Page 23 of Isaia

Yes, she officially became a job when Maximo handed me that file. But there is nothing in the rule book saying I can’t enjoy this.

I’ll have to up my game, place my pieces strategically while slowly penetrating her life, exposing her plans, and showing just how fucking dark it all can get.

Then I’ll watch some more, see if she’ll flee or come closer…and let me ruin her completely.

Chapter 8

EVERLY

For the last three days, I’ve been digging, searching, trying to piece together who Isaia really is.

The Del Rossas. Dark Sovereign.

Mafia.

And not just any mafia—an empire with roots so deep they run this city like it’s their playground. Then there’s Club Myth, a glorified brothel, according to Molly. A sex club for the elite, the rich and powerful.

It’s always sex, isn’t it? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Throw in some black market livers with a dash of spleen, and you’ve got yourself a mafia cesspool.

I’m not stupid. I know how the mafia operates—pulling strings, manipulating, controlling people and businesses like puppets on a stage.

I spent six years trapped in that world, and the second I was able to, I bolted before that life had a chance to devour me.

But families like the Del Rossas? They’re like black holes. No matter how much light you throw at them, they swallow it whole. They consume everything and leave nothing but darkness in their wake.

And Isaia? He’s dangerous. Even if he wasn’t a Del Rossa, it’s there in his eyes—the danger, the poison.

So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

My hands go through the motions—wiping counters, setting up the espresso machine—but there’s the warning in my stepfather's voice that echoes inside my head, the words he said to me the day I walked out.

“You’ll be back. They always come back—whether on their own or being dragged by their hair.”

Maybe Isaia was sent by my stepfather, Michele Rinaldi, to drag me back to New York. The thought makes my stomach twist.

Voices from the back office break through my haze. Mrs. Wright, the café’s owner, is back there talking with someone. I didn’t even realize anyone else was here.

I peek around the counter just as she walks up. “Oh, good. Everly, you’re here,” she says, smiling as if it’s any other day. “One regular coffee and an espresso, please. Bring it to my office.”

“Sure, Mrs. Wright,” I reply automatically.

She turns and heads back. Mrs. Wright is never here this early, but I shrug it off and start making the coffee.

The familiar aroma of fresh beans fills the café, settling into every corner. The routine brings a semblance of calm to myfrantic heart as I pour water into the machine and set two cups on the tray, my thoughts scattered.

I’ve been on edge ever since I learned who Isaia really is—what type of family he’s from.

I’m checking the lock on my door twice now whenever I’m home, and sometimes even a third time just in case. I’m more aware of my surroundings, and my paranoia is spiked since I have this constant chill, like someone’s watching me.

“Pull it together, Everly,” I mutter under my breath, picking up the tray of drinks.

The closer I get to Mrs. Wright’s office, the clearer the voices become. The café isn’t open yet, so it’s easy to make out the tones without the noise of the morning rush.

Mrs. Wright’s cheerful voice mingles with another—deeper, smoother, with a sharp, predatory edge.

I knock, waiting for permission to enter, and when I do, my heart plummets and the cups rattle on the tray in my shaky hands.

Isaia…in a suit. Asuit.Perfectly tailored, and damn if it doesn’t cling to his frame in all the right ways.

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