Page 51 of Isaia

“Isaia.”

Maximo’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at his phone, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“What?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.

Without a word, he hands me his phone, and my stomach tightens as I stare at the screen. The grainy photo isn’t much, but it’s enough to make my blood run cold.

It’s a picture of a man at the grand entrance of the Langham Hotel, his tailored suit perfectly cut, his hair slicked back in that signature way, every inch of him exuding arrogance andpower. Even with the poor resolution, the lines of his face are unmistakable.

“Anthony Paladino,” I grit out.

The son of one of New York’s five leading Cosa Nostra families, and a man who rarely leaves his domain unless there’s something worth crossing state lines for.

The Langham isn’t just any hotel—it’s a statement, a place for those who want their presence felt without saying a word. Seeing him there, moving so confidently, as if Chicago is just another chessboard for him to manipulate, sends a jolt of tension through me. His appearance isn’t just unexpected; it’s a fucking problem.

“What the hell is Paladino doing in Chicago?” I growl.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Maximo says. “This city isn’t big enough for two New York families to casually drop by. Especially not without it meaning something.”

I continue to study the image and my pulse quickens. “Rinaldi’s here. Paladino’s here. You think it’s a coincidence?”

Maximo snorts. “You know better than that.”

My grip on the phone tightens, the plastic casing creaking under the pressure. “This isn’t random.” My jaw clenches. “First Rinaldi shows up, making moves like he owns the place. Now Paladino. They’re not here for sightseeing. They’re circling this city like fucking vultures.”

Maximo exhales sharply. “And where there’s vultures, there’s something worth picking apart.”

I stop, turning to face him. “We need to know what they want. Fast.”

“I’ll get more eyes on Paladino. If he’s here, he won’t be hiding. Guys like him thrive on being seen.”

“And Rinaldi?”

“Still poking around. He’s cocky, but not careless. If we get a chance to press him, we will.”

I run a hand through my hair, my thoughts spinning. Everly’s at the center of this, whether she realizes it or not, and I’m done dancing around the edges.

“Everly’s the key,” I mutter under my breath.

Maximo slams back the rest of his drink, his gaze sharp. “You’re too close, Isaia. You know that, right?”

Close? He doesn’t know the half of it. He doesn’t know how her taste lingers on my tongue. He doesn’t know how my thoughts are riddled with her, how badly I want inside that body of hers. It’s like she’s in my blood, and I'm not sure if I can purge her without bleeding myself dry.

“I’m handling it,” I say, even though the words feel hollow.

“Yeah?” Maximo raises a brow. “Then handle this. Paladino’s not a man who shows up uninvited. He’s here for a reason, and if we don’t figure out what it is, we’re going to have a problem.”

I nod, though my mind is already elsewhere. Paladino. Rinaldi. Everly. The pieces are moving, and I’m stuck playing catch-up. But one thing is certain; I won’t let anyone touch her.

Not Rinaldi. Not Paladino. No one.

My chest tightens, the familiar burn of obsession curling through my veins.

It’s not just lust. It’s a need, deep and unrelenting, to possess every inch of her. To own her in a way no one else ever will. And fuck, that’s dangerous. Because the more I try to control it, the more it consumes me.

I open my eyes, my hands falling to my sides as I breathe out heavily. She’s under my skin now, in my head, and no amount of focus on the shitstorm circling us is going to change that.

Everly Beaumont isn’t just a distraction.

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