Page 70 of Isaia

“Yes,” I snap, standing to refill my glass. “Why do I get the feeling you know more than just Isaia being my boss?”

He leans back, arms draped across the couch. “After this morning, I did some digging.”

“Digging?”

“He’s a Del Rossa, Everly. And seeing him practically frothing at the mouth when I walked into that café was enough to set off alarm bells. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I close my eyes and crane my neck, feeling like I’m suffocating between all these controlling fucking men.

“Listen,” he stands and places his arms on my shoulders, the familiarity of him slowly trickling in, “I just want you safe. That’s all.”

“I know,” I murmur, looking down at my hands. And I do know. If it wasn’t for him, my fate would be solely in the hands of my stepdad, and God only knows where I’d be if that were the case.

He lets go and sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying all this to be a dick. I’m saying it because I care about you. I always have.”

The weight of his concern presses down on me, and for a moment, I want to let it in. Anthony’s always been there, a steady counterbalance to the chaos that follows me.

But his warning stirs the image of Isaia in my mind—those dark, piercing eyes, the intensity in the way he claims every part of me without hesitation. A part of me doesn’t want to let that go, even if it’s dangerous.

“I know you do,” I say, offering him a small smile.

He lets his hands drop, nodding slowly. “Just remember, I’m here. Whatever you need.”

“I appreciate it, Anthony. Really, I do.”

For a moment, the tension eases, and we’re back to that easy rhythm we’ve always had. But there’s an undercurrent now, something unspoken hanging between us, and I wonder if I should tell him about Michele trying to kidnap me. But I know Anthony would have me on a plane within the hour if he knew, and I’m not ready to leave yet. Because ofhim.

Anthony takes a seat again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “All right, I’ll stop with the lecture. For now.”

I shoot him an appreciative smile, saunter over, and sit beside him. Luna nudges his hand, and he absently scratches behind her ears, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your mom doing okay?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“She’s strong,” Anthony says. “She’ll get through this.”

“Hopefully.” I sigh, leaning back against the cushions. “But strong or not, cancer doesn’t care. And she still used it as a way to ambush me into seeing Michele.”

Anthony’s jaw tightens, his hand clenching around his glass. “Rinaldi doesn’t know when to quit.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I mutter. “He’s still pushing the whole marriage thing.”

Anthony’s expression darkens. “You know I’ll never let that happen. Not unless it’s what you want.”

I glance at him, and the relief that floods me hearing him say those words is indescribable. It’s all the assurance I need. “I know. You’ve always said that.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he says softly. “If marrying me is ever what you want, it’ll happen on your terms. Not his.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet sincerity that tightens my throat. I study his face, the lines of his jaw, and the way his eyes soften when they meet mine.

Maybe under different circumstances, if we both lived normal lives, we could have been something. Things have always been easy between us; there was no pressure, no expectations, just a friendship that flowed effortlessly.

I set my glass down, rubbing the back of my neck. “You shouldn’t have to keep saving me.”

“Maybe I want to.” The words hang there, heavy and weighted with meaning.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. The silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s loaded, yes, but not awkward. Anthony’s always been good at making things feel effortless, even when everything around us screams complicated.

He breaks it first, his tone lighter this time. “Remember when we used to sneak out to that diner in Queens? The one with the jukebox that never worked?”

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