5. Camila

5

As I walk into the library, I get this odd sense that I'm being followed, an unsettling prickle at the nape of my neck. Glancing over my shoulder, I see no one there, just the stacks and the soft rustling of pages being turned.

"Keep it together, Camila," I mutter to myself.

Lucia, Maeve, and Emily don't understand why I spend so much time in the library. It's my quiet place, my sanctuary. The place I can come to escape the constant buzz of the world and unwind, letting the tension seep from my shoulders. Anxiety has been something I've wrestled with most of my life, a constant companion that clings to me like a second skin. And being around people twenty-four-seven isn't my idea of fun.

The library is supposed to be a quiet place where no one can speak to you, as long as the students follow the rules, a blessed respite from the chaos outside. However, on a few occasions, people have approached me, shattering the fragile peace I've found among the books.

I sit at my usual table in a far corner on the second floor and select a book, sighing as tension eases from my shoulders. The weight of the book in my hands grounds me.

I nestle into the groove of my chair, the worn leather cradling me like an old friend. The book's spine gently cracks as I open it to the first chapter, the scent of aged paper and ink wafting up to greet me. The words blur before me, a symphony of letters that should be an escape, yet my mind buzzes with an unshakable feeling of being watched, a tingling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I try to focus on the page, to lose myself in the story, but my eyes betray me, flicking up and scanning the room, searching for the source of my unease.

A whisper of movement from between the shelves catches my eye. My heart does a staccato beat that echoes in my ears. No, it's nothing—just the draft from an old vent, probably stirring the dust in the air. But then there he is, emerging from the stacks like a wraith.

Elio Barone stands there with his enigmatic presence. "Fancy seeing you here," he says with a half-smile.

His voice is like a ripple in a still pond, disturbing my solitude in an unwelcome and electrifying way.

He steps closer, each footfall measured and sure, a predator stalking its prey. "May I?" He gestures to the seat opposite mine.

Despite every fiber of my being screaming for solitude, I nod. Elio's proximity is a siren call I can't seem to resist. Elio is breathtaking—those tattoos peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeves add to his dark allure.

Why would someone like him want to talk to me, the quiet girl in the corner with her nose always buried in a book?

Elio sits, leaning forward with elbows on the table, bridging the distance between us as if he has every right to invade my space. I find myself momentarily lost in his gaze, drowning in the intensity of those gray eyes that seem to see right through me.

"So, what brings you to this corner of intellectual solitude?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"I could ask you the same," I reply.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward as if he appreciates my retort and my boldness in the face of his intrusion.

"Maybe I'm here for the same reason you are," he suggests, his tone almost conspiratorial. "To find some peace and quiet... though it seems I've failed at the latter."

I can't help but smile; his honesty is disarming, cutting through the layers of pretense and small talk. It's as if he sees through my facade to the anxiety beneath, the restless energy that thrums through my veins.

"Peace and quiet are rare commodities these days," I say, wanting to to prolong our moment of connection.

"Indeed." He leans back in his chair, observing me with an intensity that should be unnerving yet feels thrilling. "But sometimes," he continues, his voice a low rumble that resonates in my bones, "it's worth sharing that quiet with someone else, someone who understands the value of silence."

Our eyes lock and something unspoken crackles in the air between us, a current of electricity that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. The book lies forgotten on the table as Elio Barone—a man who should embody danger in every sense—flirts with me in my sanctuary. And for reasons I can't fathom that excite and terrify me, I flirt back, drawn into his orbit like a moth to a flame.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. The tension I'd carried earlier melts away under Elio's gaze, replaced by a different tension. "I guess solitude can be overrated."

"Especially when there's good company to be found," he replies, his eyes never leaving mine.

I chuckle, a lightness bubbling inside me, a giddiness that feels foreign and exhilarating. "You consider yourself good company?"

"I have my moments." His smirk is playful.

Our banter is interrupted by a sudden shadow that falls over our table, a looming presence that makes the air feel thick and heavy. Another man stands beside Elio, his beauty rivaling the man sitting before me, a dark mirror image that's both familiar and unsettling. But where Elio's presence is commanding yet somehow safe, this newcomer brings a chill along with his charm.

