(Izzy POV)
I'm shaking as Rosa shoves us back into the ballroom, her smirk digging into me like a knife. Marco's next to me, his shoulder brushing mine, but I can't look at him. Not after the hallway, not after his excuses. The crowd's buzzing, laughing, clinking glasses, but it's all noise. My eyes dart to Agent Mendes by the wall, her notepad still out, watching me. My stomach flips. She's a fed, Dad's old partner, and she's here, probably thinking I'm part of this Rossi mess now. I want to run, but Rosa's pushing us straight to the stage.
Antonio's waiting, tall and stiff in his black suit, Mom hanging on his arm like some prize. His face is cold, eyes sharp, and I feel them lock on us before we even stop. The crowd quiets a little, heads turning. Rosa steps back, folding her arms, like she's waiting for a show. My heart's slamming so hard I can hear it. Marco's breathing fast next to me, but he's still, hands in his pockets. I clench my fists, nails biting my palms. I hate this, hate him, hate her, hate everything.
Antonio steps forward, letting go of Mom. She giggles, clueless, but he's not smiling. "You two," he says, voice low and hard, like a growl. He's close now, towering over us, and I smell his cologne, thick, expensive, choking. "I hear you guys are seeing each other." My breath stops. How does he know? Rosa. That nosy jerk must've blabbed. I glare at her, but she just smirks back. Antonio's eyes flick between me and Marco, studying us like we're bugs he's about to squash.
"It ends today," he says, colder now. "Family stays clean. No messes." His words hit like a punch. He knows, maybe not all of it, but enough. Last night, me and Marco, official, together, flashes in my head, and I want to scream. It's not his business, but he's making it his. His grip tightens, not on us, but in the air, like he's squeezing something invisible. I hate him more than ever. Dad died fighting guys like this, and now he's telling me what I can feel?
I glare up at him, my chest burning. "You don't own me," I snap, voice shaky but loud. His eyes narrow, and Mom gasps, tugging his sleeve.
"Izzy!" she hisses, all fake shock. I don't care. I'm not her puppet, or his. Antonio doesn't flinch, just stares me down, his face like stone. Marco's quiet, but I see his jaw clench, teeth grinding. He's mad too, I can feel it, but he's hiding it, keeping it locked up. I want him to say something, fight back, but he doesn't. Not yet.
"You're family now," Antonio says, slow and heavy. "My family. That means rules." He looks at Marco, then me, like he's daring us to argue. "No funny stuff. You get me?" Funny stuff. Like last night, kissing, laughing, us, was some dirty secret. It wasn't. It was real. Now it's a mess, and he's the one making it that way. My hands shake, and I shove them in my pockets so he won't see.
The crowd's watching, whispering, but I don't care. I'm stuck on his words, family. Rossi family. I'm not a Rossi. I'm Harper, Dad's name, Dad's kid. Not this creep's. I want to yell it, throw it in his face, but my throat's too tight. Marco shifts next to me, his arm brushing mine again. I feel his heat, that spark from last night, but it's buried under this crap now. Betrayal stings, his dad's Antonio, and he didn't tell me. I can't look at him, but he's right there, and it hurts.
Antonio steps back, pulling Mom closer. She's smiling again, like nothing's wrong. "Let's move on," he says, louder now, turning to the crowd. But he's not done with us. He grabs Marco's shoulder, yanking him aside, away from me. I freeze, watching. "She's off-limits, understand?" he growls, low enough the crowd can't hear. "She's your sister now." My stomach drops. Sister. The word's a slap, and I see Marco's face tighten. He nods, short and stiff, but his eyes flash, dark, angry, defiant. He's not okay with this. Neither am I.
Antonio lets him go, stepping back to the stage's edge. Marco doesn't move, just stands there, fists balled up. I'm torn, mad at him, mad at this, but that look in his eyes pulls at me. He's fighting something inside, same as me. I want to grab him, yell, figure this out, but I can't. Not here. Not with Antonio watching.
He turns to the crowd, all smiles now, like he didn't just threaten us. "Time to meet my kids," he says, voice booming again. The room claps, excited, and I want to sink into the floor. Mom beams, waving like we're some happy little group. Antonio puts a hand on Marco's back, pushing him forward. "My son, Marco," he says, proud and loud. Marco's jaw stays tight, his eyes on the ground. The crowd cheers, and I feel sick.
Then Antonio looks at me, his smile fake and cold. "And meet the newest member of the family," he says, pausing for effect. "Isabella Rossi, my daughter." The room erupts, clapping, whooping, and my blood runs cold. Rossi. He called me Rossi. My name's Harper, not his. I'm not his daughter. "My son now has a sister," he adds, grinning like it's a gift. The words twist in my gut, and I can't breathe.
I glare at him, my whole body shaking. He's branding me, tying me to him, to this life I hate. Marco's staring at me now, his eyes fierce, that defiance still there. He doesn't like this either, I see it, but he's stuck, same as me. The crowd's cheering, Mom's clapping, and Antonio's watching us, waiting for us to crack. I'm torn, mad at Marco, scared of this, but that spark's still there, fighting to stay alive. What do we do now?