Chapter 2
“You don’t get to come into my Papa’s office, drink our wine, sit on our couch, and treat me like I’m still that little girl who followed you around like a puppy, Luca. Not anymore. You’re not charming me out of this with that smug smirk and those—those cursed abs!”
His smirk widened. “You’ve noticed the abs, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He leaned in, his cologne invading my oxygen like a sneak attack. “You don’t hate me, Andria. You’re just mad I still make your heart race.”
“I’d rather let the Diablos shoot me,” I snapped.
Luca chuckled again, damn him. Then he turned to my father like I hadn’t just threatened to stab him with my heels.
“I’ll move into the guest wing starting tonight,” he said, all professional again. “Andria doesn’t leave the villa unless I say so. Full lockdown protocol. I’ll double the guards and check her digital trail.”
I gaped. “You’re moving in?!”
He looked at me, completely unfazed. “Oh, I forgot to mention? Wherever you go, Principessa, I go.”
I screamed internally.
This was war.
I didn’t know what was worse—the threat of death from the Diablos or surviving this house with Luca Bianchi walking around shirtless and smug, treating me like I was still his teenage shadow with a harmless crush.
Too bad for him.
This time, the princess bites back.
Of course I had plans. Wicked, delicious, calculated plans that involved seduction, power plays, and maybe making Luca Bianchi cry into his stupid perfect pillow one day. But right now? Right now my top priority wasn’t revenge or survival. It was my graduation.
I didn’t spend four years at Italy’s most exclusive all-girls academy—eating dry kale, sitting through endless business ethics classes, surviving power-hungry teachers and jealous heiresses—just to have the Diablo Mafia send me a death threat on the eve of my walk across that damn stage.
I earned that degree. In heels. With honor.
And now they want to cancel the ceremony?
For safety reasons?
Over my dead and fabulously dressed body.
So yes, I was angry walking out to the balcony like a storm in Prada. The night air hit my skin, cool and thick with Lake Como mist, but it did nothing to calm the fire building in my chest.
I was still fuming when I heard the softest, most irritating sound imaginable—Italian leather shoes scraping against marble tiles.
Oh, fantastic.
Here came Mr. Smugface the Second.
Luca followed me out like a very confident stray dog who’d just marked the villa as his. He stopped beside me, leaned against the railing with that infuriating relaxed posture like we were just old friends chatting over espresso, not in the middle of a crisis.
“You know,” he began, voice smooth and stupidly deep, “you walk like you’re about to declare war on gravity.”
I didn’t look at him. “I’m practicing. For your funeral.”
He had the nerve to laugh. Like he was charmed. Charmed.
God, I hated this man.
“And those shoes,” he added, tilting his head toward my red patent heels, “they’re not exactly made for running from assassins.”
I turned my head very slowly. “They’re Louboutins. I’ll die in style.”
Luca smiled. That slow, devastating, cheek-dimpled smirk that made women weak and criminals nervous. “You always did have a flair for dramatics, Principessa.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I’m not twelve. I’m a business management graduate who almost had a diploma ceremony until your enemies ruined it.”
His brows raised. “My enemies?”
“Your whole existence is a walking target!” I gestured to him, fuming. “You attract danger like you attract... acne comments!”
Luca chuckled. “Still sensitive about that?”
Oh, we’re going there?
I whipped around to glare at him. “It was one hormonal week, Luca. One! You come in all knight-in-shining-body-armor when I’m sixteen with a zit the size of Vatican City on my chin and you had the audacity to say, ‘It builds character.’” I mimicked his stupid deep voice.
He held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “And look—you turned out stronger.”
“You’re lucky you’re not dangling off this balcony.”
There was a long pause. Tension thickened between us like velvet smoke.
And then... softer, he said, “You turned out beautiful, Andria.”
That stopped me cold.
I blinked. Heart skipped. Betrayed me completely.
And then I remembered who I was.
I flipped my hair, lifted my chin, and said, “Flattery’s cute, Luca. But it won’t save you from the war I’m planning in your name.”
He leaned closer, lips just inches from mine. “Planning my downfall already, huh?”
I smirked. “I always plan in advance. I graduated with honors, remember?”
Then I turned on my heel and strutted back inside, fully aware of his eyes on my back.
I’d deal with the Diablos.
But first? I’d make Luca Bianchi regret ever thinking I was still the girl who had a crush on him.