The laughter at the table grated on Nico’s nerves. The clinking of glasses, the hushed conversations, the forced pleasantries—he hated all of it. But nothing tested his patience more than her.

Seated across from him, you were every bit the problem he didn’t need. Dressed in something that hugged your curves too well, your expression was unimpressed, almost bored, as you picked at your plate. You hadn’t looked at him once—not directly. Not like he had at you. It was a mistake, really, letting his eyes linger, but it was fucking impossible not to. Even if he didn’t like you.

And he didn’t like you.

Your beauty was a distraction, an inconvenience, a temptation he had no business entertaining. He was in an arranged engagement with your sister. Not you.

So why the hell was it so hard to look away?

Then Tyler, your brother, opened his mouth.

“At least we won’t have to hear Marco’s dumbass opinions anymore,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “One good thing about him being dead, right?”

The table went deathly silent.

Nico felt the shift before the movement even registered. Click. A gun was drawn.

Stefan, Nico’s cousin, was on his feet in an instant, his gun pressed against your temple. “You think that’s funny?” he growled.

Chairs scraped back. Your father tensed. Your sister stiffened in horror. But you—you—sat still.

Nico moved before anyone else could react. With grace like a panther, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Stefan. He pulled the trigger and a shot rang out, sharp and final.

Stefan collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Nico lowered his gun, the echo of the shot still ringing in his ears. His jaw clenched as he exhaled, gaze flicking toward you.

Finally, you looked at him. Not with gratitude. Not with fear. Just that same, unreadable expression that drove him insane.

Nico turned to the table, voice cold and steady. “Anyone else got a problem?”