CHAPTER TWO
1384 Words
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"He's the Borgia son!"
"Why would he come to Bocconi?!"
"Is that his guard?"
"He's hotter in real life-no lie."
''He should wife me already ''
"Is this even allowed?!"
Harper raised a brow but didn't say anything.
Lucia sat up straight, blinking. "Wait... is that...."
"Yes," Donatella murmured, eyes fixed on him. "It's him."
Riccardo didn't flinch at the attention. He maintained his cold and blank expression as if he wasn't the one the whole ladies were gushing over moments ago.
He simply adjusted his jacket and walked toward the back row with quiet elegance, and a very cold aura.
Gabriele close behind. No fanfare. No greeting. And yet, the room tilted around his presence.
Donatella couldn't tear her eyes away. Not because of who he was. But because, somewhere deep in her chest, she felt that strange, inexplicable tug, the kind that whispered: You'll see him again.
The lecture dragged on longer than necessary, filled with financial terms and strategic buzzwords that made Donatella silently swear she wouldn't complain about sudden classes ever again, if she made it out alive.
Professor Albrizzi finally wrapped up with a dramatic, "And that's where numbers meet leadership," before clapping his laptop shut.
Chairs screeched as students jumped to their feet. Some stretched, others packed their bags half-heartedly, but most had one target in mind.
Riccardo Borgia.
A small crowd began to form around him, mostly girls, adjusting their hair and fixing their blouses like they were backstage at a runway show.
"Hi, are you really Riccardo Borgia?"
"Your family owns Borgia Enterprises, right?"
"You're much more handsome in person."
Donatella stayed in her seat, arms crossed, eyebrows slightly raised. She wasn't surprised, but the scene still made her roll her eyes.
Riccardo, for his part, remained utterly unaffected. He didn't respond. Didn't nod. Didn't smile. Just a blank expression. He simply rose from his seat, towering and cold, with an unreadable expression on his face. And right behind him Gabriele. The man moved like a shadow, sharp-eyed and ready to step in if anyone got too close.
A few of the girls tried to push past each other, but Gabriele was already guiding Riccardo through the side aisle, cutting their excitement short.
Without a word, they both disappeared through the rear exit, leaving a trail of stunned silence behind.
Riccardo
The hallway was quiet.
The air outside, cooler. Riccardo walked steadily beside Gabriele, not saying a word until they reached the black SUV parked by the curb. Once inside, the silence grew heavier. He leaned his head back, eyes shut.
tired.
Drained.
And then... His father's voice echoed in his mind.
"You will be the heir, Riccardo. Not Fabio. You're the first son. It's not up for debate."
Riccardo stood with his arms folded in the grand Borgia office, surrounded by oil paintings of past generations, men who built empires with grit and ruthlessness.
"I didn't ask to be first," he had replied calmly. "Fabio is better at this. He enjoys it."
"And you enjoy painting, useless things" his father snapped. "Which is why you need this. To understand reality. One year. At Bocconi. After that, you'll return and take your place."
Riccardo had clenched his jaw. "I don't want to live someone else's life."
---
Riccardo opened his eyes and unlocked his phone. He tapped on the hidden folder and entered the passcode. A private feed popped up-filled with images of stunning, rigid artwork.
Every stroke carried passion. Depth. Rawness.
His work.
Cardo's Art. His secret identity.
The only part of him untouched by the Borgia name. He scrolled through messages from galleries, anonymous, encrypted, excitedly requesting more pieces.
His works were being displayed across Europe. Always delivered in plain packaging, unsigned... until the end. The only identifier? A single signature on the back.
- Cardo.
No one had ever seen him. No face behind the name. And that was exactly how he liked it. Gabriele glanced at him from the driver's seat.
"You okay?"
Riccardo didn't answer. He just stared out the window, already thinking about the next piece he would paint.
The next escape.
