Isabella's POV:

Giovanni left me at the apartment. I tried prying the information about Niccolo's disappearance out of him, but he wouldn't say anything. All I got was that Niccolo had some business to attend to and that I shouldn't worry about him. That made me worry even more. 

In the past couple of days, I had gotten used to the job and my slow afternoons. But during those times, I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that Niccolo was safe wherever he was in the city at that time. Now, I wasn't so sure anymore. This afternoon was different from all the others I'd spent at the apartment. 

I usually spent them alone because Niccolò wasn't home. Lorenzo occasionally chatted with me or we watched shows about the post-apocalyptic planet together. But other than that, there wasn't much going on. 

I knew I should want more from life. But somehow, working, visiting coffee shops or art galleries in the afternoons and curling up with a book in the summer breeze of an Italian evening on a balcony was enough for me to stop striving for the next step on the corporate ladder. Despite being only a summer job, it looked like I could do this permanently. Despite some dangerous implications that came with my boss, I was happy working like that. It gave me enough time to do my remote job in the early evening and enough space to pursue some of the hobbies I had pushed on the back burner due to the actions society deemed suitable, or in some cases even necessary. 

Sometimes, I wondered if I would be this successful in my academic field if society didn't sing such high praises for those who overworked themselves. Would I be such an overachiever? Would I have the same motivation to be the smartest person in the room? Or the most hardworking one? The more I thought about it, the more I doubted it. Yes, I was smart; yes, studying came naturally to me, but I also put in the work. I didn't complain. I kept my head low and did it.

But now that I was thinking back, I could see how life spent always chasing the next goal wasn't life at all. For the first time in a long time, I could ask myself how I wanted my life to look like in the future. The answer was clear before me as I was spending my summer in Italy. I wanted a calm and slow life. A life with a family and a repetitive schedule.

I didn't want to constantly compare myself to others, even though that probably propelled me to be better in my field. I got tired of striving for success and perfection. I wanted to be enough for myself the way I was. Working for Niccolò gave me that. The tasks I needed to do were right up my alley; the time went by fast, and the silent whisper of danger kept my mind occupied enough that it didn't get boring. It was perfect. But now, with Niccolo possibly being in danger, I wasn't so sure anymore.

I wasn't even afraid of getting hurt. No, I was afraid for Niccolo. I was afraid he would crumble because, under his well-crafted armour of a mob boss, he was still a human being. Fresh from my lunch with him and his mother, that was all I was seeing as I was contemplating what was happening to him. Somehow, my gut wasn't convinced he was doing just some regular 'talking'. 

After I took a shower, I decided to curl up with a book to keep my mind occupied and stop it from circling back to whatever Niccolo was doing. I decided to open the wall-to-ceiling windows that turned into a door leading to the balcony so I could get some air in. I was looking at the city lights and listening to the sounds coming from the outside when the door shot open, and angry Italian voices filled the calm space I had cultivated. 

I turned to see who it was, but all I felt was my stomach drop when I saw a bloodied Lorenzo dragging an even worse off Niccolò by his side. My feet moved of their own accord as I hurried up and helped Lorenzo put Niccolò on the couch while asking, "What happened? Where were you?"

Niccolo groaned with his head buried in my stomach. My insides twisted. He was in so much pain, and I was scared. There was a lot of blood, and I could see slight tremors going through his body. I gently put my hand on his shoulder to move him against the back of the couch, but he almost passed out while grunting. I gulped, he didn't look good. He looked like he was on his deathbed. Not even six hours ago, he was smiling and joking with me about how he had been as a child. Now, I could be seeing his last moments on earth. The reality hit me, and my head just went empty. 

I only knew Niccolo for a couple of weeks, but in this short amount of time, he managed to get under my skin and into my mind. I couldn't comprehend how a person could, at one point in the day, be completely okay and then, in the next, be looking like death itself. His whole face was devoid of colour, his breathing shallow, and his warm brown eyes closed.  

Lorenzo beside me spoke in a shaky voice, "Don't touch his right shoulder, he's been shot."

"What the hell do you mean he's been shot? Why isn't he in the hospital then?" I yelled, fear almost getting the better of me. I needed to keep my cool. If I lost my head, I wouldn't be able to help anyone, let alone Niccolo. I started to unbutton Niccolo's shirt to get a better look at his wound. I needed to know how serious everything was. I needed to do something to stop his bleeding. 

Niccolò's voice came out between sharp inhales of breath, "Don't yell; my head is killing me. The doctor is on his honeymoon. Tomorrow morning, I'll get it checked out once he flies back. Just help me disinfect the wound so I won't bleed out or get it infected."

I looked at Lorenzo while trying to get Niccolo's shirt off his bloody skin. Lorenzo just shrugged at me. My mind was on a high wire. What the fuck did Niccolò think when he decided to come home and not go to the hospital? He was being a complete idiot. He should have visited another doctor then, my mind offered. But I decided to tuck any arguments away, Niccolo wouldn't be moved. He rarely changed his mind. 

