"Excellent. And what are your plans for university?"
Before I could answer, Damien's voice cut in, low and resonant. "Still planning on pursuing that noble career in, what was it? Gelato tasting?"
My fork clattered against my plate. "It was one time! And you're the one who knocked it out of my hand!" I snapped, my eyes flashing.
"Amelia!" Mama's voice was sharp.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I mistaken?" He raised an eyebrow, a mocking glint in his eyes. "I seem to recall a rather dramatic display over a melted dessert. Perhaps my memory fails me."
"Your memory is just fine, you arrogant-" I bit back the rest of the insult, clenching my jaw.
"Children, please!" Sebastian interjected, a strained smile on his face. "This is a celebratory dinner. Let's not bicker."
"I apologize, Father." Damien's voice was smooth, instantly contrite, but his eyes never left mine, a silent challenge passing between us. "Amelia, my apologies. I was merely teasing. A poor attempt at humor, it seems."
I glared at him, knowing full well it was anything but an apology. He was enjoying this. The infuriating man.
***
The next morning, I tried to avoid him. I woke early, hoping to slip out for school before he emerged from whatever opulent wing of the villa he inhabited. No such luck. As I descended the grand staircase, the smell of freshly brewed espresso filled the air, and there he was, leaning against the kitchen counter, a black mug in his hand, looking entirely too comfortable. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched across a formidable chest, the muscles coiling and shifting as he moved. My gaze lingered for a beat too long, and I felt a blush creep up my neck.
"Morning, principessa." His voice, a low rumble, startled me. "Up bright and early for school, I see."
I clutched my books tighter. "Don't call me that. And yes, unlike some people, I have responsibilities."
He took a slow sip of his coffee. "Oh, do you now? What kind of responsibilities? Making sure your friends don't get into trouble at the gelato stand?"
"You're insufferable." I walked past him, heading for the pantry. "Is there any cereal left?"
"Help yourself. The staff restocks every morning. Though I prefer something a little more substantial to start the day." He gestured vaguely at the platter of pastries and fruit on the counter.
"Good for you." I grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl. "Not everyone has a personal chef."
"No, not everyone does." His tone was even, but I felt the weight of his gaze on me as I poured the milk. "You look tired. Late night studying?"
"None of your business." I shoveled a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.
"Everything under this roof is my business, Amelia." His voice had dropped, a subtle shift in tone that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "You're living in my father's house. Which makes it, by extension, *my* house."
I scoffed. "Oh, I forgot. The great Damien Rossi, benevolent landlord. I'm sure you'll be sending me a bill for the air I breathe."
He pushed off the counter, moving closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The scent of his cologne, rich and masculine, filled the small space. "Don't push it, principessa. There are rules in this house. You'd do well to learn them."
"Rules? What rules? Don't make eye contact with the all-powerful stepbrother?" I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze defiantly.
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing. "Rule number one: Don't speak to me with that tone. Rule number two: Be mindful of your attire. This isn't a beach house." His eyes swept over my slightly too-short shorts and loose tank top, a slow, deliberate assessment that made my skin prickle.
My face burned. "My clothing is perfectly appropriate! It's summer, for your information!"
"Not for this house." He took another step, closing the distance between us. I could feel the heat radiating from him. "You're living with adults now. Act like it."
"You're unbelievable!" I pushed past him, nearly stumbling. "I'm leaving for school."
"Be careful out there, Amelia." His voice, low and laced with something I couldn't quite decipher, followed me. "Rome can be a dangerous city for a pretty girl who doesn't know her place."
***
"You will not *believe* who my new stepbrother is!" I hissed into the phone, pacing my bedroom. Milly's muffled voice responded from the other end. "No, not just some random guy. Remember that arrogant jerk who ruined my gelato the other day? The one who looked like he owned the world?"
"The one you spent ten minutes ranting about, Amelia? The one with the 'dark, brooding eyes' and the 'sculpted jawline'?" Milly's voice was laced with amusement.
"He does not have a sculpted jawline, Milly! He has a punchable face! And yes, *him*! He's Sebastian's son! Damien Rossi! Can you believe it? The universe hates me!"
Milly burst out laughing. "No way! Seriously? That's... that's actually kind of amazing, in a dramatic, soap opera kind of way."
"It is not amazing! It's a nightmare! He's insufferable! He keeps giving me these looks, and telling me how to dress, and acting like he owns the whole house!"
"He *does* own half the house, technically, doesn't he?"
"Don't be logical, Milly! This is a crisis! I have to live under the same roof as that arrogant, cold-hearted-" I trailed off, searching for the right insult.
"Mafia boss?" Milly supplied, a hint of genuine surprise in her tone now. "Isn't Sebastian, like, retired from... that life? I heard rumors."
"What? Mafia boss? Milly, what are you talking about?" My voice dropped to a whisper, my eyes darting towards my closed door.
"Oh, come on, Amelia. Everyone knows Sebastian Rossi has 'connections.' And Damien? He's practically a legend. They say he runs the family business now. The *real* business, if you know what I mean."
A chill snaked down my spine. The way he looked at me, the quiet authority, the subtle threats... it all suddenly made a terrifying kind of sense. "Milly, you're crazy. Sebastian is a respectable businessman. A philanthropist, even!"