Page 81 of The Cost of Silence

And for the first time in longer than I can remember… the penthouse feels like a home.

23.Isabella

I’m still tryingto remember how to breathe. Nico kissed me. In front of everyone.

My mouth tingles, my legs feel suspiciously like they’re made of warm jelly, and his hand is still resting at my waist like he put it there and forgot to move it.

Letty beams up at me from my arms. “Are you staying for Christmas? Can I help you decorate?”

Her excitement tugs me out of my Nico-induced fog.

I laugh, shifting her carefully so she isn’t pressing against my ribs. “Yes. Please. I need help managing your uncles.”

Matteo clutches at his chest, staggering back a step. “Wounded. Betrayed. I liked you, Isabella.”

“You still do,” I say dryly.

He grins, completely unoffended. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Nico squeezes my waist once before letting go, like a silent ‘are you okay?’ that settles something deep inside me. He hefts the tree box like it weighs nothing and points his chin toward the far corner of the living room.

“There,” he says. “If we’re committing to this nonsense, we’re doing it properly.”

“You do realize it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet, right?” Adi huffs.

“Stop being a grinch and help us.”

Letty wriggles in my arms, practically vibrating. “Can we put the star on top?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” I say. “Though I may have to subcontract the actual star placement to a tall person.” I glance at the brothers. “Luckily, I seem to have options.”

Matteo flicks an invisible speck of dust off his shirt. “I was born for the role of dramatic star placement.”

Adi snorts. It’s quiet, but it’s there.

We set the tree up together. It’s taller than I remembered in the store, nearly touching the ceiling once Nico and Matteo wrestle it upright. Letty gasps like it’s the most magical thing she’s ever seen, which, honestly, might be my new favorite sound.

“Lights first,” I declare.

Nico makes a low sound that might be a protest. “There are a lot of lights, and it already has lights on it.”

“There are never enough on the pre-lit trees and never an appropriate number of lights,” I correct primly.

Matteo takes a coil from the box and starts unwinding it with the air of a man preparing for battle. “What’s the over-under on Nico electrocuting himself?” he asks.

“Zero,” Nico says. “Because I’m not doing it wrong, moron.”

“That’s exactly what people say right before they…”

“Matteo,” Adi warns.

Matteo mouths,what,at Letty, who giggles and nearly drops the ornament she’s holding.

We fall into a rhythm. I direct the general aesthetic. Matteo climbs on the small step ladder and works on the higher branches, humming something that’s either a Christmas carol or an Italian club remix. Nico handles the heavier stuff, tree base,boxes, untangling what I’m ninety percent sure he deliberately calls “this mess,” just so he can mutter about it.

Adi mostly watches at first, arms folded, that sharp lawyer gaze taking everything in. But when Letty tugs on his sleeve and says, “Papa, help,” he caves instantly, kneeling beside her to hook a candy-cane ornament over a lower branch.

I catch the way his expression softens when she leans her full weight against his side. It’s not a look I ever imagined seeing on the face of Adriano Mancini: open, tender, vulnerable.