BENEATH THE BORGIA'S MASK

Donatella The sound of clinking cutlery and bursts of laughter filled the university cafeteria, but Donatella Giorgio barely noticed. She sat cross-legged on the velvet seat by the window, her almond-shaped eyes glued to her phone screen. Sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the golden undertones in her honey-brown hair, which cascaded in soft curls down her shoulder. Across from her, Harper was sipping on a iced coffee, scrolling lazily through her own feed. They were both dressed like they had somewhere more glamorous to be because, for girls like them, every hallway in Bocconi University was a runway. Donatella wore a pale blue ruched blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt, paired with sleek white heels. Harper matched her energy effortlessly in a soft lavender jumpsuit and glossy lips. Still no sign of Lucia. "Five more minutes," Donatella muttered, tapping her screen again. "If she's not here by then, we're ordering without her." "She's always late," Harper replied, not looking up. "She works three jobs, babe. You're lucky if she shows up at all." Donatella rolled her eyes fondly. "I know. I just miss her face." Then she chuckled. "And her dramatic stories." They both laughed. Then, while Harper busied herself with something on her laptop, Donatella returned to what she was doing before: browsing art. She had a thing for paintings, not just the pricey ones that hung in gallerias, but the quiet, emotional ones tucked away in forgotten corners of the city. She tapped open a map of Milan, pinning a few art plazas she hadn't visited yet. Galleria Mazzola. La Pietra Arte Studio. Museo del Cuore. She smiled, already planning her weekend. One plaza per day. A coffee in hand. Her AirPods in. Heaven. But then, her finger drifted to another tab shopping. Donatella's weakness. She started adding things to her cart with the kind of joy most people reserved for birthdays. A minimalist gold necklace. An ivory coat. A set of sketchbooks, even though she still couldn't draw to save her life. She loved spending just as much as she loved earning. And earn she did, modeling gigs, fashion shows, occasional brand promos. Nothing permanent Just enough to keep her bank account happy and her freedom intact. "Is that another jacket?" Harper asked, peering over her cup. Donatella smiled guiltily. "It's on sale." "Of course it is." "Besides, I'm supporting the economy," Donatella added with a playful shrug. "More like draining it." They both laughed again. "Donatella! Harper! I'm here, I'm sorry!" They both turned as Lucia rushed toward the table, cheeks flushed, ponytail messy, apron stuffed halfway into her oversized tote bag. "Took you long enough,". Harper teased, sliding the menu toward her. Lucia dropped into the seat, exhaling loudly. "Don't even ask. My manager is a witch." Donatella reached over and squeezed her hand. "You're here now. That's what matters." "Please tell me we're getting dessert first," Lucia said. Donatella laughed. "You read my mind." After an hour of laughter, shared desserts, and teasing Lucia about her "witchy" manager, the girls finally pushed their trays aside and stood to leave. Lucia slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I still have like... twenty minutes before I need to run again." "I'm heading to the art wing," Donatella said, fixing her sunglasses on her head. "There's this old studio upstairs I've been meaning to check out." "I'm going wherever the sun touches my skin," Harper said dramatically. "I need pictures. I look way too good today not to post something." "You always look too good," Donatella teased. As they stepped out of the cafeteria, the spring breeze kissed their faces. The courtyard outside was dotted with students relaxing between lectures, the scent of fresh flowers lingering in the air. But then Donatella noticed someone standing by the entrance, a blonde-headed guy in a denim jacket, fidgeting with his phone, clearly waiting for someone. He perked up the moment he spotted them. Donatella sighed internally. She recognized him. Leonardo, Harper's ex. The guy she had dated for a few months before cutting him off two weeks ago without a second glance. He had tried texting, calling, even showing up outside her classes, but Harper had been ice-cold since the breakup. And today was no different. Harper's heels clicked against the pavement as she walked straight past him, her chin lifted, expression unreadable. She didn't even blink in his direction. "Harper," Leonardo called softly, almost pleading. She didn't stop. Didn't flinch. Didn't even acknowledge him. Lucia's eyes widened slightly. Donatella bit her lower lip, trying not to smirk. Leonardo looked crushed, but Harper just pushed her sunglasses over her eyes, flipping her hair. "She warned him," Lucia whispered. "He thought she was bluffing," Donatella murmured back. The girls walked on, and Harper finally spoke with a cool, calm, collected voice with her American accent dripping through each words. "If I start giving second chances, I'll lose my standards." Donatella and Lucia glanced at each other, then burst into low giggles. That was Harper for you, cold to the world, soft to her girls. Just as they were about to part ways, Harper's phone buzzed first. Then Donatella's. Then Lucia's. All three paused mid-step, checking the group chat from their department. "Urgent: BCO 412 class rescheduled to now. All students must report to Lecture Hall C immediately." Lucia let out a groan that could wake the dead. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, already turning around. "After that dessert? They want us to study?" "I just had tiramisu and now they want to talk numbers," Harper said, flipping her phone shut with distaste. "Why is it always this lecturer with the pop-up madness?" Donatella sighed. The three of them trudged toward the business department building like a trio heading to court. Donatella tugged her bag higher on her shoulder, dreading two hours of mind-numbing slides and last-minute attendance. Their class wasn't huge, just 48 students. Big enough to stay unnoticed, small enough for lecturers to call names like primary school. When they got into the hall, most of the seats were already taken, the hum of idle chatter bouncing off the air-conditioned walls. Donatella slid into a seat near the center with Harper on one side and Lucia already half-asleep on the other. "Let's just get through it," she mumbled. The lecturer hadn't arrived yet, but something felt... different. Then, The door opened. At first, it was nothing unusual. A couple of unfamiliar faces walked in. New students? Transfer? Most people barely looked up. Until the last person stepped through the doorway. Tall. Sharp suit. Black curls. Calm expression. Riccardo Borgia. Donatella blinked. The reaction was instant. Half the class literally screamed which girls of course, they started whispering to each other. It was him. Riccardo Borgia. Heir to the Borgia empire. Billionaire son. Italy's most elusive bachelor. The guy people only read about in tabloids or saw blurred photos of at fashion galas. The guy who had never stepped foot into anything remotely normal-until now. And right behind him, silent and composed as always, was a man in black-broad-shouldered, no-nonsense face. Gabriele. Donatella stared, lips parting slightly. What on earth was he doing here?