Page 3 of Isabella

NICCOLÒ

SENIOR YEAR AT CENTENNIAL UNIVERSITY

“Nicco Silvestri?” Isabella repeats with her eyebrows drawn up. She quickly rakes her gaze up and down my body, and the searing heat accompanied with it finds its way under my skin.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you since?—”

“My mom’s funeral.”

I remember it like it was yesterday. The tear that escaped my eye as they lowered her casket into the ground, and my father’s command when he noticed it, whispering, “Get it the fuck together, Niccolò. Men don’t cry over shit like this. If you want to take over for me in the future, you need to prove to me that you’ll be the leader this family needs.”

I was eleven fucking years old.

Nevertheless, I did what I was told. I wiped away that tear with the sleeve of the suit my dad had tailored for me, and watched as they shoveled dirt on top of my mom’s casket.

It wasn’t until after the burial that Isabella’s family came up to my dad and me to give their condolences. My dad thanked them, but I could tell by his withdrawn voice and mannerisms that he didn’t really care.

My dad didn’t give a fuck that his wife—my mom—was no longer with us. That she died from fucking cancer and was never coming back.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to lash out at him for how detached he was about the situation.

But I didn’t. I kept quiet. It’s what I’ve always done. Follow his rules.

But among the dark clouds of the worst day of my life was a sprinkle of light in the form of a white dandelion from a little girl.

Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled back into two French braids, and her honey-brown eyes were filled with sympathy as they peered up at me. “I’m sorry about your mom” was all she said as she held out the white puffball.

I’d glanced at my dad to see if he was watching, but he was still engaged in conversation with her dad, so I took the dandelion out of her hand while offering a mumbled, “Thanks.”

“If you make a wish and blow the seeds away, it’ll come true.”

She smiled at me, and I knew that even though there’s no such thing as a dandelion making a wish come true, the little girl believed it in her heart, and this was her way of trying to help me feel better.

So I did what felt right in the moment. I made my wish, blew the seeds away, and we both watched as a slight breeze lifted those white fuzzies up into the sky.

She offered a small giggle, drawing my attention back to her, and for the first time since my mom passed away, I felt the smallest uptick at the corners of my mouth.

Her mom noticed the girl’s innocent act and smiled down at her, rubbing her back like she was proud of her. A look that served as a reminder of what I would never experience again.

But even though the despair of losing my mom to cancer was prominent, I remember Isabella’s gesture and the small smile it brought to my face. It was the sliver of light that brightened my darkest day.

“Yeah, your mom’s funeral,” she mutters, bringing me back to the present, but I barely caught it over the music. Her eyes under the dimmed lighting reflect the same thing as the day we met—sympathy.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask. It’s bold, but I’d regret not saying it. I want to talk with Isabella, and the club is not the place to do it.

She glances over at her cousin, Liana DiMaggio, who I forgot was still here until now, and I already know what her answer will be.

“I can’t. I’m here with Liana and?—”

“Um, do not use me as an excuse to not hang out with this guy,” Liana interrupts. “Besides, I saw a couple girls from my textiles class.” She points to herself. “How about I go and hang out with them and you”—she points at Isabella—“go and hang out with Nicco.”

She glances over at me. “It’s okay that I call you, Nicco, right? Or is that right reserved for Izzy only?” Her lips draw up into a smirk.

“The rights go all around,” I say, my own smirk forming.

I’ve always preferred going by Nicco. It’s what my friends call me. The only people who call me Niccolò are my dad and some of his men.

Isabella and Liana exchange a few words, then give each other a hug. Isabella keeps her eyes on Liana until she’s buried deep in the dancing crowd before turning her attention back to me.

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