Chapter 8
Izzy
I wasn’t snooping.
I told myself that as I wandered the halls of his house, barefoot and restless, tracing the edges of rooms I wasn’t supposed to care about. The place was too big to feel lived in. Too clean. Too careful. Like a museum curated by someone who didn’t want fingerprints on anything important.
I passed a doorway and heard his voice.
I stopped without thinking.
He was on the phone, somewhere ahead of me, speaking easily—warm, even. I edged closer, careful with my steps, every nerve lit and listening.
“No, no,” he laughed softly. “That’s way too much charge. You don’t want spectacle—you want precision.”
I pressed my hand to the wall.
“You don’t blow the whole damn thing,” he pointed out. “You just remove the problem.”
There was a pause, then another low laugh. It sounded almost cheerful. Like he was discussing recipes or weekend plans.
I swallowed.
He was talking about blowing something up.
Casually.
I waited for fear to hit. For my stomach to drop or my skin to crawl. For the sensible part of me to scream run. It didn’t.
Instead, curiosity crept in, slow and unwelcome.
How did someone laugh like that about destruction and still move through the world so confidently? How did he joke about explosives and yet take the time to cook dinner—even if it was terrible—and make sure I ate?
The contradiction didn’t make sense.
He ended the call a moment later, and I stepped away before he could see me, heart racing now as I headed to the library.
I sank onto the edge of a couch and hugged a pillow to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.
He wasn’t cruel.
Cruel men enjoyed suffering.
He enjoyed dominance.
And underneath that—buried deep enough that it barely showed—something in him felt broken. Like whatever had shattered him had left sharp edges behind.
That should have scared me.
Instead, I found myself wondering what it would take to make him laugh like that with me.
And that was the most destructive thought I’d had yet.
The doorbell shattered it.
Not a polite chime. Not a single press. This was a persistent, unapologetic ring-ring-ring—the kind that suggested the person on the other side had opinions about waiting and none of them were patient.
I startled to my feet, heart jumping straight into my throat. For one stupid, traitorous second, I wondered if it was Nathan. The thought hit hard enough to make my stomach roil. I wanted it to be him, and yet…
The bell rang again. Longer this time. Louder.
I looked at Raze as he passed by the library. He was already frowning, irritation etched deep, like the sound offended him on a personal level. His guards usually handled the door. That was the whole point of having guards. But whoever this was clearly hadn’t gotten the memo—or didn’t care.
I followed the noise down the hall anyway, unease curling tight in my chest. Raze moved ahead of me, unhurried, like he already knew exactly who was responsible for the auditory assault.
The door opened. And there she was.
A woman stood on the threshold, arms loaded with glossy shopping bags, grinning like she’d just done something illegal and delightful.
She was impeccably put together—tailored coat, perfect hair, effortless confidence radiating off her like it was a birthright.
She looked… expensive. And entirely unbothered by the armed men flanking the entryway.
Raze sighed. Actually sighed.
“Do you have to make an entrance every time you visit?” he forced out.
She swept past him without missing a beat. “Obviously.” She was too cheerful. “If I don’t announce myself, how will anyone know I’ve arrived?”
She leaned up and pecked him on the cheek like this was the most normal thing in the world, then set the bags neatly on the console table. I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the exchange like I’d accidentally wandered into a very polished alternate universe.
Raze glanced at the bags. “Why didn’t you let my men help you?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Because it’s not their job. And I have arms. Both of which work.”
“They exist to make your life easier.”
“Yes, well, I enjoy the novelty of self-sufficiency.”
Then her dark gaze landed on me. It was sharp. Assessing. Curious. The grin didn’t fade—it sharpened.
“Well,” she tilted her head slowly, “what have we here?”
My spine straightened on instinct.
She glanced at my outfit—Raze’s shirt, unmistakably his—and hummed. “I was wondering who the clothes were for,” she added. “I thought you might surprise me.” She looked at him pointedly. “But no such luck.”
Raze scoffed. “You have access to a whole bank.”
She arched a brow. “A bank account?”
“No,” he corrected flatly. “A bank.”
She waved that off too. “Details.”
He turned to me. “This is Antonella. Tone, for short.”
She smiled wider. “I’m the baby sister,” she introduced herself.
“Insufferable,” he added.
“Long-suffering,” she corrected.
“I earned that title,” she shot back, then stepped closer to me, eyes sparkling with interest. “So. You’re the mystery guest.”
“Izzy,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Oh what a beautiful mystery you are!” She announced, clapping her hands once.
“Me? A mystery?”
Her grin went feral. “Oh, you are. And I adore a puzzle.”
Raze muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a warning.
Tone ignored him completely. “Relax. He’s all bark and no bite.”
“I sort of figured that out already.”
She laughed—real, warm, unrestrained. The sound bounced off the walls like it belonged there. I glanced at Raze. He looked resigned. Fond. Mildly irritated.
And that’s when I knew that Tone and I were going to get along just fine.
“Which one’s your room?” Tone demanded, already scanning the hallway like she owned the blueprint. She didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s get you into some decent clothes.”
She scrunched her nose at the oversized shirt I was drowning in, like my outfit had personally offended her.
