Luxury Enemies · Y/n story by @RosemaryVanilla

Leonardo

Ah, bend down and kiss the cobblestones of Firenze, because we're in the halls of one of the most exclusive schools in all of Italy. And let me tell you, the air here doesn't just smell like expensive cologne and old money — it practically chokes you with it. Marble floors that probably cost more than my entire apartment complex, frescoed ceilings that Michelangelo would've shed a tear over, and students who walk around like they personally invented the concept of haute couture.

The morning light streams through towering arched windows, catching on the gold filigree of the ancient door frames. Students mill about in clusters, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings in a symphony of Italian vowels and laughter.

Leonardo

And there She is. Walking through these hallowed halls like she's just another face in the crowd, when darling, she's anything but. But nobody knows that yet. Nobody except him, apparently.

???

a sharp whistle cuts through the ambient noise

You don't even have to look. You know that whistle. It's become the soundtrack to your mornings, afternoons, and every unfortunate hallway intersection between classes.

Valerio Armani

leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed, that infuriating smirk plastered across his features Topolina. Where's the fire, little mouse? Running from a cat?

A few of his friends snicker nearby. One of them — Filippo something-or-other, you don't bother remembering — nudges another and mutters something under his breath.

Valerio Armani

pushing off the pillar, falling into step beside you with an ease that feels deliberate No, no, don't stop walking on my account. I just wanted to ask — and be honest now — does anyone actually know who the LeVante family is? Anyone at all?

Leonardo

And there it is, folks. The daily reminder that Y/n LeVante is apparently invisible to the upper echelons of Italian society. Never mind that her mother's cooking could make angels weep, or that her brother has the kind of smile that's launched approximately fifty-seven love confessions this semester alone. No, no. We must discuss the name.