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I straighten my jacket and clear my throat. “We approach this delicately,” I begin. “Camila Aguilar is our in, but we can’t spook her or let her suspect our true motives. I’ll get close to her under the guise of helping her adjust to college life and offer her a friendly face in a sea of unfamiliarity. Ask her on a date, make her feel special and wanted.”
“And what? We just chat her up about her family’s criminal empire over coffee?” Renzo scoffs.
“No,” I shoot back, my eyes narrowing. “it’s about building trust, establishing a connection beyond the surface level, and gaining the girl’s confidence so she’ll let me get close enough to steal information about their operations.”
Renzo looks like he wants to argue further, but he holds his tongue, which is a small miracle in itself.
Dante nods thoughtfully. “Subtle is better in this case. We can’t afford an all-out war with the Aguilars—not on our turf, not when we have so much to lose.”
“Exactly,” I say, meeting Dante’s gaze. “That’s why we must play this smart and not let our emotions get the best of us.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to say I can’t have my way with her too, Dante,” Renzo whines, his voice taking on a petulant tone.
Dante raises an eyebrow at me before addressing Renzo. “You can’t. The only way to get what we need from her is to keep her close—not scare her off or, worse.”
The or worse means he might kill her. Unfortunately, Renzo has little self-control and has gone too far with girls a few times.
Renzo rolls his eyes, a gesture of defiance that speaks volumes about his disregard for authority. “Both of you are being killjoys, sucking the fun out of what could be a wild ride.”
Dante claps his hands together, his eyes flicking to his watch in a silent reminder of the time slipping away. “Enough chitchat, let’s hit the road.”
It may only be an hour car journey to Crystal Lake, but we are all eager to get settled in.
I sigh and step out of my room ready to start my last year at Crystal Lake University—a year that now promises far more than academic challenges and social distractions. It’s a chance to prove myself to Father, to show him that I’m ready to take a bigger role in the family business once I’ve graduated, that I have what it takes to lead and succeed in this world.
All I can hope is that Renzo doesn’t fuck it all up for me, that he can keep his impulses in check long enough for us to get what we need and secure our family’s legacy. But only time will tell, and the road ahead will surely be bumpy, filled with twists and turns that we can’t even begin to anticipate. All we can do is hold on tight and hope for the best, knowing that failure is not an option, not when the stakes are this high.
3
CAMILA
Walking through Crystal Lake’s grand, gothic halls, I clutch my bag closer, my knuckles turning white. I’ve never been good at fitting in, especially in new places, and the unfamiliarity of my surroundings only amplifies my unease.
Crystal Lake’s corridors buzz with students’ energy, their conversations a cacophony against the stone walls, echoing through the high ceilings and bouncing off the polished floors. I’ve navigated these halls for four days now, each step an echo of solitude amidst the clamor, my footsteps drowned out by the chatter and laughter of those around me. My gaze flickers to the faces around me, searching for a hint of kinship in this foreign landscape, hoping to find a friendly smile or a welcoming glance.
This morning is my first Economics class. The door looms before me, heavy and imposing. With a deep breath, I enter, my heart pounding. The room is an amphitheater of knowledge. Students scattered like seeds on the tiered seats, their faces a blur of unfamiliar features.
I find a spot near the middle, a compromise between eagerness and anonymity. I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself or seem disinterested. As I settle into the wooden chair, it scrapes lightly against the floor.
“Is this seat taken?” A voice slices through my thoughts, startling me.
I glance up, my eyes widening slightly at the sight before me. A girl with hair as dark as midnight and olive skin stands beside me, her presence as inviting as a warm hearth on a cold winter’s night. Her eyes meet mine with an openness that feels like a balm to my cloistered spirit, a hint of kindness in a sea of unfamiliarity.
“No, it’s free,” I say, motioning to the empty space beside me.
She smiles a genuine, friendly smile that lights up her face and takes her seat, settling in beside me with a casual ease that I envy. “I’m Lucia Bianchi.”
“Camila Aguilar.”
We chat about inconsequential things—the weather that seems perpetually gray here, the constant drizzle that seems to seep into your bones, the maze-like layout of the campus that makes navigation a challenge—before the professor strides in and commands attention, his presence filling the room. The lecture sweeps us along on currents of supply and demand curves, market equilibrium, and complex concepts that make my head spin.
Lucia turns to me when the class disperses like birds at the sound of thunder, students rushing out in a flurry of movement and chatter. “What are your plans for lunch?”
The question catches me off guard. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder with a casual grace I admire. “Come to the cafeteria with me then. They actually have decent food if you know what to order.”
I hesitate for just a heartbeat, my instinct to isolate myself warring with my desire for connection. “Sure.”
