Page 19 of Ruthless Royalty

It’s my last class for the day and when the professor dismisses us, I take my time to pack my things away. There’s no rush for me to head to the Crown Suites because it’s Friday and I’ve actually scheduled some time in Studio 3 to paint.

I need this; I need to lose myself in something that doesn’t involve calculating my next move or watching my back.

I make my way across campus, taking the long route to avoid any potential run-ins with Giovanni. When I finally reach the studio, I push the door open and step inside, only to stop short. The room is already occupied.

A guy with long blond hair pinned in a bun stands in front of an easel, with paint smudged across his cheek. His blue eyes are focused on his canvas, and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and gray sweats, revealing a toned physique. He glances up at me and smiles.

“Hey, you must be Chiara. Sorry, I was warned you’d be here, but I got caught up,” he says, a hint of an accent in his voice.

I hesitate for a moment, then shrug. “It’s fine. You can stay.”

He smiles wider, turning back to his canvas. “Thanks. I’m almost done anyway.”

I set up my own easel and start pulling out my supplies, trying to focus on the familiar routine. As I mix my paints, the tension begins to melt away.

There’s something soothing about the smell of the paint, the feel of the brush in my hand. I lose myself in the strokes, creating lines and colors without really thinking about what I’m painting.

Before I know it, I’m completely absorbed. It’s only when I feel someone standing close that I snap back to reality, startled. I look up to find the guy next to me, eyes wide with admiration.

“That’s incredible,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “Is that your mother?”

I blink, stepping back to look at my work. It is my mother, though I hadn’t realized it until now. She’s smiling, the way she does when she looks at Dmitri. A pang of longing hits me, but I push it aside.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I guess it is.”

“She’s beautiful, you’ve captured something really special,” he says, genuine admiration in his voice. “I’m Leo, by the way.”

“Chiara,” I reply, wiping my hands on a rag and then rolling my eyes. “But of course, you knew that. What are you working on?”

Leo steps back, giving me space. “I’m in my final year here, working on my painting for my first gallery debut.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

He shakes his head, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I can’t show it to anyone yet. It’s... kind of personal.”

Wow, he has dimples.And a tongue ring.Andthere’s no tattoo on the side of his neck. Just who is this guy and why does he seem perfect?

“Fair enough,” I say, returning his smile. “I know how it feels to keep things close to the chest.”

We clean up our supplies, the comfortable silence between us a welcome change from the usual tension. As we head out of the studio together, Leo tells me about his plans for the future, his excitement about the upcoming gallery show.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself laughing at his stories. It’s nice to meet someone here who isn’t trying to make my life miserable.

We walk out of the studio together, chatting easily about art and our classes. Leo is intelligent and easy to talk to, and I find myself not needing to put on a fake smile at all.

As we walk through the halls, laughing at something he’s said, I suddenly see Giovanni standing a little way off, looking absolutely livid. My laughter dies in my throat, and I feel a cold chill run down my spine.

Leo notices my change in demeanor and follows my gaze. “Why does Giovanni Basile look like he wants to murder me?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “He’s been on my case since I enrolled on Monday. He expects me to bow to him, but I won’t.”

Leo chuckles, a warm, comforting sound. “You’re brave. That’s a good thing.”

We split up when we reach the SUVs, and it’s only when I get home that I realize Leo must have a criminal background too.

No one gets into Willow Bridge without some kind of connection to the criminal underworld.

Sunday night I’m jolted awake by rough hands yanking me out of my bed. Confused and scared, I try to fight back, but the blindfold they slip over my eyes leaves me disoriented. I don’t know who’s dragging me, but I try to fight them off, even though my hands are pinned behind my back.

---