Nicoletta Bellucci
Morning came deceptively calm. The villa was waking slowly: maids whispering behind closed doors, cooks already bustling in the kitchen, and cars gathering in the courtyard to take away the last of the overnight guests.
Nicoletta stood on the balcony, wrapped in a thin robe, watching the light breeze stir the cypress crowns. Last night felt like a bad dream—false toasts, the press flashes, handshakes, fireworks. The role of the Luna Queen—a dull mask placed on her without even asking.
She drew in a deep breath of the salty Roman air, listening to herself. Inside, the echo of another voice still lived.
“You’re mine, Bella Lupa…”
“You’re up early,” Nico said.
She turned. Her brother walked in without knocking, as always. He was dressed simply—black jeans, a white shi
