Alessandra POV
The car ride from the airport was silent. Not the peaceful kind — the thick, awkward kind that pressed against your ears until you started counting the seconds just to fill the noise.
Jane sat in the front, talking softly on her phone. Beside her, my brother— sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. I'd seen statues with more movement. Lorenzo , my father, sat beside me, occasionally glancing my way with a polite smile that said I don't want to scare you, but I also don't know what to say. So, no one did.
I leaned my head against the window, watching as the city lights faded into quieter roads lined with trees and stone walls. After what felt like forever, the car slowed down.
That's when I saw it — a tall, black iron gate, the kind you'd expect outside a royal palace. Right in the center was an engraved crest: a single rose surrounded by thorns.
A rose. Of course. La Rosa.
The car came to a stop. Emilio — my brother, still weird to say that — leaned forward and punched a code into a keypad. The gate swung open smoothly, like something out of a movie. My brain started muttering before I could stop it.
What are these people, royalty? What's with the gate, the guards, the security cameras? Who even needs this much protection? My mini rant came to a screeching halt when I saw what was on the other side. House was not the right word. It was a mansion. No — a freaking estate.
The building stretched wide and tall, its stone walls covered in ivy, lights glowing from the massive arched windows. Fountains sparkled in the courtyard, and luxury cars sat lined up neatly like accessories.
Royalty? Correction. These people are royalty.
The car rolled to a stop near the entrance. I climbed out, clutching my backpack like it was armor. The air smelled faintly of roses and expensive cologne. As we walked toward the enormous front doors, I tried not to stare — but failed miserably.
Chandeliers glimmered through the windows, marble steps gleamed under the lights. Everything about this place whispered wealth and power. My father rang the doorbell.
A moment later, the door opened to reveal a guy who looked only a few years older than me — tall, black-haired, sharp-featured, and wearing a smirk that probably worked on everyone except me.
Then another boy appeared beside him. Same face. Twins. Great.
Inside, two more men stood waiting. One — tall, broad, mid-twenties — gave me a look so serious it could've been carved from stone. The other just… glared. No emotion, no warmth. Just pure, unfiltered don't mess with me glare.
If I wasn't already uncomfortable, that sealed it.
And honestly? They were all handsome. Annoyingly so.
Like some genetic lottery had been rigged in this family's favor. Even my father — mid-forties, maybe — looked like he'd stepped out of an Italian magazine. I had no idea what my mother was thinking when she left him for Dave. Comparing them was like comparing a lion to a rat.
I was still trying to figure out where to look when my father's voice broke through.
"Boys," he said, his tone clipped but calm, "Introduce yourselves. Oldest to youngest."
The serious one stepped forward first. "Alessandro," he said. "Twenty-five, Welcome home sorella" His voice was deep, steady, commanding.
Next was Emilio — familiar, friendly. "Emilio," he said, smiling softly. "Twenty-three."
The glaring one came next. "Leonardo," he said shortly, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.
Then the twins. The first grinned. "Elio! I'm the older twin by three minutes, so technically the more important one." He winked.
The other, quieter one, gave a small nod. "Nico," he said softly. "Nice to meet you." They were all staring at me expectantly.
Oh. Right. My turn
I quickly pulled my small whiteboard from my bag and wrote: "Alessandra Knight — 17."
When I held it up, I saw Emilio smile encouragingly. Elio gave me a thumbs-up. Nico nodded again. But Leonardo — the glaring one — clenched his jaw, eyes darkening. He looked at my father.
"She's a La Rosa," he said coldly. "Not a Knight." The room went silent. I froze, unsure if I was supposed to respond — not that I could.
My father's voice was calm but final. "Enough. Elio, show your sister around. Ms. Harper and I have documents to finish."
Elio grinned and motioned for me to follow. "C'mon, piccola sorellina. I'll give you the grand tour." I adjusted my backpack and nodded, following him through the halls.
Behind me, I could feel Leonardo's stare burning into my back, Emilio's quiet concern, and my father's unreadable silence.
The house was massive — golden light spilling from chandeliers, the floor so polished it reflected every movement. It didn't feel like home. Not yet.
As Elio led me upstairs, talking about rooms and hallways and family dinners I wasn't sure I belonged to, one thought kept circling in my head — soft, hesitant, but certain:
For the first time in my life, I wasn't completely alone.