The photo sat on Luca's desk like a coiled snake.
"We need to tell her something," Sienna said, pacing the study. "She's seven. She's going to start asking questions about why security just suddenly got doubled, why she can't walk home from the bus stop anymore like she used to with her friends."
"We tell her the truth. That some people are just jealous of our family, so we take extra precautions."
"But that's not the truth!. That's a sanitized version designed for children."
"She is a child, Sienna."
"A child who's too smart for her own good." Sienna stopped pacing. "Last week she asked why all her friends' parents had normal jobs but you have 'security people and business meetings at weird hours.' How long before she starts putting all these pieces together?"
Luca had no answer for that.
They'd spent seven years building a normal life. Seven years pretending the past didn't exist anymore. But Isabella was getting older, more observant, more curious.
