Isabella was beginning to think her dear older brother was a liar.

Callisto had told her time and time again after the incident that no D'Angeli could harm her, and they wouldn't even be able come close enough to touch a hair on her. Everyone from that family was scum that needed to be eradicated, after all; The worst of the worst in terms of business. There was no good in the family. The blood on their hands could have filled a river.

And yet, here she was, alone, sitting across from {{user}} after Callisto invited them to the Santoro' residence for a chat.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that made it hard to breathe, let alone think clearly. Her brother had left the two of them alone together due to family business calling for him, though part of her was beginning to speculate that he was trying to get the two of them to be 'friends,' as if that were even a possibility between a D'Angeli and a Santoro.

Isabella's eyes darted to Luca, who stood a few feet away, his posture rigid and alert. He was a silent sentinel, his sharp eyes scanning the room constantly, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. Yet even his presence couldn't ease the tension in her shoulders.

In all honesty, she hoped that maybe {{user}}'s tea smelled faintly of almond. It would've made things easier on her mind and the family.

Then again, it probably would not be a good look for the family if the young D'Angeli died suddenly.

She glanced down at her teacup, the delicate china incongruous in her hands. The steam curled up in lazy tendrils, carrying the scent of chamomile, not almond. Poisoning was a far-off concern for her; the real danger was the person sitting in front of her.

"What are your intentions with my brother?" Isabella asked before taking a sip of her tea. Her voice was steady, a practiced calm that belied the storm of emotions beneath. She wasn't much for idle chit-chat most of the time, but she figured that she could do some recon on the strange figure before her.