Isabella's POV:

I decided that the unpacking part of my move could wait another day. I was weary due to the change in lifestyle over the last couple of days. I knew stories from the world Niccolo lived in. But that was all they were to me, stories. At least in the past, it used to be like that, but once I started living with him, I could see how the constant undeniable threat would hang over one's life. The danger, I was afraid, would tire me out if I wasn't careful enough. So, on the first night, I decided I would need to be careful about my well-being and the constant lack of a sense of safety.

In the morning, I realised that I wasn't the only stray human Niccolo had taken under his roof. As I entered the spacious kitchen, a surprise awaited me. Lorenzo was sitting at the kitchen counter eating chocolate cereal. "Hey," I said, not knowing how to approach the situation. However, I was in luck. Lorenzo was a great conversationalist.

We ate breakfast together, and I got to know him. He was fifteen, not nineteen like I previously thought. What such a young boy was doing amid everything was a question I was still asking myself.

We talked until his phone buzzed with a reminder. "Sorry, I have to go. My father needs me," he excused himself. I nodded in understanding. So his family might be in this world, after all, this revelation about the young boy hit me. I was surprised, but at the same time, I became even more intrigued. After I put the plate and the bowl from breakfast away, I decided to ring Giovanni to ask him to give me a lift to the offices.

Nothing much changed from the first day. I sat through a meeting and wrote my little reviews and observations. In the following days, I got into a routine of waking up early, eating breakfast with Lorenzo and waiting for Giovanni to take me to work. I didn't see Niccolò outside of work. He was rarely home, and I was cocooned up in my room or out and about exploring the streets of Milan in the afternoons.

At work, I wrote profiles on the people from the meeting, or I occasionally went out on lunch meetings with Niccolò. I tried observing everything, but a fear slowly crept into me. What if I let something slip? What if some important clue would go unnoticed by me, and then inevitably, everything collapsed?

My mind sometimes went on this rollercoaster, and with so many variables and so much weighing on my observation skills, I didn't know what would snap first, me or Niccolò. At these meetings, I could see Niccolò didn't like some of his associates. His distaste was palpable. I was afraid of what they might do in response to such clear disobedience or hatred.

Long gone was the carefree Niccolo I met at the conference, in his place was an ever-cautious persona. He crafted himself in his world as a leader. Every move he made was always directed and carefully calculated. But I could still see how his shoulders were always tense with worry.

In the morning, when we met in his office, there were still rare moments when his carefree side would come out. But then, as the day progressed, his figure became more and more rigid. His movements were more and more cut off and harsh; his voice became stern, and his gaze grew colder.

By the time lunch hour rolled around, he wasn't a person anyone wanted to be around. However, something still lured me into the vicinity of his orbit. My lunch breaks soon began to overlap with his. We ate in his office as I explained what I had dug up on his opponents and what new correlations and explanations I had found.

When I saw him one day walking towards my desk at twelve-thirty, I knew somebody somewhere in the building fucked royally. He was all but fuming with rage. I prepared for some harsh words to come from him, but instead, all I got was a strained, "Lunch?"

I nodded, closed the laptop I was working on, and handed it to him. He looked relieved as he ran his fingers through his dark hair, "Great, let me just leave this in the office, and then we'll be on our way."

His steps were quick. He wanted to leave the building as soon as possible. I followed him to the door of his office. I saw how his employees would wait a couple of minutes before knocking on his door. I could see how he was respected and feared by those who worked for him.

Before I could ask him what was wrong and why he was so agitated, the door swung open, and an older woman marched out of it. "Nico, Carino," she exclaimed before wrapping her frail arms around his back. She had to step on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss on his cheek as he instinctively relaxed into her hug.

"Mamma, cosa stai facendo qui?" His Italian was rapid, and his voice was filled with wariness. I took a step back.

"Stavo pensando di pranzare con te," she smiled up at him.

"Oh, va bene. Isabella will join us," he said while turning towards me so his mother could see me.

"Isabella?" she questioned. Her voice wasn't doubtful, just apprehensive of what I represented to her son. I saw that her eyes were the same brown as Niccolo's when her gaze landed on me. She was beautiful; her golden hair was pinned up in a low bun, and she wore a summery cream dress with brown sandals and a bag to match. She was every bit the Italian signora I imagined her to be.

I extended my hand and introduced myself, "Nice to meet you, I'm Isabella."

"I'm Anna, and there's no need for us to be so formal if my son invites you to join us for lunch," she said in perfect English as she wrapped her arms around me. We were almost the same height, so her face rested against my shoulder. Her sweet and floral scent engulfed me, and I instantly smiled. It didn't remind me of my mother. My mother was a strict woman, but it did remind me of home at my grandparent's cottage, where roses were all around us.

Niccolò apologetically smiled, "Technically, Mom, you're crashing into our lunch hour. Isabella wants to go over business associates with me during lunchtime, but I guess we'll need to reschedule."