Elio's face tightens ever so slightly as he looks at the man, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he smooths them into a mask of indifference. "Renzo, what are you doing here?"

The man—Renzo—flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, a smile with sharp edges. "Can't I chat with my brother?" he asks.

Brother.

Elio's jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. "You don't chat with anyone without a reason," he declares.

Renzo's attention shifts to me, and I feel like prey caught in a predator's sights, pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. "And who is this?" he asks, his voice dripping with curiosity and something else, something darker and more primal.

"This is Camila," Elio introduces me with a protective edge to his tone. "Camila, meet Renzo, my brother."

"Enchanted." Renzo reaches for my hand, casually yet calculatedly brushing his fingers against my skin. His touch sends an unexpected shiver down my spine, a jolt of electricity that makes me want to pull away and lean in all at once.

"Nice to meet you," I reply, though my voice sounds far away to my ears, as if I'm speaking from underwater.

Elio watches us, his jaw set in a hard line, and I can't help but notice how his hands clench into fists on the table, the tendons straining against his skin.

Renzo leans against a nearby shelf, never breaking eye contact with me, his gaze searing into my soul. "I hope my brother is keeping you entertained," he says, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.

"Actually," I say, trying to ignore the tension radiating from Elio, the almost palpable sense of unease that hangs between the brothers, "he was just sharing how valuable peace and quiet can be."

Renzo laughs—a sound that should be warm but instead feels cold, a harsh bark that echoes in the stillness of the library. "Oh, Elio has always been one for solitude," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But me? I prefer more lively interactions, more stimulating company."

There's an edge to his words that makes me wary, a sharpness that belies the easy charm of his smile. Yet something about him draws me in—like the allure of something dangerous and forbidden, a temptation that's hard to resist.

Elio clears his throat sharply, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. "Renzo was just leaving," he says, his voice brooking no argument.

But Renzo doesn't move; he just smiles at me again—a smile that promises trouble and tempts me all at once, making my heart race and my palms sweat.

"Do you want me to leave?" Renzo's question hangs in the air, charged and waiting.

I feel Elio's gaze heavy on me, expectant. Still, I shrug, unwilling to take sides in what seems to be a sibling squabble, a power play that I don't fully understand. "It's not up to me," I say, my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. "I don't mind if you stay."

The air thickens with tension as Renzo takes that as his cue, pulling out a chair with a scrape against the library floor. He sits, folding his arms on the table, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, as if he's won some unspoken battle.

Elio's glare could bore holes through steel. He is watching his brother settle into the chair, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. His body language screams irritation; every line of him is drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. It's clear that Renzo knows exactly how to get under his skin and push his buttons, and he relishes it and thrives on the chaos he creates.

I watch them both, these two sides of a coin—Elio with his brooding intensity and Renzo with his dangerous charm, both beautiful and terrible in their own ways. Brotherly rivalry or something deeper, it's obvious their relationship is complicated, a tangled web of history and resentment that I can only begin to guess at.

Renzo leans back in his chair, looking like he belongs here amidst the stacks of books and the hush of whispered learning like he's the king of this quiet domain. He flicks an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and meets my gaze with an expression that dares me. What exactly he's daring me to do, I couldn't tell you.

"I'm going to head out," I say, gathering my things and rising from my seat.

Renzo shakes his head and places a hand on mine before I can move, his touch searing my skin like a brand. "No, bookworm. Don't leave. I want to get to know you better and unravel the mystery of Camila."

Elio's growl ripples through the tense air, his patience snapping. He rises, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, an abrasive sound that echoes my internal turmoil. "Get to know my brother," he says with a clipped tone, his dark eyes flashing before he adds, "I've got class."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving me in the wake of his abrupt departure.

Renzo watches him leave and then turns back to me, his gaze hungry and knowing, a wolf eyeing its prey. Once my sanctuary, the library now feels too small, intimate, and charged with a tension that I can't quite name. His presence is overwhelming—darkly magnetic and undeniably dangerous, a force of nature threatening to sweep me away.

"So," Renzo begins, leaning in closer than Elio ever dared, his breath ghosting across my skin. "Now that we're alone..."

His voice trails off suggestively. He's far more forward than Elio; there's no subtlety in his approach, no dance of flirtation—it's a direct challenge, a gauntlet thrown down at my feet.

