Page 22 of On Ice

Williams wrinkled face tenses. “I fear she’s suffered yet another heartbreak, sir.” He glances around and softly adds, “I believe the fellow in question wasn’t evenItalian.” He says that the same way he might divulge information about Isabella dating a dragon.

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Marco looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m sure she’ll feel much better now that you’re here, sir,” William says smoothly.

“I’ll do my best to make it all better.” Comforting people isn’t my specialty, but breaking bones is. If I can get enough info out of Isabella, I’ll make this ex-lover of hers pay dearly.

Our family mansion is a blend of old-world grandeur and modern luxury, crystal chandeliers hang alongside sleek, recessed lighting, and priceless antiques share space with contemporary art. Every surface gleams with the care of our household staff, yet Mama somehow keeps it from feeling like a museum. Fresh flowers brighten the window sills, family photos crowd the side tables, and the warm, inviting aroma of something cooking in the kitchen always fills the air.

Like now. The scent of Mama’s special occasion marinara hits me before I reach the kitchen. She only makes it when one of us is hurting. The recipe is older than the mansion itself, passed down through generations of Barone women.

I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene. The kitchen is the heart of our home, with its huge marble island and professional-grade appliances. Copper pots hang from the ceiling, and herbs grow in terra cotta pots along the window sills. The space somehow manages to be both enormous and cozy.

Isabella sits at the island, wearing a floral sundress, looking lost. Her pale face is streaked with tears, and Tony hovers nearby, his muscular frame making the roomy kitchen seem almost small. The contrast between his street enforcer appearance and the worried, soft expression on his face as he watches his baby sister, are striking. He could rip your head offif you piss him off, but he’s soft as putty when it comes to family. Same as I am, actually.

Mama is at the stove, stirring her sauce with practiced moves, her silver-streaked hair is pulled back in its usual elegant bun. When she sees me, she gives a subtle shake of her head, as if to say, “Don’t be the angry big brother. Be the comforting big brother.”

I nod and take a steadying breath, trying to push down some of my anger.

When Isabella sees me, her bottom lip starts quivering. “Luca, he was married,” she wails.

And not Italian, which is almost worse.

“He was married?” I pretend I haven’t already been briefed on all the sordid details. I move toward her, schooling my expression into an empathetic one. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am.” Isabella starts sobbing. “And he even haskids.”

I slip my arms around her thin body. “It’s okay, Tesoro. That’s on him, not on you.”

Her body shakes as she cries in my arms. It breaks my heart to see her pain. She’s headstrong, but a truly sweet girl. She always wants to see the best in people. Little does she know, most people are trash.

After thirty minutes of crying and declaring she’s through with men forever, she begins to calm. I’m relieved that my presence has helped to soothe her. She trusts me to protect her, and I’m going to make that son of a bitch who hurt her pay. It’s the one thing I can do for her. What good is being a crime boss if I can’t even protect my sister’s heart and reputation?

Isabella presses a tissue to her red eyes. “Mostly I’m just so confused.”

“What’s to be confused about? The guy was a jerk,” Marco booms.

“Yeah, he sounds like a complete asshole,” I say and earn a chiding glance from Mama.

Isabella’s warm brown eyes are red-rimmed, but there’s still fire simmering. “He made me a cheater, Luca. That isn’t right. I’d never have dated a married man.”

I ruffle her wavy brown hair. “I know that, Tesoro. He’s the cheater, not you.”

She wipes roughly at her damp eyes. “I feel so betrayed. How could he do that to me?” She blinks up at me. “Why would he trick me and lie to me? I never did anything to him. I was only nice to him. He acted like he really liked me, but the whole time it was just an act to get me in bed.”

When she says that, for some reason, Evan comes to mind, and an unexpected stab of guilt hits me. The memory of his wounded expression this morning, when I told him the truth about who I am, makes my chest ache. Unsure of how to respond to Isabella, I simply pat her head.

She sighs, picking up a spoon and stabbing it into the pint of chocolate gelato in front of her. “He used me and that’s just not right. You’re going to make him pay, aren’t you, Luca?”

Marco laughs gruffly. “You won’t date men in the mafia, but you want your brother to handle this like mafia?”

She scowls at him. “This is different.” She takes a big bite of gelato, glowering at Marco.

“How?” Marco asks, moving over to sniff the sauce Mama is cooking. “If Luca wasn’t head of a syndicate, you wouldn’t be asking him to handle anything.”

Tony gives Marco a warning look. “Hey, Marco, why are you picking on Isabella? She’s the victim here.”

“I’m not picking on her,” Marco murmurs, returning to us. “I just think it’s hypocritical of her to turn her nose up at dating men in the mafia, when she wants Luca to break her ex-boyfriend’s legs.”

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