Anna all but gasped at his comment, "Niccolò, you shouldn't work during your meals. It's bad for digestion."

"Oh, mother," Niccolo sighed in amusement.

She patted him on his forearm before asking, "Now, where are you taking us, ladies? I'm in the mood for some seafood, but I don't think they serve proper scallops here in the centre. Your father always complained about that, and he couldn't be more right."

At the mention of his father, his eyes got a faraway look, and his shoulders sagged just the tiniest bit. As soon as I noticed his walls crumbling, the moment was over. Niccolò sighed in desperation, "Mamma, Father complained about the scallops only because of you."

"He did not do such a thing. Your father loved scallops; it wasn't his fault that they don't serve them like your nonna did," she said, her voice full of determination. I could see how the memory of her husband was laced with quiet love for him. I could see how her eyes still twinkled with the memory of him. It was at once beautiful and painful to watch only half of their love still walking on this earth.

I felt like an intruder to the memories that were swirling between them of a person they both missed fiercely. But before I could retreat and leave them, Niccolò turned to me, "You don't have any allergies to seafood, do you? Because despite what my mother is saying, I know a new place that makes decent scallops."

"I don't have any allergies, and seafood is always great," I slowly smiled back. He was asking me to come with them. He didn't even think twice about going without me, and I felt honoured. I don't know when, but somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to sharing my lunch with him. I had become accustomed to sharing my time with him.

It wasn't a long drive to the restaurant, and I was getting excited as I got to see more of Niccolò's family dynamic. However, I didn't manage to get to know anything new about Niccolo until after we placed our orders and received our food. Instead, his mother grilled me on what I do, what hobbies I have, and why on earth I was working for her son. Her exact words were, "A girl that pretty and that smart could surely get a better job offer than the one Niccolò is currently providing."

Niccolò, sitting next to me, looked almost ashamed, "Mamma, you should stop putting ideas in her heart. I don't think my company offers its employees such harsh working conditions as you're describing."

"Fine, carino. I'll stop," she lifted her hands in defeat, but a small smile played at her lips. My heart skipped a beat as I saw how his mother was trying to tease him and put him in his place. Soon, our waiter came with our lunch, and Anna's whole face lit up. She seemed like a small child when she clasped her hands and exclaimed, "My scallops are here."

Niccolò chuckled at the sight in front of him, and I got another glimpse into his softness. His mother quickly took a bite once the waiter left our table. She chewed it slowly and then looked at Niccolò before saying, "Almost, but not quite."

Niccolò grunted, "Mother, you're impossible. The chef here knows what he's doing. The scallops are great. It's just your stubbornness and loyalty that's in the way of you admitting that these scallops are good."

Anna shook her head, "Niccolò, I didn't say the scallops aren't good. I just said they don't taste as good as the ones Nonna made."

"Mother, don't be difficult," Niccolò's broken voice sounded like a slap, but his mother didn't seem to hear it.

"I'm not difficult. I'm just stating the truth. Some things, family things, are better kept in the family. And your father would agree about the scallops. He loved his Nonna's."

Niccolo's voice was a silent whisper, "Mother."

Anna looked at him, and something silent was exchanged between them. Something that wasn't meant for words. Tears started to gather in the corners of her eyes, and before Niccolo could utter another word, I instinctively reached under the table and squeezed his thigh.

For a second, his stern mask slipped, and he looked surprised. But it was just for a second, and then he was back to his cold self, "Mother, I know the death of Father wasn't easy on you. Go to the bathroom and freshen up. He would hate to see you like this more than he would hate the scallops. Isabella and I will wait with our food."

Anna watched him carefully as if she were tracing all of the features on his face, trying to decipher if he was angry or disappointed before she stood up and walked away. It was like a breath I didn't know we had been holding was suddenly released. I removed my hand from his thigh and stared at the space that was just seconds ago occupied by his mother.

He took a sip of his red wine before he spoke again, "I'm sorry. She misses father terribly. The scallops are just scallops. He didn't love them as much as she claims. He only loved them because of her. They met in Switzerland; she worked at a hotel as a receptionist when he checked in. He was taken first by her beauty and then by her wit. They met up again in Portofino when she came down for vacation with her friends. He introduced her to Nonna, who made her scallops. Mia Nonna loved her scallops, and she really made the best. But to mother, it was more than that. By making scallops with Nonna over the years, Nonna welcomed her into the family even though she was an outsider. Even though Nonno was opposed. For a family with great power and a son with great power, only a bride with equal position could do, mio nonno always liked to say. My mother wasn't that. But the scallops were her bargain tool. Their bargaining tool. Nonna loved her, nonno hated her."

Niccolò stopped to look at me; I was quietly listening. His voice when he talked about his family dropped a few octaves, and it became dreamy. He spoke of a time when everything seemed easier for him, when everything was just black and white and could be explained by the love his parents had shared. "And your father?" I quietly asked.

