Page 20 of Isaia

Michele is poison, the kind that seeps into every corner of the black market—human trafficking, drugs, organs. The man’s apsycho, wrapped in Italian silk and a billionaire’s facade. We’ve had him in our sights for years, saving women and children tied to his operations.

If we’re all fuckers on this continent and this is hell, Michele Rinaldi is the king demon of the pit.

I grit my teeth and flip the folder open, scanning the pages. The more I read, the colder I feel.

“She’s his stepdaughter,” Maximo says, like that somehow makes it less of a problem.

Stepdaughter or not, she’s linked to the man who has the means to be a threat to us. And my guess is that threat is closer than we think. No one tied to a man like him just wanders into our territory without reason.

No coincidences exist here.

“Why didn’t we know she was here sooner?” I ask, my voice cold, biting.

Maximo shrugs, leaning back in his chair like this is just another day at the office. “She’s low profile. Doesn’t use the Rinaldi name, doesn’t draw attention to herself. And up until now, she hasn’t been on our radar.”

“Well, she’s on our radar now.” I snap the folder shut and toss it on the table.

“She lived with her father when her parents split.” Maximo grabs the folder. “Philip Beaumont. Passed away when she was fifteen, and she was forced to go live with her mother.”

“So, she’s been under Rinaldi’s influence for what? Six years?”

Maximo nods.

My mind’s spinning, replaying every moment at the café—her mismatched eyes, the way she drew me in without even trying. Nothing about her felt accidental.

I followed her when she left her house this morning, her white dress skimming her skin, her hair bouncing like sunlit waves. She has the boho-chic vibe nailed effortlessly, blending innocence with an edge of wild freedom.

And it’s messing with my head.

It’s like I’m drawn to whatever she’s about.

Watching her drink her espresso, the way her expression changed as our conversation treaded lightly across nothing too personal, all I thought about was how I wanted to keep her there, sitting in that chair, her attention fixed on me and nothing else.

But now, suddenly, everything about her has become a deceptive web. An alluring trap.

Alexius sits across from me, silent but alert. He hasn’t spoken since this meeting started, but I can feel his eyes on me, his mind already plotting.

Finally, he leans forward, steepling his fingers. “We need to know more about her.”

I meet his gaze. “You think she’s a threat?”

“I think,” Alexius says slowly, his voice smooth as silk, “that she’s Rinaldi’s stepdaughter, and she’s suddenly here, in our city, coincidentally bumping into one of us. You tell me if that sounds like a threat.”

He’s right.

Nothing in our world happens by chance. I’ve been a fool to let myself think otherwise, even for a second.

It doesn’t matter how innocent she seemed, how much I wanted to believe Luna really did pull us together in some random twist of fate. Everly didn’t just land in our world by accident.

“We need to know why she’s here,” Alexius continues. “If Rinaldi’s trying to make a move on our territory, we need to be ahead of it. I want you to get close to her. Find out everything.”

The door swings open, and Caelian strolls in, wearing that smug grin, like he’s already in on the secret.

“Another crisis in Del Rossa land?” he quips, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Stepdaughter of Michele Rinaldi,” Alexius says without looking up from his papers. “Isaia ran into her.”

“You’re shitting me? She’s the girl with the dog?” He stalks in and takes a seat at the table like he’s been invited.

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