(Izzy POV)
The wedding's finally over, and the ballroom's empty now, just echoes of clinking glasses and fake laughs. The guests are gone, spilling out into the night with their fancy coats and loud goodbyes. I'm still shaking from Antonio's words, "Isabella Rossi, my daughter." My skin crawls every time I hear it. I'm not his. I'm Harper, not Rossi. But he's acting like he owns me now, and Mom's letting him. She's still clinging to his arm, giggling like a kid, as we pile into his big black car. Marco's next to me in the back, silent, his jaw tight. I don't look at him. I can't.
The car pulls up to a huge mansion, Antonio's place, all stone and glass, towering over the city. My stomach twists. "We're staying here tonight," Antonio says, his voice flat, like it's no big deal. "New family, one roof." Mom nods, all smiles, but I freeze.
"No way," I say, loud and sharp. "I'm going back to my dorm." I've got my bag slung over my shoulder, ready to bolt. This isn't my home. I don't belong here, with him, with his rules, with Marco as my "brother." It's all wrong.
Antonio turns, slow, and gives me a look, cold, hard, like a warning shot. "You live with us now," he says, voice low. "Family stays together." His eyes dig into me, daring me to argue. Mom's smile falters, but she doesn't say anything. She never does. I want to yell, fight, run, but that look stops me. It's not just a suggestion. It's an order. My hands shake, but I drop my bag. I'm stuck.
Inside, the mansion's massive, shiny floors, big stairs, lights that hurt my eyes. Antonio leads us up, pointing out rooms like some tour guide. "Marco's there," he says, nodding to a door down the hall. "Izzy, you're here." My room's next to it, too close. The walls feel like they're closing in already. He leaves us with Mom, who's babbling about how "nice" this is. I don't listen. I slam my door shut and lock it, leaning against it, trying to breathe. This is a cage, and I hate it.
Hours drag by. I sit on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my thrift store dress crumpled on the floor. The house is quiet now, too quiet. Mom and Antonio are downstairs, probably still playing happy couple. I can't sleep. My head's a mess, Marco's face keeps popping up, his defiance from earlier, the way he nodded at Antonio but didn't mean it. I'm mad at him, but I'm mad at everything too. This isn't fair. None of it.
A soft knock jolts me upright. It's late, midnight, maybe more. I freeze, listening. Another knock, quieter. "Izzy," a voice whispers. Marco. My heart jumps, and I hate that it does. I shouldn't want to see him, not after today, but I'm on my feet anyway, unlocking the door. He slips in fast, shutting it behind him, his dark hair messy, still in his wedding shirt, tie gone.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, stepping back. He's too close, and it's too much, his smell, his heat, all reminding me of last night. Before this nightmare started.
"I had to see you," he says, voice low, eyes locked on mine. "I hate him too, Izzy. You've got to know that." He's serious, his face tight, like he's been holding this in all day. I blink, caught off guard.
"You hate him?" I ask, crossing my arms. "He's your dad." I'm still mad, mad he didn't tell me, mad he's part of this, but his words hit something in me.
"Yeah, my dad," he spits, like it's a curse. "A monster. I've hated him forever, his blood, his empire, all of it." He steps closer, and I don't move away this time. "I'm gonna burn it down. Just me. No one else." His voice is fierce, eyes burning, and I'm stunned. Burn it down? He's not kidding.
"What?" I say, my mouth dry. "You mean, his whole thing? The mafia stuff?" I can't believe it. He nods, fast, like he's been planning this forever.
"Everything," he says. "I've been waiting, figuring it out. I'll take it apart, his money, his men, all of it. He won't see it coming." He's breathing hard now, hands clenched, and I see it, the rebellion he's been hiding. The same rebellion I saw when Antonio called me his daughter. It's real, and it's big.
I stare at him, my head spinning. "That's crazy," I say, but my voice shakes. "He'll kill you." Antonio's face flashes in my mind, cold, hard, the kind of guy who doesn't lose. Marco doesn't flinch.
"Maybe," he says, shrugging. "But I'm doing it anyway. I can't live like this, under him. You shouldn't either." He's looking at me like I'm part of this, like he wants me in on it. I'm drawn in, even though I shouldn't be. That spark's back, his fire, his fight, and it's pulling me, hard.
"You're nuts," I mutter, but I'm not mad anymore. Not really. He hates Antonio too, maybe more than me. It's messed up, but it makes sense. Last night, we were us, free, happy. Now we're trapped, and he's got a way out. A dangerous one. "Why tell me?" I ask, quieter.
"Because I trust you," he says, simple and raw. "And I don't want to lose you." His hand brushes mine, and I feel it, heat, like before. I'm stunned, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. He's my step-brother now, but he's still Marco, my Marco.
Before I can answer, a floorboard creaks outside the door. Loud, sharp. My heart stops. Marco's eyes go wide, and he dives under the bed, fast and quiet, like he's done this before. I spin around, staring at the door. It's starting to open, slow and creaky, and I'm frozen. Rosa? Or worse, Antonio? My pulse hammers. Whoever it is, we're screwed if they catch him here.