The courier froze, uncertainty flickering across his features before he offered an awkward nod and retreated.
I tore open the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten card.
The script was unmistakably Nico's—elegant, precise, the penmanship of a man raised to sign death warrants and love letters with equal care.
I opened it.
The next second, his voice floated out from the card, recorded and intimate.
"I miss you, I like you, I love you..."
Before I could process the words, a hand snatched the card from my grip.
I stumbled backward, nearly losing my footing on the marble.
I looked up.
Nico stood there, his face dark as a gathering storm—jaw tight, eyes burning with something between fury and possession. He wore his usual black, impeccably tailored, the signet ring of the Volpe heir glinting on his finger.
My phone screen illuminated. A message from him.
Don't touch my things.
Before I could speak a single word, he had already turned and descended the stairs, the card clutched in his fist like a secret he refused to share.
"Nico, you've gone too far!"
Rage erupted through me—hot, blinding, unstoppable. I chased after him, my footsteps echoing through the stairwell like gunshots.