(Izzy POV)
"Good morning, Miss Isabella."
I crack one eye open to find Rosa standing at the foot of my bed, arms full of fresh linens. She's wearing that same black uniform she had on yesterday, but now there's something different about her expression. Something smug.
"What are you doing in my room?" I sit up, pulling the covers around me. Mom's gone, when did she leave?
"Changing the sheets, of course." Rosa's voice is syrupy sweet, but her eyes are calculating. "Such a mess they were. All rumpled and... disturbed."
She strips the fitted sheet with unnecessary force, and I catch a whiff of Mom's perfume mixed with alcohol. Right. She was here last night, drunk and crying about her new perfect life.
"I can change my own sheets," I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
"Oh, I'm sure you can do many things for yourself." Rosa smooths the fresh sheet with deliberate precision. "But Mr. Antonio, he wants his family taken care of. Properly. Without any... complications."
The way she says 'complications' makes my skin crawl. I grab a hoodie from the chair and pull it on, suddenly feeling exposed in my tank top and shorts.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Rosa fluffs a pillow and places it just so. "Nothing at all, dear. Just that big houses like this one, they have thin walls. And old floors that creak. Very easy to hear when people are... visiting."
My blood turns to ice. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." Rosa's smile is all teeth. "Such a sweet, innocent girl. Just like your mother said. Though I do wonder what your new father would think about midnight visitors in his daughter's room."
She knows. Somehow, this nosy bitch knows about Marco being here last night. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
"There was no visitor. My mom was here, drunk off her ass, crying about her mistakes."
"Hmm." Rosa picks up the dirty sheets and holds them to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Strange. These sheets smell like... cologne. Expensive cologne. The kind young Mr. Marco wears."
I want to punch her. I want to grab her by her scraggly gray hair and throw her out the window. Instead, I force myself to stay calm.
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Rosa moves closer, and I can smell her stale breath. "Because I also heard voices. Whispers. And footsteps in the hallway around three in the morning. Very interesting footsteps."
"Get out."
"Such a temper." Rosa tsk-tsks like I'm a child having a tantrum. "You know, your new father values loyalty above all else. Family loyalty. I wonder how he'd react to hearing about... disloyalty."
She heads for the door, then pauses. "Breakfast is in twenty minutes. Mr. Antonio expects the whole family to be there. Including you, Isabella Rossi."
The door closes behind her with a soft click, and I'm alone with my racing heart and the smell of bleach. Rosa knows. She fucking knows, and she's going to use it against us.
I throw on jeans and a black t-shirt, not bothering with makeup. In the hallway, I can hear voices from downstairs, Antonio's deep rumble, Mom's nervous laughter, and underneath it all, Marco's quiet responses to whatever questions he's being asked.
The dining room is a showcase of wealth that makes my teeth ache. Crystal chandelier, mahogany table that could seat twenty, oil paintings of dead people in expensive frames. Antonio sits at the head like a king, already dressed in a perfect suit despite it being barely eight in the morning.
"Isabella!" Mom jumps up from her chair, wincing slightly. "How did you sleep, honey?"
"Fine." I slide into the chair across from Marco, avoiding his eyes. "Just fine."
Marco looks like he didn't sleep at all. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his usual easy confidence has been replaced by something tighter, more guarded. He's wearing a black button-down that makes his tattoos look like shadows under the fabric.
"Good morning, daughter." Antonio's voice is warm, but there's something underneath it that makes my skin crawl. "I trust you're feeling better today? More... settled?"
"I'm not your daughter." The words are out before I can stop them.
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Mom's face goes pale, and Marco's fork freezes halfway to his mouth.
Antonio's smile doesn't waver. "Of course you are. We're family now, Isabella. One big, happy family."
"My name is Izzy. And I'm a Harper, not a Rossi."
"Izzy, please." Mom's voice is barely above a whisper. "Don't..."
"Let her speak, Sofia." Antonio cuts her off smoothly. "Isabella is... adjusting. It's natural for young people to resist change. But eventually, they learn to embrace their new circumstances."
The way he says 'learn' makes it sound like a threat. Marco shifts in his seat, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, warning, maybe, or fear.
"I won't embrace anything about this situation," I say, loading my tone with as much venom as I can manage. "I didn't choose this family, and I sure as hell don't choose you."
Antonio takes a sip of his coffee, completely unruffled. "Choice is a luxury, Isabella. One that children don't always have."
"I'm not a child."
"No?" He leans back in his chair, studying me like I'm a specimen under a microscope. "Then perhaps you're old enough to understand that families have rules. My family has very specific rules about loyalty, respect, and appropriate behavior."
Marco's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look up from his plate. Mom fidgets with her napkin, wrapping it around her fingers like she's trying to strangle it.
"What kind of rules?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.
