Book #01:Chapter 1

Isabella

The belt hits my back again. I bite back my tears as they threaten to spill. I don't cry. Not anymore.

I've learned that crying makes it worse. So I bite the inside of my cheek, focus on the cracks in the kitchen floor, and wait for it to be over.

"You worthless little brat," Mom spits. "Always late. Always slow. Is it that hard to put some fucking breakfast on the table!"

"We come down expecting breakfast to be ready," says her boyfriend. I can't remember which one.

Finally when they think they've done enough, they leave, tripping over themselves. I sigh.

I pull my hoodie over my head. It's old, frayed, two sizes too big. But it hides the bruises. And that's all I care about.

By the time I step outside, the sun is already up. It's warm, but I still shiver. Not from the cold. From everything else.

School is just as much of a hell as home is. If you can call that prison a home. The moment I step into the hallway, I hear her voice.

"Well, well. Look who decided to show her face."

Sienna. Pretty. Perfect. Cruel.

Her glossy lips curve into a smirk as she eyes me from head to toe. I lower my head. Keep walking. Just keep walking.

Behind her are her minions—Kyla, Lori, and Summer. Pure plastic.

"You still wearing that garbage hoodie?" Lori sneers. "Do you even own real clothes?"

"Do you even shower?" Kyla adds.

My books are knocked from my hands. Again.

Papers scatter as my heart sinks. I drop to my knees, gathering everything as fast as I can. Please don't touch the drawing. Please don't—

Sienna picks it up before I can reach it.

"What the hell is this?" she scoffs, holding it like it's trash. I reach for it, my eyes pleading her

"Tiff... Please... give it back" I whisper.

She crumples it and throws it into the garbage. "Creepy. Just like you. And don't call me that. Only my friends can call me Tiff."

Flicking her hair back, she walks away, her minions following her. I sigh as I look at the trash. Should I even take it out? Sighing I grab my papers and books, hugging them to my chest.

Flashback — Two Years Ago

"Your hair looks like gold in the sun," I tell her.

Sienna giggles, falling back onto the grass beside me.

"You're such a poet, Rory," she says, linking her pinky with mine. "Promise we'll be best friends forever?"

I smile so wide it hurts. "Forever," I whisper.

But forever ends in 7th grade.

She stops talking to me. Stops smiling. Her parents whisper things about me being dirty. Then she starts laughing with the popular girls. And laughing at me.

Now

I slip into the back of the classroom. No one notices. Or maybe they just pretend not to. That's fine. I'm used to it.

I sit near the window, sketchpad tucked into my lap. Drawing is the only thing that feels real anymore.

The intercom buzzes. "Isabella Romano to the main office."

Heads turn. Whispers spread. Giggles echo. I stand slowly. My heart starts pounding.

Main Office

When I walk into the office, the lights feel too bright.

Mr. Garcia, the principal, is there behind his desk, hands folded tightly in front of him like he's bracing for something. A woman I don't recognize sits in one of the chairs, a man in a police uniform standing near the door with his arms crossed.

None of them smile.

"Have a seat, Isabella," Mr. Garcia says gently.

I sit.

The woman leans forward slightly, a folder resting on her lap. "Hi, sweetheart. My name's Ms. Loughton. I work with Family and Child Services." Her voice is soft, even. "I know this is sudden, but there's something important we need to tell you."

She opens the folder, but doesn't look at it.

"There was a car accident early this morning. A head-on collision. Your parents... they were involved."

My heart stutters.

She pauses. "They were driving while under the influence. It was a fatal crash."

I blink at her.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, dear," she adds quietly.

My mouth feels dry. My hands are cold in my lap. I think I nod, but I can't feel it.

"...Oh," I whisper.

That's it. Just oh.

The man in uniform doesn't move. Ms. Loughton watches me closely, like she's waiting for something to crack. But I don't. Not on the outside.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," she says. "I know you've been through a lot."

