Vittoria's eyebrows rise. "You'll have to be more specific. We have plenty of pricks in this house."
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Marina's mouth twitches, fighting a smile.
"Dante," Marina clarifies, crossing her arms. "The kidnapper."
"Ah, that prick." Vittoria grins. "He wasn't there when I came up, but I can't promise he won't show. He tends to appear whenever he wants, like some kind of violent ghost."
Marina considers this, then shrugs. "I can handle eating something. I'm starving."
"Good." Vittoria pushes off the doorframe. "Fair warning though—Giulia made enough food to feed an army. She stress-cooks, and with everything happening lately..." She trails off, but the meaning is clear.
We follow Vittoria out of my room and down the hallway. Marina walks close to me, taking in the artwork and family photos lining the walls. The smell of bacon and fresh bread drifts up from below, making my stomach growl.
"This place is insane," Marina whispers. "It's like a museum."
"Wait until you see the dining room," I whisper back.
Vittoria glances over her shoulder. "The dining room's nothing. You should see Pietro's office. We had it redone after Dad died. All black marble and intimidation."
"Sounds cozy," Marina mutters.
We reach the bottom of the stairs, and voices carry from the dining room. Male voices, arguing about something. Marina tenses beside me.
"That's just Nico and Pietro," Vittoria says. "They've been at each other's throats all week. Something about territory disputes."
The door swings open as we approach, and Giulia appears with an empty coffee pot. Her face lights up when she sees us.
"Good! More mouths to feed. Marina, yes? I'm Giulia." She doesn't wait for a response before ushering us toward the dining room. "Sit, sit. I bring food."
The dining room table is already half full. Pietro sits at the head, newspaper in hand, while Nico types furiously on his phone. Lorenzo stands by the window with a cup of coffee, and my stomach does that stupid flip it always does when I see him.
"Ladies," Pietro says without looking up from his paper.
Nico glances at Marina, then back at his phone. "The screamer's here."
"The asshole's here," Marina shoots back.
"Different asshole," Nico says. "I'm the one who pulls guns. Dante's the one who carries people in like luggage."
Marina blinks. "You people need name tags."
I bite back a laugh at Marina's comment, but it comes out as a snort anyway. The whole situation is terrifying and hilarious at the same time.
"Where's Bruno?" I ask, pulling out a chair for Marina. "Isn't he usually here for breakfast?"
Vittoria's expression tightens. "He's not in the mood."
"Is he ever in a mood?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "I mean, a good one?"
Pietro sets down his newspaper with a sharp snap. "Bruno's adjusting. Six months in a coma, waking up to find everything changed—it takes time."
"Time and a personality transplant," Nico mutters.
"Enough." Pietro's voice carries that Don authority that makes everyone shut up. His dark eyes shift to Lorenzo, who's still standing by the window like he's planning an escape route. "Sit. We need to discuss the wedding."
My stomach drops. Lorenzo doesn't move for a long moment, just stares at his brother. The tension in the room thickens until Marina shifts uncomfortably beside me.
"Now, Lorenzo." Pietro's tone brooks no argument.
