Page 15 of Ruthless Scar
“Well, good mornin’, dawlin’. Come in, come in. Coffee’s fresh and I won’t take no for an answer.”
I freeze in the doorway. “I’m?—”
“Isabella.” She waves me toward the counter like I’m a skittish cat she’s trying to coax closer. “I know who you are. Renzo told us. Well.” She smiles, something knowing in it. “He told Dante, and Dante told me, and that’s close enough to tellin’ me direct. Sit. You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She doesn’t believe me. That’s fair. I don’t believe me either. “Sit anyway. I’m Rosa. And if you try to leave here without breakfast, we’re gonna have words.”
Cassia catches my eye and offers a small, sympathetic smile. “She means it. I learned that lesson week one.”
I sit because refusing Rosa’s hospitality draws more attention than accepting it. Rosa sets a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, fruit, more food than I’ve eaten in days. My stomach growls loud enough to be embarrassing.
“Eat,” Rosa says. “Then we talk.”
Sofia is still out there. Still suffering. And I’m eating breakfast in a killer’s house because my body won’t stop betraying me. The first bite hits and my jaw aches with it, the way your mouth waters after going too long without real food.
I eat because I have to. Not because I deserve it.
Rosa moves around the room with practiced ease, humming something low and melodic. She slides a plate of beignets across the counter. “More coffee, dawlin’?” Already pouring.
“Please.” My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
Cassia watches me over her tea. “You’re the hacker,” she says. Not accusatory. Just establishing facts.
“Ghost. That’s what they called me. Before.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m whatever keeps my sister alive.”
Cassia nods like that answer makes perfect sense.
Two men walk in, both dark-haired, both carrying the Santoro bone structure like a weapon. I recognize them from my files. Nico, one of the twins, all easy charm and a grin that shows too many teeth. Marco, the youngest, coiled tight, watching me like I’m either a threat or a puzzle. They both clock me. Nico’s smile widens. Marco’s doesn’t.
“Ghost in the flesh.” Nico slides onto a stool. “Or should I say Isabella? Which do you prefer?”
“Whichever gets me what I need faster.”
He laughs, surprised and genuine. “I like her. Renzo’s gonna hate that.”
Marco grabs a piece of toast from the counter without sitting. “He already does. I passed him in the hall. Face like a storm cloud.”
“That’s just his face. Our brother has resting murder face. It’s a medical condition.”
“Nico.” Rosa points her spatula at him. “Leave the girl alone. She’s had a rough night.”
“I’ve had a rough few years,” I say, the words slipping free. “Last night was just the latest installment.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Every pair of eyes on me. My fingers find the edge of the counter and grip.
Stupid. These people aren’t my friends.
But Rosa just nods and sets another plate on the counter. “Eat. Both of you. And don’t you dare track mud through my kitchen, Marco Santoro, I see those boots.”
Marco looks down at his boots, then at Rosa, and deflates. “Yes, Nonna.” He goes to remove them, muttering under his breath.
Nico steals a piece of fruit from my plate, winking when I glare at him. “Fair warning,” he says, low enough that Rosa doesn’t hear. “Renzo’s not great with people. New people. Any people, actually. Don’t take it personally.”