No, you don't.

She continues anyway. "We've started the process of locating any potential family members. Legally, we'll need to do a DNA test to confirm any blood relatives. If there's anyone willing and fit to take custody, we'll begin those conversations."

"And if there's not?" I ask, voice wavering.

"Then we'll begin preparing for temporary placement. But for now, since the school is not authorized to hold you, and there's no immediate guardian..."

She looks toward the officer. "You'll be going with Officer Daniels. He'll escort you to the precinct, and we'll coordinate from there."

I glance at him.

He's tall, built like every other cop I've seen, but his face isn't unkind. Still, I keep my eyes down.

"You'll be safe, alright?" Ms. Loughton says. "We'll figure things out as soon as we can."

I nod again.

Not because I believe her.

Just because I don't want to talk anymore.

She stands. So does Officer Daniels.

Mr. Garcia moves around the desk, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Isabella," he says softly.

I don't answer.

I just follow them out of the room, my legs too light, my thoughts too loud, and everything behind my eyes too quiet.

No. Why me? Why not.

Just....

Why?

Book #01:Chapter 2

Isabella

Three days pass.

I don't remember most of them. Just white walls. Quiet hallways. The uncomfortable couch in the waiting area at the station. The tiny room I sleep in.

Ms. Loughton checks in every morning. Always with the same soft voice. Always asking if I slept okay. Always looking like she wants to say more than she does.

And then today, she knocks on the door with something different in her hands.

"Isabella," she says, stepping in, "we got the DNA results back."

I sit up straighter. My chest tightens.

She sits across from me and places the folder down. Her voice is careful.

"It turns out... you have family. Two brothers. Adults. Their names are Zander and Rafael."

I stare at her. "...I have brothers?"

She nods. "They didn't know about you. But when I contacted them—they didn't even hesitate. They've agreed to take you in. Legally. Permanently."

My stomach twists.

I didn't think there was anyone.

She keeps speaking. "They're based out of New York. We've arranged everything—they're already flying in to meet you."

I open my mouth to say something. But I don't know what. The words feel stuck in my throat.

She gives me a small, understanding smile.

"I'll be taking you to the airport. You'll meet them at the terminal. And then... you'll be going home with them."

Home.

That word doesn't feel real. Not to me.

The next thing I know I'm going to the airport with Ms. Loughton and the police officer from before.

The airport smells like coffee and metal and rushing people. Everything's too loud, too fast.

I walk a step behind Ms. Loughton, holding my backpack straps tightly. My sleeves pulled over my hands. My heart won't stop racing.

"Just through here," she says gently, leading me toward one of the waiting areas near the terminal.

I trail behind her, my shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

Then she stops.

I nearly bump into her.

I look up.

Two men are standing just ahead. One tall and sharp-edged, dressed in all black. The other also tall, but with a softer expression, holding a phone in one hand and glancing toward us.

"There they are," Ms. Loughton says.

I freeze.

"They're your brothers."

My chest feels too small. My fingers dig into my sleeve. I want to disappear.

They're... real.

And tall. And so put-together. Like people from a different world.

Ms. Loughton turns toward me. "Ready?"

I don't answer.

But I take a step forward anyway.

We stop a few feet away.

The man in black—older, more intimidating—looks straight at me. His eyes are unreadable.

The other one offers a small smile.

Ms. Loughton kneels slightly so she's eye-level with me.

"Isabella, this is your legal guardian and brother, Zander." She gestures to the serious one. "And this is your other brother, Rafael."

I nod stiffly. My throat is dry. I don't speak.

"Go on," she encourages softly.

I take a shaky step forward. Then another.

Halfway to them, I pause. My feet suddenly won't move.

I turn back, eyes wide.

Ms. Loughton's still watching. She smiles warmly, eyes soft.

"Go to your family," she says gently.

I bite my lip and nod once.

I look over at the officer, nervously. He's standing by the security gate, arms crossed. When I meet his gaze... for the first time, he gives a tiny smile.