"Now that we're alone," I repeat, wondering what he's getting at.

I shift in my seat, suddenly conscious of the space—or lack thereof—between Renzo and me. His dark eyes hold a glint of mischief that says he's used to getting what he wants and that he's never been denied. I can't believe Elio never mentioned he had a brother, especially one like this—unhinged and yet somehow captivating, a live wire that threatens to electrocute anyone who gets too close.

Renzo's gaze trails down my face, lingering on my lips before snapping back to meet my eyes, a blatant appraisal that makes my cheeks flush and my heart stutter. "Did Elio tell you about me?"

I shake my head, trying to maintain a semblance of composure under his intense scrutiny. "No, he didn't."

Renzo's smirk widens into a Cheshire cat grin that's both unsettling and alluring. "That's a shame. I hate being kept a secret and hidden away like some dirty little secret."

"I'm not sure ‘secret' is the right word," I say, tilting my head slightly as I try to match his confidence to meet his boldness. "I hardly know your brother."

His finger grazes my hand on the table—a touch so light it might as well be imagination, a whisper of sensation that sends shivers down my spine. But it isn't; it's deliberate and charged with intention, a calculated move in a game I'm not sure I know the rules.

"No, luckily. Elio's a bore. You're better off getting to know me, bookworm."

My cheeks warm at his words, and I can't help but smile.

Renzo notices the change in my expression and leans back with a satisfied nod. "There it is—a smile, a real smile. It suits you."

"It's just a smile," I say dismissively, trying to downplay his effect on me, the way he makes me feel off-balance and out of my depth.

"But it's your smile," he counters smoothly, his voice like honey. "Unique to you and all the more intriguing for it."

The audacity of his flirting borders on arrogance. Renzo Barone is nothing if not captivating.

"I don't think you know what ‘intriguing' means," I tease, trying to deflect the intensity of our exchange with humor.

"Oh, but I do." His response is quick, brooking no argument. "It means something that draws you in, makes you want to discover more—even if you know you should probably keep your distance, even if you know it might be dangerous."

His words hang between us like an invitation or perhaps a challenge—one that promises complexity and danger in equal measure, a heady cocktail that's hard to refuse.

"You're very different from your brother," I muse, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

He smirks, a self-satisfied expression that says he knows exactly how much more daring and unpredictable he is. "I know, I'm much more charming."

"I'd say forward," I correct him.

He chuckles. "Well, when I see something—or someone—I like, I don't believe in wasting time."

There's an arrogance to his words that should send me running, but instead, it anchors me to my seat.

His fingers drum on the tabletop as he studies me. "You're different from the other girls here," he observes. "You've got depths they can't fathom."

The compliment catches me off guard—no one has ever described me like that.

"You think you can see my depths after one conversation?" I challenge.

Renzo leans back with a sly smile. "I'd like to explore them further." His voice dips lower, a whisper meant for only me to hear. "With your permission, of course."

The silence stretches between us until it's almost tangible.

And then the moment shatters as someone drops a stack of books nearby—a reminder that we're not alone in this place. But Renzo doesn't flinch; his focus remains solely on me.

"Permission for what exactly?" My voice is calm, but there's a tDanter in it—a tDanter caused by this man who looks at me like he can see right through me.

"So many dirty, filthy things."

I sit back. "Right, I'm not that kind of girl." I stand, collecting my books. "And I'm late."

His jaw clenches, and I notice a dark flash in his eyes, which scares me. "Run along, bookworm. I'll win you over in the end."

I can't help but glance back at him, his smirk etched into my mind. Renzo Barone—the dark, dangerous, and captivating Renzo Barone. I feel like I've been hit by a truck; my body is still warm from his light touch, and his words are a poisonous yet addictive drug.

I shake my head, trying to clear the haze from my thoughts. This isn't good. I shouldn't be feeling this way about someone like him.

I rush out of the library, the cool night air starkly contrasting my heated conversation with Renzo. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, all tangled up like a chaotic dance of colors.

Renzo and Elio are different but equally alluring, which is a messed-up thought. Something tells me these brothers aren't going to leave me alone now. They see me as a challenge. Which one can win me over? I should stay far away from them, but that's the last thing I want.