Majestic. His face carved from stone — showing no anger, no disappointment. Only cold assessment.
Nicoletta tensed. His gaze was sharp and merciless, like a hunter’s fixed on prey.
“Where have you been, Nicoletta?” His voice was calm, yet laced with a threat that twisted her insides into a knot.
She straightened, still wrapped in the heavy hoodie whose scent kept her grounded.
“Walking. The night is beautiful.”
“In someone else’s clothes?” He didn’t need to raise his voice — his silence was lethal.
Nico tried to speak, but their father lifted a hand.
“I’m speaking to her. You are a Bellucci. You forget that blood is a debt — and every debt must be paid.”
“Sometimes the price is too high,” she replied quietly. “Even for the pack.”
He stepped closer. His eyes were steel.
“And who decides what’s too high? You — who haven’t even awakened your gene?”
“Maybe that’s why I can still feel,” she said softly.
Silence. Long. Heavy.
“Inside,” he ordered at last.
He paused. Nico turned to his sister abruptly.
“Nicoletta…”
But she wasn’t afraid anymore. She straightened her back.
“I’m not your possession. And I won’t become a wolf just to be traded for loyalty.”
Their father said nothing. He simply looked at Nico.
“Watch your sister,” he said, then turned and disappeared into the house.
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving them standing on the threshold — between night and duty, between blood and choice.
The next day, their father didn’t speak a word. No scolding, no outburst — only the icy calm that was worse than anger.
At breakfast, he placed a folder of documents before her.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Where?” She didn’t even glance at the papers.
“To a boarding school for young women of worthy families. Abroad. You’ll stay there until you come of age. You’ll receive proper education, discipline — and, I hope, lose these… impulses.”
“Is this exile?” she asked, almost laughing. “Or isolation?”
“It’s the protection of your future. You’ve left me no choice. If you can’t behave like a Bellucci, you’ll stay somewhere that will teach you how.”
“You’re afraid I’ll lose the gene?” she raised an eyebrow. “Or afraid I’ll become free?”
“I’m afraid you’ll destroy what generations have built,” he replied, voice steady. “Your blood is valuable. Your mate must be worthy. You have no right to squander that.”
“It’s strange,” she said bitterly, “how you call it love — and loyalty to the pack. But you know, Father… even a purebred wolf in a cage is still a prisoner.”
He didn’t answer. Only nodded to the housekeeper.
“Pack her things. The flight is tomorrow.”
Nico stood in the doorway. He didn’t interfere. Just watched — eyes filled with worry, guilt… and a silent promise: I’ll be there if you need me.
Nicoletta sat quietly, staring out the window. Ahead of her — a plane, a school, and walls. Whether outside or within didn’t matter anymore.
She didn’t know when she would see him again.
But his scent still lingered on her skin.
And in her heart — one thought:
“If the stars align,” she whispered, leaning closer, “fate will bring us together again, Lucci.”
- Writer
