"I'm sorry," he says finally. "For all of this. For the position you're in. For—" He stops. "I'm sorry, Isabella."
Something in my chest cracks.
"It's not your fault."
"It is, though. I'm the one who arranged this marriage. I'm the one who?—"
"You're the one keeping this family alive." I cut him off gently. "You're doing what has to be done. We both know that."
He looks at me and his jaw tightens. "I wish there was another way."
"So do I." The words come out barely a whisper. "But there isn't. So, I need you to let me leave this house for a few hours before I run completely mad. Please, Matteo. I'm asking you as your sister, not as a Romano. Just a few hours."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I watch him war with himself, watch him weigh my safety against my sanity, watch him make a decision.
"The mall," he says finally. "Our mall. I'll close it to the public for the morning. You go with Enzo. You stay where he can see you at all times. You don't leave his sight for any reason. And you're back before noon."
Relief floods through me so fast I almost cry. "Thank you."
"Isabella." He stops me before I can move toward the door. "Are you sure you're okay? Really okay?"
I look at my brother and I think about lying, about giving him the easy answer that won't make him worry.
"No," I say honestly. "But I will be. I just need to breathe for a while."
He nods and pulls me into a hug, quick and tight, and then lets me go.
"Go. Before I change my mind."
Alessia finds me pulling clothes out of my closet ten minutes later.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Trying to find something that makes me look like someone else."
She looks at the pile of generic clothes on my bed and wrinkles her nose. "Those are terrible. You'll look like you're actively trying to hide, which defeats the purpose."
"That is literally the purpose."
"No." She pushes me aside and starts pulling things from my closet with purpose. "The purpose is to make you unrecognizable while still looking good. There's a difference."
She pulls out a leather jacket I forgot I owned, a crop top that shows more skin than I usually prefer, jeans that sit low on my hips, and boots with a heel that makes my legs look longer.
"This is your disguise?" I look at the outfit skeptically. "I look like I'm going to a club, not a mall."
"Exactly. No one is looking for Isabella Romano to show up dressed like she's hunting for men. They're looking for the proper mafia princess in tasteful clothing." She grins. "This is perfect. Trust me."
"Alessia—"
"Put it on."
I put it on and when I look in the mirror I barely recognize myself. The clothes change my silhouette completely, make me look older and sharper and nothing like the version of me that appears in family photos.
Alessia hands me sunglasses and a baseball cap. "Hair down and messy. Not your usual style."
I pull my hair down and mess it up with my fingers until it looks deliberately careless, and when I'm done, even I have to admit she's right.
I don't look like me.
