3. Camila

3

Walking through Crystal Lake's grand, gothic halls, I clutch my bag closer, my knuckles turning white. I've never been good at fitting in, especially in new places, and the unfamiliarity of my surroundings only amplifies my unease.

Crystal Lake's corridors buzz with students' energy, their conversations a cacophony against the stone walls, echoing through the high ceilings and bouncing off the polished floors. I've navigated these halls for four days now, each step an echo of solitude amidst the clamor, my footsteps drowned out by the chatter and laughter of those around me. My gaze flickers to the faces around me, searching for a hint of kinship in this foreign landscape, hoping to find a friendly smile or a welcoming glance.

This morning is my first Economics class. The door looms before me, heavy and imposing. With a deep breath, I enter, my heart pounding. The room is an amphitheater of knowledge. Students scattered like seeds on the tiered seats, their faces a blur of unfamiliar features.

I find a spot near the middle, a compromise between eagerness and anonymity. I don't want to draw too much attention to myself or seem disinterested. As I settle into the wooden chair, it scrapes lightly against the floor.

"Is this seat taken?" A voice slices through my thoughts, startling me.

I glance up, my eyes widening slightly at the sight before me. A girl with hair as dark as midnight and olive skin stands beside me, her presence as inviting as a warm hearth on a cold winter's night. Her eyes meet mine with an openness that feels like a balm to my cloistered spirit, a hint of kindness in a sea of unfamiliarity.

"No, it's free," I say, motioning to the empty space beside me.

She smiles a genuine, friendly smile that lights up her face and takes her seat, settling in beside me with a casual ease that I envy. "I'm Lucia Bianchi."

"Camila Aguilar."

We chat about inconsequential things—the weather that seems perpetually gray here, the constant drizzle that seems to seep into your bones, the maze-like layout of the campus that makes navigation a challenge—before the professor strides in and commands attention, his presence filling the room. The lecture sweeps us along on currents of supply and demand curves, market equilibrium, and complex concepts that make my head spin.

Lucia turns to me when the class disperses like birds at the sound of thunder, students rushing out in a flurry of movement and chatter. "What are your plans for lunch?"

The question catches me off guard. "I haven't really thought about it."

She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder with a casual grace I admire. "Come to the cafeteria with me then. They actually have decent food if you know what to order."

I hesitate for just a heartbeat, my instinct to isolate myself warring with my desire for connection. "Sure."

When we arrive, the cafeteria is alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware against plates, filled with the aroma of various foods. We select our meals, and I pick the Neapolitan pasta at Lucia's recommendation, trusting her judgment. Lucia waves at two girls sitting at a corner table before leading me over, her steps confident and sure.

"Maeve, Emily—this is Camila," she introduces me, gesturing to each girl.

Maeve's golden hair glimmers in the sunlight pouring through the windows, casting a warm glow over her features. Her green eyes sparkle with mischief as she extends a hand in greeting, and her smile is infectious.

Emily offers a nod that is strong and warm, her posture straight and confident. "So, Camila. What kind of family are you from?" She flicks her long brown hair over her shoulder, the motion fluid and practiced.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I'm from Mexico. My family is the Aguilars."

Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of recognition passing over her face. "I've heard of you guys. Your father is renowned for his ruthlessness."

I wouldn't exactly know. My father rarely sees me or my mother; his presence in our lives is more of a shadow than a constant. They're practically separated even if they are officially still married, the distance between them vast and unbridgeable. He's too busy with cartel business to pay me any attention, focusing solely on power and wealth.

"Out of the three of us, I'm the only one who isn't part of a mafia family," she says.

Maeve rolls her eyes. The gesture is exaggerated and playful. "Your dad might as well be. Most of his money wasn't made legitimately, and you know it."

Emily glares at her, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Maeve and Emily's banter strikes a familiar chord, reminding me of my siblings and me squabbling over dinner back home. The interaction is easy and familiar. Maeve leans forward, her eyes alight with a spark of mischief dancing in their depths.

"Emily, you can't just pretend your dad is a saint. We all know Chicago's elite have their secrets."