~~Alessia and Alessandro ~
The neon lights flashed across the room, blending with the pulsing beats of background music and the frantic clicking of controllers. Laughter, yelling, and victorious cheers filled the air, but none of it impressed Alessia.
She stood near the arcade booth, arms tightly folded over her fitted white shirt, tapping one foot with theatrical impatience. On the beanbag couch just a few feet away, Alessandro was fully immersed in a high-stakes racing game, his thumbs flying over the controller as his friends egged him on.
"Bro, drift! DRIFT!"
"I am drifting, i***t! watch this curve"
The car screeched on screen, zooming past the finish line. His friends erupted into cheers, high-fiving him like they'd just won a championship.
Alessia, unimpressed, cleared her throat loud enough to shake the machine beside her.
Alessandro glanced back, just barely.
"You good?"
She took one slow step forward, her eyes narrowing. "We were supposed to pick up Donatella's car together, Alessandro."
He blinked, then looked at the time. "It's just 4:15...''
"She said by four.
And you know I can't drive!"
He gave a one-shoulder shrug.
"She won't kill us. We're her adorable siblings." Alessia glared.
"You're the adorable one, I'm the responsible one."
"Same thing."
"Alessandro!"
The other guys slowly backed away, pretending to check their phones like they hadn't witnessed the brewing sibling storm.
Alessandro sighed, finally standing and tossing the controller on the couch.
"You're so dramatic. It's just a car."
Alessia huffed. "You're lucky I'm not dramatic enough to break your PS5."
"That's emotional damage, you wouldn't."
"Test me."
They walked toward the exit, Alessandro smirking while Alessia kept grumbling under her breath. And somewhere behind them, his friends were already whispering, "I wouldn't want to mess with that twin."
---
The sun was beginning to dip, casting a golden glow over the car wash lot. Alessia and Alessandro stood beside Donatella's sleek silver Audi, arms crossed, staring in mild irritation as two attendants slowly cleaned a completely different car.
"This is taking forever," Alessia muttered, adjusting her sunglasses.
"They said 'almost done' fifteen minutes ago," Alessandro said, flopping onto a bench. "Want to play Subway Surfers?"
"I want the car," she replied flatly.
He scrolled through his phone, then stood up abruptly. "Okay, you wait. I've got one more level to beat at the game center down the street."
Alessia's head snapped toward him. "Alessandro she said through gritted teeth, don't you dare."
"I'll be quick! You got this, you're literally just standing."
"You're supposed to be driving!"
He flashed a grin and jogged off. "You've watched me drive your whole life. You'll survive!"
Alessia shouted something that probably would've gotten her grounded if Donatella was around. She stared at the Audi. Then at the keys.
She chewed her lip.
Five minutes later, the car was finally ready. The attendants waved cheerfully, unaware of the internal war raging inside her.
Alessia yanked the door open and slid into the driver's seat.
"This is fine," she muttered. "This is totally fine. How hard can it be?"
''You've got this Alessia. She murmured''
The engine purred. Alessia gripped the wheel like her life depended on it. She managed to ease out of the car wash, onto the road, and even passed a roundabout without crashing.
Panic level: medium.
"I am a queen," she whispered to herself. "I am speed. I am control."
Then traffic hit.
She was crawling behind a matte black Mercedes Maybach, trying to switch lanes, heart racing with every inch she moved.
Until.....
A biker swerved too close, and instinctively, Alessia jerked the wheel to the right. A sharp scrrrrrrch rang through the air as the front bumper of Donatella's car grazed the Mercedes in front of her.
Alessia froze.
"No. No, no, no..."
The Maybach stopped.
Her car stopped.
Her life?
Probably over.
The driver's door of the Mercedes opened. Slowly. Intimidatingly.
And out stepped Riccardo Borgia himself.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Deadpan stare. The same man who had everyone swooning in Milan.
He took one look at the scratch.
Then turned to the car behind him.
Alessia peeked out from the driver's window, eyes wide.
"...Oh crap."
- Writer
