Chapter 61 Pressure

Chapter 61 Pressure
Lucia’s POV
The sun has shifted slightly lower in the sky, but the heat hasn’t softened, it just sits differently now, heavier in a way that makes everything feel slower, like even time is too lazy to move properly. I’ve changed into something more practical because Alessia insisted that “pool day is not a fashion show,” which is ironic considering she has checked her reflection in the glass door at least six times since we came outside.
The music has softened into something rhythmic and distant, blending with laughter and splashes of water. Someone has set up games near the shallow end of the pool, ropes, floating objects, small challenges that look harmless until you remember who these people are and what they do when they compete.
I sit on the edge of a chair under the shade for a moment, watching as Enzo argues loudly with Alex about cheating, which is apparently a recurring problem in their friendship, while Antonio simply observes like he has been assigned permanent disappointment as a personality trait.
“Teams,” Alex announces finally, clapping his hands like he is hosting a children’s event instead of whatever this actually is. “We are doing teams for the relay challenge.”
There is immediate resistance.
“That is unnecessary,” Antonio says flatly.
“It is literally just swimming,” Enzo replies.
“Swimming is a form of humiliation in public settings,” Antonio adds, completely serious.
I exhale a laugh before I can stop myself.
Across the pool, Dante stands slightly apart from everyone else, arms folded, watching instead of participating. He looks like he has no intention of joining anything, which somehow feels expected. People like him don’t fall into water games and laughter easily. 
And yet his eyes move often.
I follow his line of sight once without meaning to.
Nico.
Of course.
He is standing near the far side of the pool speaking to one of the men, posture relaxed in a way that looks almost unfamiliar to him, like he is wearing a version of himself that used to exist before everything turned sharp around him. He laughs briefly at something someone says, low and short, and I catch myself noticing it before I have the chance to stop.
Something shifts behind my ribs.
I ignore it.
“Teams are simple,” Alex continues loudly, completely unaware of the tension he is about to ruin or worsen. “Lucia and Nico against Enzo and Giovanni.”
Silence. Immediate but not dramatic silence. The kind that feels accidental but isn’t.
I blink. “Why?” I ask.
“Because it is balanced,” Alex says confidently.
“That is not balanced,” Enzo replies immediately. “That is emotional sabotage.”
Giovanni says nothing, but I notice the way his eyes flick briefly toward Alessia, then away again as if looking too long would confirm something he is not ready to acknowledge.
Alessia leans toward me slightly.
“Why does everyone keep pairing you two together?” she whispers.
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know which part of that question is more dangerous.
The game begins anyway.
It always does here.
Rules are flexible. Participation is optional in theory, but in practice nobody refuses Alex twice because he becomes even more unbearable when challenged.
The relay is simple enough, swim across, collect something from the opposite side, return, pass it on. It should not feel like anything more than mild competition, but nothing in this house is ever just mild.
Nico stands beside me near the starting point.
He does not look at me immediately.
“You still hesitate before diving,” he says casually.
I turn my head slightly.
“I don’t hesitate.”
“You do,” he replies, as if correcting a fact in a report. “You always did.”
My jaw tightens slightly. “That was years ago.”
“And yet,” he says, “you still pause.”
I open my mouth,Then close it again.
Because arguing with him has always been pointless in the same way breathing is automatic. You don’t win against habits.
A whistle sounds from somewhere.
The game starts.
People jump in.
Water splashes loudly.
And suddenly everything becomes movement and noise and competition.
At first, it’s harmless.
I swim. He keeps pace. We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
I hear shouting from the side of the pool, laughter, Alex yelling something about cheating again, Enzo threatening to end him personally if he continues, and somewhere in all of it I become aware of something else.
A gaze.  Heavy and unmoving.
Dante.
Even without looking directly at him, I feel it settle over the water like pressure.
Not on the game.
On me. On Nico. On the space between us.
I focus forward. Not because I care. Because it is easier.
We win the first round.
Barely.
Alex complains immediately that Nico “probably bribed the water,” which earns him a push that nearly sends him into the pool fully clothed.
The second round is worse. It was more physical and competitive. And somewhere in it, Nico reaches for my arm to steady me when I almost lose balance stepping onto a floating platform.
It is nothing. Pure instinct. A fraction of a second. But the moment it happens, the air changes.
Not around us. Around him.
I feel it before I see it. Dante stops speaking mid-sentence. The sound of his voice cuts off sharply. And when I finally glance up his expression is still controlled. But his jaw is tight in a way that has nothing to do with business. Nothing at all.
Something cold settles low in my stomach. I turn back quickly.
Because I do not understand why that matters.
The game ends with too much laughter and too many arguments about fairness that no one actually intends to resolve.
I step out of the pool area slightly later, water dripping from my arms, heat immediately taking over where the coolness was, and I grab a towel from one of the chairs without really looking at who it belongs to.
“Good reflexes,” Nico says beside me.
I shrug.
“I didn’t almost fall.”
“You did,” he replies simply. “I corrected it.”
He pauses. Then, quieter, “You always hated losing control.”
I stop drying my arm and slowly turn toward him. “Don’t start speaking like you know me again.”
His gaze holds mine for a second longer than necessary. Then he looks away first. Always first now.
“Fair,” he says.
But something about his tone suggests he doesn’t mean it.
From the corner of my eye, I see Alessia waving dramatically from a distance, trying to get my attention, probably about Giovanni again, probably something I will pretend to care about later.
But I don’t move yet. Because I feel it again. That same pressure.
Dante is still watching. And for the first time today, I understood something clearly that I did not want to.
This isn’t about Nico standing near me. It is about the fact that Dante has noticed every single second of it, and hasn’t stopped looking.