"Shit," I muttered under my breath as I saw Niccolò get sleepier and sleepier. "Go get the first aid kit in the bathroom at the end of the hallway," I instructed a shaken Lorenzo, "and then go clean yourself up. I want you to shower and come here so I can look at your cuts and bruises, too."

Lorenzo did as he was told, and I was left with a half-unconscious Niccolò by my side. I tried taking out his left arm first. But it hurt him, so I picked up a small pair of scissors from the box Lorenzo brought and cut through his shirt. Soon, he was only in his white tank top. On the right side, the tank top wasn't white anymore; it was covered with his blood, and it frightened me. Niccolo could very well bleed out during the night, and then nothing could save him. 

But I needed to keep my cool. I cleaned the wound while Niccolo let out a string of curses. I almost thought that it served him right, not going to a hospital like any normal person would.  After I finished cleaning the wound, Niccolò's frantic breathing subsided into a more normal rhythm. "Talk to me, what happened," I asked softly as I moved the gauze around his shoulder to clean the last pieces of dried blood from his skin.  

Niccolò shook his head, his voice weak but firm. "You don't need to know. It's better if you don't." 

I sighed, frustration bubbling inside me. "Don't give me that, Niccolò. I just cleaned your wound; the least you can do is give me an explanation. Why were you out? Who did this to you?"

He closed his eyes, clearly exhausted, and muttered, "It's just business, Bellissima. You wouldn't understand."

I felt a pang of anger at his dismissive tone. "Business? You're not going to tell me that getting shot is a normal part of business! What kind of business are you in exactly?"

He winced, either from my words or the pain I couldn't tell. "The kind that doesn't let people walk away. That's all you need to know." But I did know. I did know what kind of business he was in, however, hearing about it and seeing it were two completely different things. 

His cryptic response only fueled my irritation, but before I could press further, Lorenzo reappeared, looking slightly better after cleaning himself up. His face still bore a few scratches, and his eyes were bloodshot, but at least he wasn't covered in blood anymore.

"I'll explain," Lorenzo said, his voice heavy with fatigue. "But you need to promise not to freak out."

I crossed my arms and glared at him. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to make promises right now?"

Lorenzo sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. "Fine. But remember, you asked for this."

He sat down across from me, his shoulders slumped. "Niccolò and I had a meeting tonight with some people who aren't exactly... friendly even though they work for my father."

"Your father?!" I was shocked. How could his father do this to them both? 

Lorenzo gulped, guilt clearly written on his face, "I said not to freak out. Just listen. Things went south when one of them decided we were more of a threat than they were willing to tolerate. Guns were drawn, shots were fired, and we barely made it out alive."

I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. "So you're telling me this is normal for you two? Getting shot at is just another day at the office?"

Lorenzo grimaced. "It's not normal, but it's not exactly rare, either. This is the world we live in, and Niccolò... he's at the center of it."

I turned my gaze back to Niccolò, who was now leaning against the couch, his breathing still laboured. "You're insane," I said, my voice trembling. "Both of you. How can you live like this? And Lorenzo, you're still just a child."

Niccolò's lips curved into a weak smile. "Because we don't have a choice, Bellissima. This is who we are."

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. "You could have died tonight, Niccolò. And for what? For some 'business' deal? And taking Lorenzo with you. Niccolo, he's just a child. I expected more from you."

He took a shaky breath in before he softly spoke, "Isabella, just listen, please. If you're going to jump to conclusions, you have to know the whole story."

"So now, you're prepared to talk." I shot back. Just a few minutes ago, he was determined not to let me in, not to say anything. 

Niccolo shook his head in defeat, "Bellissima, you don't know the whole thing. And now, I might as well tell you. I first killed a man when I was fourteen. My mother was in danger, and our bodyguard was killed in front of our eyes. I was the only one left standing, so I grabbed the first gun I saw and shot. My father looked at me differently from that day onward. He tried to teach me how to deal with the guilt of taking another man's life. However, I didn't feel guilty for taking that man's life. If I didn't, I would've lost my mother, and my father would have lost his family. It was the only thing to do. It was the right thing to do."

I didn't know how all of this tied to the fact that he and Lorenzo were beaten up now and why he was almost bleeding out on his couch, but I didn't dare to say anything. In a way, Niccolo was showing me parts of himself I was at the same time afraid of and in awe of. So I stood there still, trying to see if I could help with his wound as I was listening to his soft voice. 

"Lorenzo didn't have that choice. His father is different. He first killed a man when he was nine, not because he needed to, not because of his own volition, but because his father made him do it. His father is an incompetent man, and he wanted to make his son not even a person but a monster everyone in this city would fear. I caught wind of the rumours about a child killing people when Lorenzo was ten. I dug up some things, and I found Lorenzo in one of the warehouses at the edge of the city. He looked like he was older by the time I got to him. He was sitting in a corner of the warehouse with his hands wrapped around his small, bony legs, silently rocking back and forth, back and forth. When he looked at me, he asked if I was there to help him clean up his mess. I couldn't leave him like that. So I gave him my phone number, and every time his father had a job for him to do, he called me. I've tried helping him with this whenever I can get past his father."