"Simple ones. Family members support each other. They don't betray each other. They don't... complicate things unnecessarily." Antonio's gaze flicks to Marco for just a second. "And they certainly don't bring shame or unwanted attention to the family name."
"Like federal attention?" The question pops out before I can think it through.
The silence that follows is deafening. Mom stops breathing entirely, and Marco's knuckles go white around his fork. Antonio's smile finally fades.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing." I backtrack quickly. "I just meant..."
"You meant exactly what you said." Antonio's voice is soft, but there's steel underneath it. "Tell me, Isabella, what do you know about federal attention?"
My mouth goes dry. "I... my dad was a cop. I know how these things work."
"Your father." Antonio nods slowly. "Yes, I remember. A good man, from what I hear. Honest. Dedicated to his job. Until he made the mistake of getting involved with the wrong people."
"He was killed in the line of duty," I snap. "He died protecting people."
"He died because he didn't understand the difference between justice and stupidity." Antonio's voice is like ice. "There's a lesson in that, Isabella. The people who think they're doing the right thing end up dead."
The threat hangs in the air like smoke. Mom makes a small, wounded sound, and Marco finally looks up from his plate. His eyes meet mine for a split second, and I see my own fear reflected there.
"Enough." Antonio claps his hands together, and the moment breaks. "We're family now, which means we take care of each other. Starting today, I'm making sure you and Marco are properly... supervised."
"Supervised?" I don't like the sound of that.
"You're both students. You need to get to campus safely, come home safely. The city can be dangerous for young people, especially young people from prominent families." Antonio signals to someone behind me. "Vito will be driving you both to and from school."
I turn to see a mountain of a man step into the doorway. He's got to be six-five, maybe two-fifty, with a shaved head and hands like sledgehammers. His face is completely expressionless, but there's something in his eyes that makes me think of a guard dog waiting for the command to attack.
"This is Vito Torrino," Antonio continues. "He's worked for our family for eight years. Very loyal. Very... observant."
Vito nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. "Mr. Antonio."
"Vito will make sure you get to campus safely. He'll wait for you. He'll bring you home. Think of him as your... guardian angel."
Guardian angel. Right. More like a prison guard.
"I can take the subway," I say. "I don't need a babysitter."
"The subway is unpredictable. Full of unsavory characters." Antonio's smile returns, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Besides, this way you and Marco can spend time together. Get to know each other better. As siblings should."
The word 'siblings' hits like a slap. Marco's face goes carefully blank, and I feel something inside me shrivel up and die.
"I don't want to spend time with Marco," I lie. "I barely know him."
"Exactly the problem." Antonio stands up, smoothing his tie. "Family should be close. Family should trust each other. Family should have no secrets."
He walks around the table to where I'm sitting and places a hand on my shoulder. His grip is firm, just shy of painful.
"You'll ride with Vito and Marco today. Every day. And you'll learn to be the sister Marco deserves. Won't you, Isabella?"
It's not a question. It's a command, delivered with just enough pressure on my shoulder to make the point clear.
"Fine." The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
"Excellent." Antonio releases me and checks his watch. "Vito will have you at campus in thirty minutes. Don't keep him waiting."
He leaves the room, and the air rushes back into my lungs. Mom reaches across the table to grab my hand, but I pull away.
"Izzy, please. Just... just try to make this work. For me?"
"Make what work, Mom? Being prisoners in our own lives?"
"That's not..."
"It is." I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. "You sold us out for money and security, and now we're stuck in this nightmare. So don't ask me to make it work. Ask yourself if it was worth it."
I storm out of the dining room, leaving Mom's tears behind. In the hallway, I almost run into Marco, who's clearly been waiting for me.
"Izzy, "
"Don't." I push past him, but he catches my arm.
"We need to talk."
"No, we don't. We need to stay away from each other. Because apparently, we're siblings now, and siblings don't..." I can't finish the sentence. Can't say what we were, what we almost were.
"That's not going to work," Marco says quietly. "Not with Vito watching us. Not with Rosa knowing what she knows."
"Rosa knows?" My voice comes out as a squeak.
"She knows something. I don't know how much, but she's fishing." Marco glances around, making sure we're alone. "We have to be careful. We have to be smart."
"We have to be nothing," I hiss. "Because there is no 'we' anymore. There's just you and me and your psychotic father who kills people who don't follow his rules."
Marco's face goes pale. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing. I said nothing." I wrench my arm free. "I'm going to get my backpack. And then I'm going to survive this day. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll figure out how to survive the rest of my life."
I leave him standing in the hallway, looking like I just punched him in the gut. Which, in a way, I guess I did.
But what choice do I have? Rosa's watching. Vito's watching. Antonio's watching. And somewhere in the background, Agent Mendes is probably watching too, waiting for me to make a mistake that gets everyone killed.
The walls are closing in, and I can barely breathe. But I'll be damned if I let them break me.
Even if it means breaking my own heart in the process.