Page 61 of Isaia

“Anthony,” I interject despite the weight of their intensity. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d grab a coffee, maybe check in on my favorite person.”

“What’s wrong, Paladino?” Isaia tilts his head. “Did New York run out of coffee?”

“Funny,” Anthony scoffs.

“What are you doing here?” I cut in, the tension vibrating from Isaia sucking up all the air in the room.

Anthony casually slides his hands into his pants pockets. “I heard about your mom.” His gaze softens as he looks at me. “Wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How considerate,” Isaia bites out. “But you’re about as welcome here as a bullet to the head.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Please, stop,” I murmur softly, aware that customers are staring.

Isaia leans in, sheer menace vibrating off him. “You knew exactly whose territory you were stepping into when you walked through that door, Paladino.”

“True,” Anthony admits. “I just didn’t think you’d be here. Figured you’d have better things to do than play barista.”

“Like helping you slither back into the hole you came out of?”

Anthony shrugs. “Listen, I’m not here to step on toes. I’m just checking in on a friend. Though I have to say…” His gaze flicks to me. “I didn’t expect to find you working for a Del Rossa.”

“Careful, Paladino,” Isaia warns.

“Listen, Anthony,” I start and awkwardly slide around Isaia so I’m between them. “I appreciate that you took the time to check on me here. And I’m fine. I just—”Isaia’s practically breathing down my neck“—now’s not a good time.”

“Of course.” He holds my gaze. “Dinner, then. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight?”

Isaia lets out a mocking laugh. “Oh, that’s cute. But there’s no fucking way.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the gatekeeper of Everly’s social calendar.”

“Get the fuck out,” Isaia growls, every syllable a warning. His stance shifts slightly, just enough to radiate pure dominance, his gaze locked on Anthony like a predator eyeing his prey.

“Enough!” I snap, my heart pounding so loud it’s deafening. My gaze darts between Isaia’s stormy expression and Anthony’s infuriating smirk. “Both of you, stop. Anthony, I’ll speak to you later, okay?”

Anthony’s eyes are fixed on Isaia for a second longer before he looks at me, inching closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I promise.”

There’s a long, thick, and suffocating silence as the tension crackles in the air. If someone had to light a match, the fucking city will explode.

Isaia’s jaw clenches, his dark eyes drilling into Anthony like he’s one smartass comment away from losing it.

Meanwhile, Anthony stands there with a wry smile, like he’s enjoying the show. But every time our eyes meet, there’s a flicker of something else—concern—carefully hidden beneath his cocky facade.

Finally, Anthony steps back. “Fine, I’ll leave. But Iwillcall you later.”

“Okay,” I mutter, but Isaia doesn’t relax.

His grip on my elbow tightens, his whole body thrumming with barely contained energy as Anthony saunters to the door. The bell’s chime cuts through the silence like a gunshot when it swings shut behind him, leaving the café in a tension-filled vacuum.

“Motherfucker,” Isaia growls, low and lethal. Before I can get a word out, he’s already moving, his grip unyielding as he steers me toward the back office.

“Isaia, what the hell?—”

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