Isla sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, her lips pouted in stubborn defiance. In front of her, a pale pink dress laid crumpled in a defeated heap, the satin ribbon dangling limply as though even it had given up on the fight too.
"Isla, we're going to be late for your appointment," the babysitter said in a perpetually tired tone.
"I said I don't want to wear it," Isla's voice was loud,petulant, edged with the same stubbornness one might expect from a five year old child. She folded her arms tight across her chest, hazel eyes glaring at the babysitter.
"It's itchy and I don't want to wear pink today!"
The babysitter who was exhausted and very much on the edge of losing her patience pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Isla, we've been through this. You can go out in your pajamas again. People will stare."
"Let them stare!" Isla huffed, kicking the hem of her dress with her barefoot. "I want my overalls. My blue ones. The one with the bunny ears."
Her babysitter crouched down, speaking slowly, as if reasoning with a actual child. "Sweetheart, the overalls are in the laundry. Just put this on for today and I promise you can wear the bunny ones tomorrow."
Isla's bottom lips trembled in exaggerated betrayal.
"You always say tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. You're a liar." She stomped her foot on the carpet for emphasis, her voice breaking into a full bloom wine.
The babysitter exhaled, muttering under her break about how she'd somehow ended up babysitting a grown woman trapped in a child's mind. She finally threw her hands in defeat. "Fine! Wear whatever you want. But you're going to make us late for your doctor's appointment."
Isla's pout disappeared instantly, replaced with a triumphant grin. She darted to her closet and pulled out the soft blue overalls with bunny ears stitched on the top. Tugging them over a white T-shirt, she turned and twirled like she'd just won a grand prize.
"See? This is much better!" She chirped, smoothing down the straps.
Her babysitter sighed, shaking her head but unable to stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upward.
"You're impossible, you know that?"
"No!" Isla said proudly, slipping into her sneakers. "I'm special."
Minutes later, Isla and her babysitter walked out of their apartment. Islam's pigtails were slightly uneven but her eyes beamed with excitement. She didn't fully understand what appointments were, but she loved Dr. Meyers. He have her lollipops and told her she was brave.
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. Inside, the sterile smell and patients' soft murmurs filled the air. Isla's fingers tightened around her babysitter's hand.
"You okay?" Lena asked softly.
Isla nodded. " Yeah. I just don't like the needles."
Lena smiled sadly. "You won't get one today, I promise."
Dr. Meyers' office door opened. He was a kind man in his fifties, with laugh lines that made him look like someone you could trust.
"Isla," he greeted warmly. "My favorite patient. How have you been feeling?"
She thought about it for a moment, the said honestly,
"Happy. But sometimes my head feels….fuzzy."
The doctor nodded with a smile." That's normal, sweetheart. We're still helping your brain heal."
As he spoke to Lena about Isla's brain progress, Isla busied herself playing with the stethoscope on the table. She pretended to listen to the teddy bear's heartbeat, giggling softly.
Lena's eyes, however dimmed as she listened to the doctor's cautious tone. The words long-term effects and stunted cognitive recovery hit her like stones.
When they left the clinic, Isla was the one smiling, waving at the receptionist with a lollipop in hand. Lena, however, could barely look at her, her heart heavy with the truth Isla could never fully understand.
The sun was high by the time Isla and Lena stepped out of the hospital. The world outside felt whiter than it had been inside the hospital, too bright, almost. Isla tilted her head up,squinting at the clouds as if they were hiding secrets.
"Can we please get ice cream?" She asked suddenly, tugging at Lena's hand.
Lena glanced at her watch. They were supposed to head straight home but one look at Isla's eager face, the childlike hope in those wide eyes, and her resistance melted.
"Alright," she sighed, shaking her head with a small smile.
"But just one scoop, okay?"
"One scoop, each flavor," Isla counted immediately, grinning.
Lena laughed. "Nice try."
They crossed the street towards a small ice cream truck parked by the curb, its pastel colors standing out against the gray concrete. The sound of cheerful music played as the vendor handed out ice creams to the laughing children. Isla's face lit up like the sun itself.
"I want strawberry and vanilla," she declared, bouncing on her toes.
As Lena paid for the ice cream, Isla hummed a tune she had just made up on the spot, licking her come before it could drip. For a moment, everything was perfect.
The kind of perfect that existed only in fleeting seconds.
Then, the truck's music abruptly stopped, and the driver leaned out the window.
"Sorry, folks! That's it for today!"
Isla froze mid-lick, her eyes widening as the truck engine started. "No, wait! I forgot to get sprinkles."
"Isla!" Lena called as Isla bolted toward the street clutching her ice cream cone.
She didn't see the black car turning the corner, sleek, expensive and fast moving.
The sound of tires screeching filled the air as the car came to an abrupt halt, just inches away from her. The ice cream splattered on the asphalt. Isla gasped, frozen in place.
The driver's door flew open, and a tall man in dark suit stepped out—Enzo Marcelli. His jaw was tight, eyes cold as steel, and anger radiated from him like heat off concrete.
"What the fuck is wrong you?" He shouted, his voice deep and sharp enough to cut through air.
Isla blinked up at him, trembling slightly. "My babysitter says not to say words like that."
