Page 43 of Isaia

He’s around the front in seconds, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine without a word.

The low, throaty roar of the Ferrari fills the silence between us, and he throws the car into gear, speeding off before I even have a chance to fasten my seatbelt. My hand tightens on the leather seat, but I keep my gaze fixed ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell this is about?” I ask, keeping my tone steady.

His jaw tics, but he doesn’t look at me. “I don’t like games, Everly.”

“Games? You’re the one dragging me into your car, practically kidnapping me.”

He scoffs. “Don’t tempt me.”

The Ferrari surges forward as he steps harder on the gas, the city lights blurring into streaks of color outside the window. My stomach lurches with each sharp turn, but I force myself to keep still, my hands gripping the seat to keep from reaching for anything that might steady me.

“Isaia, what’s going on?”

He finally glances over, his eyes dark, unreadable. “You’re lying to me.”

“What? I’m not lying.”

“I saw you in that restaurant with him.”

“Who? Michele?”

“What was it? Time for your weekly check-in?”

I shift, angling myself to face him, my jaw tight. “Are you following me?”

He casts me a glance before turning his focus back to the road. One hand leaves the wheel, his elbow propped against the door as his fingers trail along his jaw. His silence screams his admission.

“Oh, my God. This is unbelievable,” I huff, crossing my arms. “I was having dinner with my mother when he showed up. It was an ambush. I didn’t know he’d be there.”

He glances at me for a second. “Don’t lie to me, Everly.”

“I’m not lying, Isaia. Jesus Christ.” I pull a hand through my hair, emotions grabbing me. “I hate that man. I hate him so much I can almost fucking taste it.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s trying to ruin my life!” I yell, tears finally slipping down my face. “And he won’t stop. He won’t fucking stop! Using my mother…her cancer?—”

“Your mom has cancer?”

“Yes.” I wipe my cheeks. “That’s why we had this stupid dinner, to talk about it. But then he showed up, and I realized my mother…” I swallow the bitterness of it. “That she tricked me.”The deceit slices deeper. “I’m not working with him, Isaia. I swear it.”

There’s a brief silence before he asks, “What did he want?”

“To talk.”

“About?”

“They want me to go back to New York.” I nervously weave my fingers together in my lap.

He glances at me. “Why?”

“Isaia, please. I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight.” Exhaustion sets in, maybe a little despair, too. When it does, the anger fades, and I dissolve into my seat a little too willingly.

The car stops, and we’re outside my house. I don’t even know how we got here so fast, and I’m still trying to process everything when my door is jerked open, and he’s grabbing my arm, pulling me out.

“You’re hurting me.” I try to twist free, but his grip is iron as he drags me up the steps.

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