Niccolò leaned back in his chair, staring at his wine glass, lost in thought. "My father adored her. He was a stubborn man, always trying to live up to my grandfather's expectations, but when it came to my mother, he broke every rule in the book. To my father, she was the only thing he could see. In a world of unrelenting darkness, she was his constant light. Even though she was difficult - overbearing with her rules, naïve as a newborn baby or innately good - she could make him smile like no one else. She gave him a reason to believe there was still something worth living for, even in a world where we seem to drain the life out of it."

His words pierced me, but what hurt even more was the self-deprecating look in his eyes. He truly believed he had nothing left to live for. At twenty-six, it seemed as though he had already crossed out happiness for himself, and that realisation broke something inside me. Initially, I wanted this job for the financial benefits, but maybe, deep down, I also wanted it to prove to him that he was worthy of happiness.

I could see the vulnerability in Niccolò's eyes, a rare glimpse into the man behind the composed exterior. "When he died, it was like the foundation she built her life on had been ripped away. She tries to keep it together, but sometimes, small things like scallops can unravel her. It's her way of holding onto him."

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "It sounds like they had something really special. Something most people only dream of."

Niccolò's lips curved into a faint smile, but there was a sadness in it. "They did. And it's both a blessing and a curse to witness such love. It sets the bar impossibly high."

He scrunched his nose, took another sip of wine, and continued baring himself in low whispers, "I think my father was both wise and foolish. I think he convinced himself my mother was something more than she actually was. I think my mother did the same thing. She convinced herself my father was a better man than he could ever be."

The next question formed in my mind, one I feared asking but couldn't ignore. With the way our lunch had unfolded, I knew I would repent if I didn't ask him. "What about you?"

Before he could answer it, his gaze flickered across the restaurant. Anna was walking towards us, looking more composed. My question would remain unanswered.

She settled into her seat with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry you had to wait. I'm sorry for bringing the conversation to a halt. Sometimes memories sneak up on you when you least expect them."

I offered her a reassuring nod while Niccolò spoke gently, "It's okay, Mother. We all miss him. And for what it's worth, I'm sure he would've backed you up about the scallops."

Anna's gaze shifted to me, and her smile grew warmer. "Thank you for being patient with me, Isabella. It's not every day I meet someone who handles my son so well."

I laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond. "It's not as hard as it seems. He's not so bad once you get to know him."

Niccolò rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in them. "Don't let her fool you, Mother. She's just too polite to say otherwise."

The rest of the meal was lighter, filled with stories and laughter. Anna regaled me with anecdotes about Niccolò's stubbornness, painting a vivid picture of the man beside me. She joked that over the years, he had attached far too many unflattering adjectives to himself and suggested we hold a meeting to decide if any new ones should be added. Niccolò interjected at intervals, offering defences and excuses for his past behaviour. Sometimes, his arguments were valid; other times, it was clear he was just trying to save face. By the time we left the restaurant, I felt like I had been given a small glimpse into a world that was usually closed off to outsiders.

Lunch ended on a much lighter note than it began. As we exited the restaurant, Niccolò rested his hand gently on my back and leaned in to whisper, "We're heading back to the apartment. I'm done for the day, and you've finished your profiles. Let's take the rest of the afternoon off."

His closeness overwhelmed me, the subtle, familiar scent of him stirring memories of our kiss. Before I could respond, Anna turned to us with a warm smile.

"Carino, next time you're in Portofino, I expect a visit. Isabella," she added, turning to me, "it was lovely meeting you. I hope next time we can share a proper meal, not just one of my son's so-called 'work lunches.'"

I smiled back, touched by her words. "I'd like that very much."

Standing outside, saying our goodbyes, Anna pulled me into a warm hug. "You're a good one, Isabella. Don't let my son scare you away."

I smiled, touched by her words. "I'll do my best."

Niccolò watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and something else I couldn't quite place. Anna nodded, visibly pleased, before stepping into a sleek black car. We watched as it disappeared into the city traffic, and I felt a quiet sense of connection linger between us.

"Are you okay?" I asked, breaking the silence while we were waiting for our car to arrive.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Yes. Just thinking."

"About?"

He hesitated for a moment before responding. "About how rare it is to meet someone who fits into my life so effortlessly."

But before I could answer something to that, Niccolò's phone rang. He stepped aside to take the call, his back to me as he spoke in hurried Italian. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening with each passing second. His voice grew sharper, laced with curses and rapid-fire commands.

When he ended the call, he turned back to me, his face clouded with urgency. "Something's come up. Giovanni will pick you up in a minute. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Don't wait up."

I nodded, too surprised to form a coherent response. He didn't seem to notice my shock as he crossed the street and disappeared into the crowd.

Moments later, Giovanni pulled up and ushered me into the car. As we drove away, I couldn't help but wonder where Niccolò had gone or what part of his life demanded such urgency. I tried to focus instead on the memory of him at the restaurant, a fleeting moment where he'd let his guard down, and I'd seen a glimpse of the man beneath the armour.