Nico walked through the crowded little island square, unbothered.
He looked too expensive to be here—hoodie still clinging to his frame, the chains around his neck subtle but screaming money. His jawline sharp.
Heads turned. Women blinked twice. One nearly dropped her basket of oranges.
He stopped at a corner shop run by an older lady sipping wine.
"Scusi…" Nico's voice was smooth, eyes lazy with that half-smirk. "I'm looking for someone."
The woman looked up. "Oh?"
"He's got frost-white hair. Pretty eyes. You'd know if you saw him. He looks like... trouble."
The woman raised a brow. "What kind of trouble?"
Nico leaned on the counter slightly, the gold in his chain catching the sun. "The kind I'm addicted to."
Behind him, a group of girls giggled. One whispered, "Dio mio… who is that?"
Another licked her lips, biting back a grin. "He looks like he smells expensive."
Nico glanced their way with a single bored eye. "You girls haven't seen him, have you?"