Enzo's jaw, for the first time since he was born, almost dropped in shock.
Lena finally caught up, breathless. "I'm so sorry, sir. She...."
But Enzo wasn't listening. He was caught between fury and confusion. This wasn't the reaction he expected. The woman in front of him, dressed like a little child, didn't flinch, didn't cower. Instead, she looked at him as though he was the one who had something wrong.
Behind him, Lorenzo, his younger brother, leaned against the car, struggling and failing to hide his laughter.
"She's got guts, I'll give her that," Lorenzo said under his breath.
Enzo shot him a glare that could kill, then turned back to Isla, his voice. "You could have died, ragazza. Do you even realize that?"
Isla frowned at the strange word, then said earnestly,
"You should say sorry, you scared me,"
Lena's eyes widening in panic. "Isla…..!"
But Enzo just stood there, speechless. No one….no one…ever talked back to him like that.
And what was worse...…
For some reason he didn't know whether to be furious or intrigued.
For a man like Enzo Marcelli, silence was more dangerous than gunfire.
And right now he couldn't hear a damn thing but the pounding in his own chest.
He was still standing there, in the middle of the street facing a grown woman with wide innocent eyes, scolding him for using the F-word. His mind couldn't process it. He was Enzo Marcelli— a man whose name was whispered in back rooms and feared in dark alleys, and here he was, being told off like a schoolboy by a woman holding a bunny bag.
"Are you deaf or just rude?" Isla added, tilting her head with a childlike curiosity. "You're supposed to say sorry when you yell."
Lorenzo snorted behind him, covering his mouth. "Oh, this is gold," he muttered. " Boss of the Marcellis, bright down by a woman with pigtails."
Enzo's glare cut to his brother, sharp enough t to silnec him instantly, although Lorenzo still had that annoying smile on his face. When Enzo looked at Isla again, his jaw clenched.
He didn't know what irritated him know more; the fact that she wasn't scared, or that small part of him that respected her for it.
Who was she?
Why was she even talking to him like that?
And why the hell was he still standing there listening.
Anyone who dared speak to him like that would have been on the ground, either beggi g for mercy or bleeding for it, or simply dead.
But something about her made him freeze in place. Maybe it was the way her expression hold no guile, no fear.
Just….purity. A kind of like he'd long forgotten existed.
Enzo's hands flexed by his side. "You should watch where you're going next time," he finally said, forcing his tone to cool steel. "Next time, you won't get so lucky."
Isla blinked unfazed. " I am lucky. I got strawberry ice cream."
Lorenzo let out a choked laugh that earned him another glare.
Lena quickly stepped in, her voice apologetic but firm. " Come on, Isla. Let's go. We've caused enough trouble."
But Isla dug her heels into the pavement. "He didn't say sorry yet."
The world seemed to pause. Enzo's eyes snapped to her, dark and dangerous. "What did you just say?"
"You scared me," she said again, quieter this time, s if explaining something simple. "It's nice to say sorry,"
Lorenzo turned away completely, pretending to check his phone to hide his grin.
Enzo took a deep breath, jaw tight.
'Why am I even letting this conversation happen?'
He could feel his temper simmering under his skin, clawing to get out. He wasn't used to being challenged, least if all by someone who looked like she'd Zoey lost in a candy store.
'End her,' a voice yelled at him. 'End this and move on."
But for some reasons he couldn't explain, he couldn't reach for his gun.
The air was thick, filled with the kind of silence that usually came before Enzo lost his temper. He was seconds away from reaching for his gun when a familiar jingle drifted through the street.
Isla's head perked up instantly. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in delight.
"The truck is still here!" She gasped, her earlier defiance forgotten. "It's about to leave,"
Before anyone could react, she spun around and dashed toward the corner, her laughter echoing like bells.
"Isla," Lena shouted, chasing after her.
Enzo just stood there for a second, blinking in disbelief. He'd just been lectured by this woman, twice, and now she'd run off after ice cream truck like a child chasing butterflies.
Lorenzo leaned against the car, shaking his head with a grin. "You really know how to pick your battles, brother."
Enzo shot him a glare that could set a stome on fire. "Not. A. Word."
But Lorenzo was already chuckling. "No promises."
As Lene caught up to Isla down the street, Enzo exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His anger should have been gone by now or at least dulled but something about the whole encounter clung to him. The way she'd stood up to him, the way her tone showed no malice, just innocent stubbornness….it knocked him off balance.
He wasn't used to being seen as anything but a monster and dangerous. Yet for one fleeting moment, she'd looked at him as though he was simply wrong, not terrifying.
And it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
"Get back to your seat," he told Lorenzo.
Lorenzo slid into the passenger seat, still grinning.
"I'm never legging this go, by the way."
"Shut up, Lorenzo,"
The engine roared to life, and the car pulled away from the curb. Though the rearview mirror, Enzo caught one last glimpse of the girl in bunny overalls smiling again as she stared at her ice cream with sprinkles.
He looked away quickly, jaw tightening.
He didn't know her name. Didn't know her story.
And he sure as hell didn't want to.
But even as she disappeared from his mirror, the faint sound of her laughter stuck in his mind like an echo he couldn't silence.