At the mere mention of the word Camorra, a shudder of fear rippled through people far beyond Italy’s borders.
What then could be said about Naples, where the syndicate ruled as undisputed kings?
It was easily one of the bloodiest, most brutal criminal empires in the country.
I took meticulous care to avoid the territory where they lived—even if, in truth, the entirety of Campania belonged to them.
Certain districts were simply touched less by their shadow, and those were the ones we clung to as relatively safe.
“By the way, the Camorra heir has the exact same name as you—Matteo,” I said, slipping my hands behind my back to stretch a little.
“Matteo Romano.
You have my deepest condolences.” “For what?” Matteo exhaled a lazy streak of smoke into the sea breeze.
“For sharing a name with such a total freak.” Matteo Romano was the most infamous bastard in all of Naples, though I was certain his reputation preceded him across the entire peninsula.
The name Matteo had become inextricably bound to his shadow—synonymous with darkness, pain, ruthlessness, and death.
Matteo slowly shifted his gaze toward me.
Without breaking eye contact, he raised the cigarette back to his lips and drew another drag.
“Thanks for the condolences.” I offered a dismissive shrug.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you’re calling him a total freak?” “As if he and I will ever cross paths,” I snorted sarcastically.
“Besides, I’m only calling him what he actually is.” I halted abruptly, my eyes narrowing as I turned to look him up and down.
“Or do you know him personally?
Planning on telling Romano what I said?” Everything inside me coiled tight.
I strongly doubted that even in such a scenario Romano would bother dragging his bastard ass out just to punish some no-name girl for a handful of insults, yet a sharp chill still snaked down my spine.
The legends surrounding his atrocities were terrifying.
“I promise I won’t tell him a thing,” Matteo murmured, lowering his eyelids slightly as he lazily exhaled another cloud of smoke.
“So you do know him?” The tension that had been threatening to snap my nerves flared anew.
Damn it.
“A little.” “Well, aren’t you well-connected,” I muttered, turning away.
I had aimed for a cool, ironic tone, but a prickle of genuine anxiety was spreading through my chest.
Damn it, I really need to start watching my tongue.
“Don’t worry about it,” Matteo said, slinging a lazy arm around my neck to pull me closer.
“I promised I wouldn’t say a word.” “I’m not worried,” I grumbled, sidestepping his arm.
“He’s got a whole line of people waiting to be tortured ahead of me.
I’ll probably live to old age before he gets around to my name.” I paused, watching the gray rocks jutting out of the rolling waves, and pressed my lips together.
“And I’m not taking it back.
He really is a completely deranged bastard.
I don’t just say that because of the rumors, either.” Though the rumors alone were enough to turn anyone’s stomach.
Living in Naples made it impossible to escape hearing about the Romano family and their sole heir.
Your skin crawled just listening to accounts of his cruelty, ferocity, and sheer coldness.
He was the single greatest reason the Camorra commanded such absolute terror—the reason entire neighborhoods cleared out, and why everyone did everything in their power to never, ever cross his path.
“Did he do something to you?” Matteo slid his fingers into my hair.
The touch was so startlingly gentle that goosebumps erupted across my skin.
I exhaled a shaky breath and immediately swatted his hand away, taking two quick paces toward the edge of the sidewalk to put distance between us.
The entire time, a single thought had been gnawing at me: Dante.
A bitter, rotten feeling settled in my soul at the realization that I was standing here next to another guy—even if it was entirely against my will.
How was I supposed to look the person I loved in the eye after this?
How had my life even devolved to this point?
“Not to me,” I replied quietly, running my fingers through my hair to erase the lingering sensation of his touch.
I hesitated.
Romano terrified me just as much as he did anyone else; I wasn’t stupid enough to lack a healthy dread of agony, tearing torture, and a brutal death.
People swore he killed purely for the fun of it.
In short, he was the absolute last person on Earth I ever wanted to encounter, let alone draw the attention of for even a split second.
Still, the initial wave of panic that had hit when Matteo claimed to know him was beginning to recede.
Matteo was just a bodyguard—or something similar.
At most, he had probably glimpsed Romano from afar once or twice.
Even if their paths somehow crossed through his employer, the idea of him casually mentioning that some random girl called the heir a bastard was laughable.
It would be an absurdly idiotic conversation.
Of course he wouldn’t say anything.
“Did he do something to someone close to you then?” Matteo asked, respecting the space I had created but continuing to walk alongside me.
“Let’s drop it.” “Why?
I’m curious,” he said, jamming his hands into his pants pockets.
A cluster of passing girls slowed their steps, their eyes lingering on him as they walked by.
They came to a complete halt a few paces away, whispering feverishly while devouring him with their gazes.
They looked ready to turn around and follow him until they finally noticed me standing beside him.
Their expressions instantly hardened into visible hostility and annoyance.
Damn it.
We were literally just walking side by side, and already these strangers hated my existence simply for occupying space near him.
Was he really that handsome?
I stole a sideways glance at Matteo.
Objectively…
yes.
He was striking.
Tall, with sun-kissed skin, jet-black hair, and sharp, captivating features.
But Dante was still a billion times better.
Especially with his blond hair—a feature I was utterly helpless against.
I adored sinking my fingers into those grown-out strands.
For whatever reason, dark hair had never really done it for me.
Though, of course, it wasn’t just about the hair—Dante was my absolute ideal in every conceivable way.