I gasped at the revelation as my eyes drifted towards Lorenzo, who was just observing Niccolo telling his story. I couldn't comprehend how Lorenzo could do something like this. He was still a child; he was innocent, and the world he lived in made him into something he didn't want to be. My heart broke for the boy, even though there was nothing I could do. But my heart didn't break just for him; it broke for Niccolò as well. He took him in. He tried to help him.

Niccolo's eyes met mine. I couldn't exactly grasp what he was thinking. I could see some sense of relief; he shared a burden with someone else. But at the same time, he was ashamed of his world, of their world. I was trying to read him, to see what he was thinking behind all the pain, but he woke me up from my thoughts by saying, "Cover the wound, and I'll continue."

I nodded and put my gauze over as Niccolò's voice helped me stay afloat and not look at the monstrosity of a bleeding wound. "His father doesn't know it. He thinks I, in some twisted way, befriended Lorenzo, and he couldn't be prouder of his little boy. He thinks Lorenzo and I could rule side by side once he grows up, so he lets me have him here most of the time. Lorenzo likes it with me."

"What about your mom?" I quietly asked Lorenzo, still trying to fit all of this new information into place. 

"My mom died when I was born. My father would rather spend his time doing shady business and even shadier women than looking after his son. Niccolo first offered to babysit me when my father went to Japan for a business trip, and I was relieved. I was relieved because, for the first time in years, I wasn't woken up in the middle of the night and asked to take care of some business. Then we did it a couple of times over. And a couple of times more. But now, I've turned fifteen, and I want to make him my legal guardian, but my father doesn't want that. He doesn't like it one bit. There we were tonight, at my father's house."

I looked at Niccolò, who just slightly nodded. They weren't keeping any secrets from each other, and I guess now they weren't keeping any secrets from me either. 

My shoulders slumped at the realisation that the world I tangled myself in wasn't black and white, but it was rather full of complexity and rare human decisions being made every day. "I'm sorry," I said to Lorenzo. I was sorry, sorry for the way his father treated him and how he wanted a better life for himself. 

"No need to feel sorry for me. I know how things look and how I look. But I'm not ashamed of the things I've done in the past. That's just life," Lorenzo shrugged from the other side of the couch. His voice and face were stern. There wasn't a hint of hesitation about him. He knew who he was, and he was in control. 

"If you want to know what really happened tonight, some plates were first thrown in our direction by Lorenzo's father and then some gunshots from his men. One of them scratched me. And then Giovanni managed to pick us up." Niccolo confirmed a part of Lorenzo's story. 

"It was what it was, but I have legal grounds to change to a different guardian, so I don't care." Lorenzo finished. 

I looked at Niccolò; worry was etched through his eyes, "You do have legal ground, but your father won't go down without a fight. You know him that much."

Lorenzo nodded, "Yes, but he made a monster out of a child. He just doesn't expect that the monster could turn on his own master. Too bad for him because that will happen sooner or later."

I was taken aback by his words. He was still just a child, yet he spoke so convincingly that I easily pictured a sixty-year-old man in his place. Never could I have been more heartbroken by the fact that families come in all shapes and sizes and that all children deserve to have parents, but not all parents deserve to have children.

Niccolò woke me from my train of thought, "We'll figure it out. I don't know how, but we will. I don't want to leave you alone in that hell hole, but we can't cross your father right now. It's best if we keep him as an alliance if not anything else. I'm sorry, but we need to have eyes on the bigger picture, we have to think long-term."

Lorenzo sighed, clearly annoyed at Niccolo's proposition, "I'm thinking about the bigger picture, Nico. I am. But I'm also trying to do this so I can live long-term. I cannot be my father's son anymore. You know that. I know you've got a lot on your plate right now with getting the don's position, but I have to stand on my own two feet. I have to get away. If I don't, then it will be like I never existed."

Niccolò lifted his arm so I could wrap a bandage around it while he and Lorenzo talked back and forth about how they could get him from under his father's grasp, but nothing came to fruition. So, after I looked at Lorenzo's bruises and saw that nothing else could be saved, he decided to crash in his room while Niccolò stayed glued to the couch.

I stood up to go to bed as well after I put the first aid kit back after I saw I couldn't do anything more for Niccolo. But he stopped me by putting his hand on my wrist. "Thank you for taking care of me. For not asking too many questions and for not judging us too hard. I didn't expect my day to end this way, but thank you for staying by me."

"It's okay. I almost expected something like this when I signed up for the job," I kept my tone light. I did. In the back of my mind, I expected something to break, something to bleed and something to end when I said yes to him. The past couple of days were just the calm before the storm, I realised now. 

His hand moved around my waist as he tucked me closer. His head fell on my stomach, "You might have expected something like this, but you didn't expect this. I'm sorry for having a messed-up background."

I ruffled his hair, "The environment you or anyone else grew up in isn't your fault. You're trying to make a better life for that kid, and he sees that. He sees a person who loves him and doesn't expect him to turn into something he is not. He might not show it to you, but he sees it, and he's grateful. He wouldn't stick around otherwise, he's way too smart not to figure it out on his own."

Niccolò's low chuckle took me by surprise, "I didn't ask you to write a report about him." 

I took a breath in before I answered, "You didn't, but that's what I see."