I give a small wave as I take a deep breath and turn to the two men.

And I walk.

To them.

My brothers.

And as I reach them, the one called Rafael moves first. He kneels slightly—closer to my height—and offers me a hand.

"Hi," he says quietly. "You ready to go?"

I hesitate.

Then, slowly, I nod.

The airport isn't what I expect.

There are no lines. No loud families. No flickering monitors listing dozens of cities I'll never visit.

Just a sleek, silver jet waiting on a quiet runway, parked like it belongs to a different world.

I stop walking. For a second, I think there's been a mistake.

Zander doesn't pause. "Come on."

His voice is sharp—like everything about him. His suit, his posture, his cold eyes that never blink long enough to feel human.

Rafael walks beside me. He doesn't say much, but I feel him watching me. Not like the others do. He's not looking through me.

Just at me. Like I'm real.

I follow, slowly. My sneakers—ripped at the toes, soles worn thin—don't belong here. Not in a place with velvet seats and gold trim and crystal glasses that look too delicate to touch.

They fly private.

How could I have blood this rich and still grow up hungry? My luck is just sucky.

The jet hums to life beneath us. I sit by the window, my knees pulled up to me chest and arms wrapped around my knees.

A flight attendant smiles politely and sets a tray down in front of me. Grilled chicken, warm bread, some kind of sparkling drink, and a chocolate tart with a strawberry on top.

My mouth waters before I can stop it.

But I don't eat.

I can't.

Not when my stomach's so used to being empty. Not when food feels like something dangerous. Like guilt. Like weakness. Like control I can't afford to lose.

I stare at the tray until the warmth fades from the food.

No one says anything. Not Rafael. Not Zander. Not even the flight attendant.

They're used to people who don't need help. Or maybe they've already decided I'm not worth the effort.

The flight is quiet. Too quiet.

I press my forehead to the window and watch the clouds drift past like ghosts.

I don't sleep.

I just pretend to.

We land after sunset.

A sleek black car waits on the tarmac, windows tinted like secrets. A driver steps out without a word and opens the door. The silence feels rehearsed.

Rafael lets me slide in first. The leather seats are cold. The silence is colder.

I clutch my backpack against my chest the whole ride. It's barely half full. A toothbrush. A few shirts. My sketchbook. That's all I have.

That, and scars nobody can see.

The mansion looks like it belongs in a movie. It rich. Too rich. How'd they get this much money? Do they gamble? Lottery? Run a secret goat farm? Hell if I know

We pull through massive gates and up a long driveway. When the car stops, Zander's already talking into his phone.

"Tell the boys come down," he says to someone on the other end.

Boys? What boys?

The front doors open before we reach them.

My jaw nearly drops as my eyes taken in what I'm seeing.

5 boys. Or maybe just 5 weapons shaped like boys based on how their glares could kill me.

The one in the center steps forward, arms crossed, jaw set like stone. His eyes land on me, and something hardens in his face.

"You're kidding," he mutters. "This is the girl?"

Rough. Blunt. Like a mace that wants to knock me out. I'm gonna call you Marco.

"Elijah, shut it." Zander says dully, not even trying to make it seem like he wants them to stop.

So that's his name. Still think Marco has a nice ring to it.

"She looks like she's gonna snap in half," one of the obvious twins snorts. His phone's in one hand. He doesn't even look up when he says it.

Sharp. Stinging. Like a splinter. No matter how much you pull on it, it refuses to come out until the damage is done. You're gonna be Randy.

His other half says nothing. He just watches me with eyes too cold for a teenager.

Jose. Picking me apart, sharply planning. Like he works with his twin, Randy, to hurt me, then comes in and takes his twin out like a pair of tweezers. Saves his twin, and doesn't care if he hurts me in the process. You're gonna be named Pinchy.

