Page 21 of Isaia

I drag a palm down my face. “Yeah. The girl with the dog.”

Caelian whistles low, his brows shooting up. “See, I knew your dumb ass wouldn’t stumble into some Hallmark-worthy meet-cute. You're more ‘awkward disaster’ than ‘sweeping romance.’ And Michele Rinaldi’s daughter? That’s a big-dick disaster.”

“Stepdaughter,” I deadpan.

“You call it science; I call it magic. So,” he leans back in the chair, looking smug. “What’s next? Do we send flowers? Invite her to family dinner?”

“Shut up.”

Alexius cuts in, his tone deadly serious. “We need to figure out why she’s here.”

Caelian shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. “Maybe she just likes Chicago. You know, the pizza, the weather.”

Alexius shoots him a glare.

“Phew.” He frowns. “Tough crowd. So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll find out more,” I say before Alexius can reply. “I’ll get close to her.”

Caelian simpers. “Oh, you’re going to get close to her? That doesn’t sound complicated at all.”

“It’s not.”

“Careful, little brother. Getting too close to a girl like that, you might end up in trouble.”

“Big-dick disaster, remember?” I quip.

Alexius stands, brushing off his pants. “All right, enough. Isaia, find out what you can. And don’t lose your head.”

His words hit me harder than I expect, and I give him a sharp nod before heading out.

I know what he’s warning me about. He’s seen it before—men getting too close to their targets, letting feelings cloud their judgment.

But that won’t be me. I won’t let it be me.

Chapter 7

ISAIA

I’m parked down the street from Everly’s place, cloaked in shadows. I took one of the black SUVs, perfect for stakeouts.

The glow from her windows flickers behind the curtains, casting faint shapes that dance on the pavement like whispers of the life she’s leading inside.

She’s there, just a few steps away, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m watching her. Completely unaware of how close I am.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing. Stepdaughter of Michele Rinaldi. There’s no way a woman tied to that kind of bloodline walks through life blind.

I settle deeper into my seat, eyes locked on her front door. A light clicks on, and her silhouette moves across the room.

Even from here, my pulse kicks up. She’s pacing, peeling off her scarf, letting it slip through her fingers.

The curtains flutter as she throws open the window, and I catch the faintest hint of her skin visible under the light.

Fuck.

There’s something about her that goes beyond the surface, beyond the white dress and sun-kissed waves. It’s the way she moves, like she doesn’t belong in this world—my world.

---