29

Nico's point of View- Age 18

The house smelled of cigars, ambition and centeruries of bloodstained legacy.

I stood silently in the study, staring at the old wine shelf and the ancient family crest that loomed behind his father's desk like a warning.

This room, with it's cold marble floors and impossibly high ceilings, had watched his family break apart in slow motion.

  it echoed with all the things never said, all the screams swallowed down.

My father, Don Valerio Romano, leaned back in his chair like a king on his throne. sharp-eyed, sharp- tongued and as deadly as the world said he was.

His suit was perfectly pressed, his dark gray hair combed back without a stand out of place. He exuded control. Power.

  Across from him stood Noelle.

  My mirror.

  or at least, she used to be.

  Now she was the image of everything my father wanted . Black blazer. Tailored pants, Cold, calculating eyes.

  Noelle had become the soldier, the heir, the weapon our father molded in grief.

  "I've made a decision," Father said, finally breaking the silence that had stretched between us for too long.

  "Noelle will be the next Don. she has everything this family needs. precision. intelligence. Will."

  The words hit harder than I thought they would. But I didn't move just stared.

  I knew. Deep down, I have always known.

  she was the chosen one.

  And I? I was the failure. The afterthought.

  "I'm talking to you, Nico," my father snapped.

  "Look at me when I'm speaking."

I finally turned, expression unreadable. my eyes flickered from my father to my sister. He took in the way she stood - chin up, shoulders squared, gaze unwavering. she didn't even blink.

What the fuck has my father done to my sister?

There was no pride in her expression. no warmth.Not even a glimmer of what they used to be.

  "I said do whatever you want," I muttered, voice dry and low.

I took one more look at my twin sister. I tried to search for the girl who used to sneak Cookies with me under the kitchen table.

The one who'd cried on my shoulder after every bad dream. The one who once clutched his hand in that burning car wreck, screaming for their mother while I sat frozen.

  But that girl was gone.

  Now she stood like a statue.

  A soldier.

  A stranger.

"Walk away then." father said bitterly. "Like you always do."

  I turned my back and walked towards the door.

  "You have a mission tomorrow," Father called out. "I don't know where the fuck you run off to every night, but you better be here. Noon. sharp. One mistake, and I swear to God-"

  I didn't stop walking. Didn't nod. Didn't even slam the door.

  The hallway outside felt colder somehow.

  I Lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and let the smoke fill my lungs. it was the only thing that calmed me now. I walked across the gravel path to where my bike sat under a tree, black as night, sleek and fast.

  The wind hit my face like a slap, but I welcomed it.

I pulled my jacket tighter and kicked the bike into life. The engine's roar was the only voice he listened to anymore.

"Fucking mission," I muttered under his breath. I took one last drag from the cigarettes and flicked it into the grass.

As he rode, my thoughts spiraled. why the ache in my chest? why did it still hurt?

I didn't want the title. Didn't want the throne.

All I ever wanted was my sister back.

To laugh again.

To feel something again.

But Noelle was gone.

All that remained was cold eyes and shaper words.

maybe that's why I raced. why I disappeared into the night on my bike.

Because When I was flying down that track, there was no Don Valerio. Noelle wasn't a ghost beside him. And he wasn't just the forgotten twin.

He was Ghost.

And Ghost didn't feel pain.

Ghost didn't want anything.

Ghost didn't need a family.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, the night swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the darkness.

Tomorrow, I'd be back for the mission.

But tonight? I needed to breathe.

To escape.

To forget.