Emily's lips curve into a smirk, the expression both amused and slightly dangerous. "Secrets, sure. But not bodies buried in the backyard."

Lucia's hand finds mine under the table, reassuringly squeezing it, her touch warm and comforting. "Ignore them," she whispers, her breath tickling my ear. "They're like this all the time but thick as thieves."

I nod, trying to focus on Lucia's words rather than the heat rising to my cheeks at the mention of buried bodies, a topic that hits a little too close to home. It's not like I'm unfamiliar with the concept; it's something we don't talk about openly in my family, the dark underbelly of our business kept hidden from view.

"We've all got our dramas," Lucia says, her tone light and casual as if discussing the weather.

Maeve snorts, the sound inelegant but somehow endearing. "Dramas? More like soap operas with us." She gestures between herself and Emily.

I can't help but let out a small laugh, finding comfort in their ease with each other despite the sharpness of their words and the way they can poke and prod at each other's vulnerabilities without causing real harm. They remind me of home in a way that soothes and stings—a reminder of what I'm missing.

"So, Camila," Maeve turns to me, her expression softening. "What brings you to Crystal Lake?"

Before I can answer, Emily chimes in, her voice carrying a note of understanding. "Apart from family expectations?"

I hesitate momentarily before deciding on honesty; after all, they've shared their stories. "That's the only reason," I admit. "And my mother thought it would be good for me to get an education outside of Mexico."

Maeve nods thoughtfully while Emily watches me intently.

"Well, you're here now," Lucia says cheerfully, "which means you're part of our little group."

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break and our cue to head to our next class. We gather our things and walk toward the exit of the cafeteria together. Suddenly, someone barrels into me hard, almost knocking me to the floor.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't see you there," a deep voice drawls.

The collision sends a jolt through my body, and I stumble, bracing for the fall. But a strong arm slips around my waist, steadying me before I can hit the ground. I look up, my breath catching at the sight of the man who caught me. His dark hair is swept back and he has a sharp jawline that clenches slightly when our eyes connect. "I'm so sorry," he breathes.

"No harm done," I manage to say, finding my footing. His arm lingers around my waist for a moment longer than necessary before he lets go and steps back to give me space.

He smirks, and something about his smile feels dangerous yet thrilling. "I'm glad you're okay. I would've felt terrible if you'd been hurt by me."

I nod, brushing off my skirt, feeling his gaze follow the motion. "It's fine, really."

He tilts his head, assessing me with a curiosity that flutters my stomach. "I haven't seen you around before. You new here?"

"Yes, started this week." My voice is steady despite the pounding of my heart.

His eyes light up with interest. "Well then, welcome to Crystal Lake University. I'm Elio."

"Camila," I reply.

Elio's smirk grows. "Camila," he repeats as if tasting the syllables. The way my name rolls off his tongue sends a shiver down my spine, a delicious sort of thrill that I've never experienced before.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

Heat creeps into my cheeks at his words. I've never been good at handling flattery, especially not from someone who exudes confidence like him.

We stand there momentarily, lost in each other's gaze, the world around us fading into the background. I'm acutely aware of every detail of this man—the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, the ink beneath that shows through the white fabric, the faint scent of his cologne, and how his lips curve into an inviting and dangerous smile.

Lucia clears her throat, jolting me back to reality.

"I should get going," I say quickly, eager to escape the intensity of his gaze.

"Of course," he says with a nod, stepping aside to clear the path. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," I echo as I slip past him, his presence lingering like smoke in my lungs.

Once out of earshot, I turn to Lucia with wide eyes. "Who was that?"

Lucia follows my gaze to where Elio stands, watching us leave. "That's Elio Barone."

My steps falter as her words sink in. Barone... as in...

"He's the heir of the Barone mafia in New York," she announces.

My heart stutters in my chest—Barone mafia—dangerous and renowned, just like the Aguilar family. Only his territory is far closer to here.

I shake off the thought and focus on Lucia's nonchalant expression. There's much more to learn here than what's taught in class—and much more at stake than just grades. As we walk out together, I feel a cautious sense of optimism threading through the apprehension that has followed me since I arrived at Crystal Lake University.