Nico didn't like the Moretti mansion. Too many mirrors. Too many secrets. He'd been inside a hundred homes like this one- mansion paid for in blood, dressed up to look respectable. But this one was different. This one housed Isabella Moretti.
And she was going to be a PROBLEM.
He watched her form the edge of the study, where Vittorio had summoned him after the funeral gathering. She stood near the window, the rain backlit against the glass like failing shards of silver. Still. composed. Too clam.
"You will keep her safe," the don said, behind his desk. "Until I say otherwise."
Nico's jaw ticked. "I'm not a babysitter."
"You are mine." Vittorio's voice cut like a switchblade. "And she's not a child. Not anymore."
They both looked toward her then. As if she didn't hear every word.
"I can speak for myself," Isabella said, finally turning around. Her voice wasn't raised, but it carried. Smooth as silk. Sharp as truth. "I don't need a shadow."
"And yet," Vittorio said, "Your brother is dead."
That shut the room down like a slamming vault.
Nico didn't flinch. Neither did she.
Instead, she walked toward him, closing the distance like a dare. " If you're here to scare me, save your breath. I'm not afraid of monsters."
Nico tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he didn't want to solve.
"I'm not here to scare you, " he said. "I'm here to make sure you're not next."
Isabella stepped past him, toward the door.
"Then keep up."
She left, and Nico followed-silent as a shadow. He didn't need to like her. He just needed to keep her breathing.
But even then, as the door closed behind them both, he had the sinking feeling: he wasn't following the orders of a don.
He was stepping into the gravity of a storm.