The youngest stands with his back to the wall, arms crossed. He doesn't say anything right away, but the way he scoffed, the way he looks at me—it's like he's already decided he hates me.

The smallest, but definitely one of the deadliest. Once his brothers pull off his safety lock, hell runs loose. You're gonna be called Gunny.

"She's the reason we're all here right now?" he finally says. "Unbelievable."

Then the one who looks the oldest of the four stands near the staircase, his phone also in his hands, eyes filled with disgust as he glares at me.

"What the fuck?" he mutters, angrily.

I'd give him the name of some weapon. But he looks like he could be any of them. Or worse. The one who's gonna use all of them on me. He's the hitman.

I open my mouth. Then close it again. I'm to scared to speak up.

The second I say anything the waterworks are gonna come. So I just nervously shuffle my feet on the floor

"She's family," Rafael says firmly, stepping behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

"She's a liability," Elijah snaps. "What, you think we need some fragile kid dragging us down?"

"Spare us the orphan sob story," Lenny mutters. "We've all got problems."

Lian looks at me like he wants to kill me. Axel looks like he wants me to disappear. Elijah looks like he wants me gone. Zander doesn't care.

I stand there, surrounded by people who are supposed to be my brothers.

And I've never felt more alone.

Book #01:Chapter 3

Isabella

I don't move. I don't breathe. If I stay perfectly still, maybe I'll disappear.

Zander breaks the silence, his voice colder than the tile beneath my shoes. "Introduce yourselves."

Nobody jumps to obey. It's like asking a pack of wolves to politely greet a sheep. I sigh internally.

The first to speak—of course—is Marco.

"Elijah," he says shortly. Then adds, "Can we just drop her back at the airport? Or better yet, the garbage?"

I give him a nervous nod. Nothing more. If I talk, my voice might crack.

Next up is Randy. Still not looking at me, still scrolling on his phone like there's something more interesting than the human standing three feet away.

"Lenny," he spits out.

Of course your name's Lenny. Somehow that's even worse than Randy. I groan in my head.

And then he smirks. "Did we order a stray or something? Thought Zander said this was family."

I stiffen, looking down at my shuffling feet as I try not to cry at his words. His other half lifts his chin, expression unreadable.

"Lian."

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. The way he watches me feels like trash.

Then there's Gunny. His arms are still crossed like a barrier between him and the world. Between him and me.

"Axel," he spits, then laughs bitterly. "Figures. Just my luck—get stuck with a whiny little leech as a sister."

I flinch as he says this. Not another one. It's clipped. Effortless. Empty.

Finally, the Hitman steps forward, slow and deliberate. He doesn't look at me the way the others do. Actually, he's not even really look at me. It's like he's ignoring me by looking through me.

"Dave," he says flatly. Then, harsher than all the rest: "And don't think for a second I'm cleaning up after whatever mess you bring to this family. You're dead weight."

I nod timidly again, keeping my mouth shut. Because if I open it, the wrong thing might slip out. Like: Hi, I'm Isabella, I've been abused and bullied my whole life and I have no idea why you all hate me already!

"Done?" Lian asks, like this is the most boring meeting of his life.

"She's not gonna last a week," Elijah mutters, bumping me with his shoulder, nearly making me fall. He starts walking up the stairs. "I give her three days before she runs away crying."

"Better pack your bags now," Axel adds under his breath, not even waiting to see if I heard it. "Or don't. Less to carry when you're kicked out."

Lenny snickers. Like I'm the punchline to a joke they didn't bother to explain. Lian just stares a little longer before turning silently.

Lenny disappears upstairs, sprinting past the others, locking himself in his room.

Only Rafael stays.

His hand is still on my shoulder, gentle and firm at the same time. He squeezes once. It's the only comfort I get.

He looks over my head, then says, "Lian. Please show Isabella to her room."

Lian doesn't respond, just glares at me and turns on his heel.

I clutch my stuff closer to my chest and nervously follow. Because I don't have a choice.