I looked down at myself—bare legs, too-long sleeves, the hem brushing my thighs, and fabric that smelled faintly like soap and something sharp and expensive. It was objectively ridiculous. But it was also the first clean thing I’d worn in… I didn’t even want to count.
Before I could answer, Raze stepped forward.
Not aggressively or dramatically. Just enough to make it clear that the space between Tone and me belonged to him. He lifted a hand, palm out, like he could physically pause the world.
And for a second, the air did pause.
It wasn’t just a gesture. It was an instinct. A reflex. A man used to controlling rooms with nothing more than a look and minimal movement.
Except Tone wasn’t a room.
She was a hurricane in heels.
I took a small step toward her anyway, because I refused to be herded like livestock, and because Tone’s presence felt like oxygen in a house that ran on watchful silence.
Tone’s head turned slowly toward her brother. She gave him a side-eye so sharp it could’ve drawn blood, and then her expression hardened into something that wasn’t playful anymore.
Raze didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to. He was built for conflict. Wore it like a tailored suit.
But I saw the change in him—subtle, almost imperceptible. Like the edges of him softened, not for me, not for the guards, not for anyone else.
For her.
“No socialising with the prisoner,” he warned.
Tone blinked once. Then she exploded.
“Are you for fucking real right now?” she screeched, voice ricocheting off the stone and glass like a thrown knife.
Raze’s jaw tightened. “Tone, watch your—”
“My what? My mouth?” she cut in, stepping closer to him. “Because I can promise you it only gets worse from here.”
She marched straight into his space, chin tipped up, shoulders squared like she’d been born ready to go to war with men twice her size. And Raze—who looked like he could crush bone with one hand—didn’t back away.
But he did drop his arm. Just let it fall. As if he already knew he wasn’t winning this battle.
“I don’t care who the fuck she is,” Tone hissed, pointing at me without looking away from him, “or what you think she’s done. She’s a human being, Raze. And you treat her with decency.”
Raze’s eyes flashed. “You don’t know what she’s—”
“I don’t need to,” Tone clipped out, voice low now. Deadlier. “You treat her the way you’d want me to be treated.”
For one sick second, the room went very still. Even the guards standing by the door seemed to hold their breath.
Raze’s gaze darkened. “By that lowlife bum Salvio?” he fired back, matching her anger. “Is that your gold standard for decency?”
Tone’s mouth opened. Then she smiled, slow and feral.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” she breezed, like Salvio was a stain she’d scrubbed out of a dress. “I dumped his sorry ass.”
Raze’s brows rose. “You—”
“That’s why,” Tone continued, cutting him off with the ease of someone who had been interrupting him since childhood, “I’ll be staying here with you for a while.”
Raze stared at her.
“You’re what?”
Tone shrugged, as if she hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the foyer. “Staying. Here. With you.” She leaned closer, voice dropping. “Because I’m not going back to my apartment, and I’m definitely not staying with Nonna, unless you want me to end up married to a priest by Tuesday.”
Raze’s face did something strange—an expression that looked like pain disguised as annoyance.
“You can stay at one of the properties,” he said. “I’ll put guards there.”
“I don’t want guards,” Tone shot back. “I want to stay with my big brother.”
Raze went still. My throat tightened—because the words were blunt and true in a way that made my stomach twist.
She wanted safety in the only language she trusted. She meant: I don’t feel safe unless I’m under your roof.
Raze’s gaze flicked to the guards. A silent command. They repositioned themselves subtly, giving the siblings space.
He turned back to Tone. “You can’t just decide to move into my house like it’s a hotel.”
Tone arched a brow. “Says the man who apparently has a prisoner.”
I felt heat hit my cheeks. Prisoner. The word wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said out loud made it real in a way I didn’t like.
Raze’s gaze cut briefly to me. He was not apologetic.
Tone turned toward me then, fully. Her expression softened like a switch flipped. She took me in properly—my bare legs, the sleeves swallowing my hands, the way I kept my weight balanced like I might need to bolt in a different direction.
“Well,” her voice brightened again, “that’s settled then.”
Raze made a sound that was half a scoff, half a warning. “Tone.”
She ignored him again. “Do you have a room?” she turned to me. “Or are you sleeping in a literal dungeon? Because the outside of this place definitely gives ‘wealthy vampire’ vibes.”
Raze’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t encourage her.”
Tone glanced back at him. “You mean the human being?”
He looked like he wanted to throttle someone. The fact he didn’t told me everything.
I chose my words carefully. “I have a room.”
Tone clapped her hands once. “Great. Which one?”
Raze moved like he might block me again.
Tone saw it and stepped forward, palms out, like she was physically corralling him. “No. You don’t get to play bouncer now. If you don’t want her ‘socialising,’ then you shouldn’t have brought her here.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I shouldn’t have found this funny. I shouldn’t have felt anything other than fear.
But watching someone talk to him like he was just… a brother, not a threat? It made something in my chest loosen. Just slightly. Like my body had been waiting for proof that he wasn’t a monster all the time.
Tone caught me watching and smiled, as if she could read that thought.
“Come on.” She stepped closer. “Show me where you’ve been hiding.”