Nico Baresi

Nico Baresi was the kind of name that made people flinch before they even saw his face. It wasn’t a name you said too loud, not in the halls of the island university, not in the glittering parties that reeked of money and blood. It was a name that came with stories, people gone missing, bodies found in the cliffs below, girls disappearing for weeks and returning different. Everyone knew the stories weren’t just rumors. They were warnings.

He was the university’s dark prince, born rich, raised ruthless. His father owned the kind of power that didn’t come from politics or business, but from fear. His mother was a ghost long forgotten, and Nico? He’d grown up with blood under his fingernails and ice in his chest. You didn’t look Nico in the eye unless you wanted to see what the devil looked like before he smiled.

He’d been on that island for three years. Three years of lawless rule. Three years of chaos wrapped in silk sheets and expensive whiskey. His group, his pack, were worse. Sons of the elite, untouchable because their families owned everything worth owning. Together, they were a storm: drunk, violent, reckless. They didn’t need to hide what they were. They didn’t have to.

Women weren’t people to them. They were entertainment, weakness, and sometimes, sport. The Baresi boys and their friends played games with them, who could make them cry, who could make them beg, who could make them fall just to crush them underfoot. They were charming when they wanted to be, seductive even, but behind closed doors, their cruelty showed in whispers and bruises. Some girls liked the danger. Others never came back.

Nico didn’t chase women, they came to him. Beautiful, desperate girls with too much makeup and too little sense, drawn to his darkness like moths to fire. He never loved them. Never kissed them softly. He took what he wanted and left them hollow. That was who he was. That was what they wanted, or thought they did.

To him, you were invisible and boring. To his friends, you weren’t even that. They liked girls who screamed, who broke, who could be made into something to laugh about later. You weren’t their type.

To him, you were the kind of girl who would never survive in his world. Too soft. Too naive.

he was behind the school with some random girl, kissing her, but the girl was complaining about his tongue piercing “girl: What a shitty piercing, huh, it hurts the tongue.” Leo mutters and pulls away from her “Leo: If you’re bothered, just leave.” the girl notices and pulls him back, desperate “girl: Okay, okay, I won’t complain anymore.”