Page 84 of Isaia

“Good. I don’t want you to think straight.” There’s the faintest hint of a dark smile playing on his lips. “I want your thoughts tangled up in nothing but me.”

“Is that normal, though?” I look at him. “This…whatever this is between us, is it normal for me to be so consumed by it? By you? I don’t think it is,” I continue to ramble. “It’s this live, throbbing thing that’s constantly there, under my skin, like I can’t escape it. Can’t escape you. Even when you’re not here, Isaia, it’s like you’re…everywhere. In my head, my chest, my veins, and I?—”

His hand brackets the back of my neck and pulls me close with so much force our lips crash, air leaving my lungs with a violent gasp.

All my thoughts crumble with every sweep of his tongue, deep, demanding, claiming my taste like he’s starved for it. It’s a fiery kiss that has my knees weak, this thing inside my chest pounding against my ribs like it wants out and into him.

The grip he has on my neck tightens, his other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close, so close I can feel his heart beating. It’s a wild rhythm. Powerful. A symphony to my blood.

I’m panting when he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His fingers brush my face, his thumb tracing my jaw with possessive tenderness that makes my chest hurt. “That pull? That ache? Like no matter how much we take, it’ll never be enough?”

“Yes.” My whisper is barely audible, my lips trembling. “I feel it.”

“Then stop questioning it.” He traces my bottom lip with his thumb. “Stop running from it, and just let it fucking consume you.”

Every word sinks into the depths of my soul. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep my head above water when it comes to you,” I murmur.

“Then don’t. Drown with me, Everly Beaumont. Let it pull you under. Letmepull you under. Because there’s no coming back from this, from me.” He places a kiss on my forehead, letting it linger like he’s sealing a promise, a claim that goes deeper than words ever could. “Go ahead, troublemaker. Walk your dog, pretend to clear your head. But you’ll still end up back where you belong. With me.”

Chapter 25

ISAIA

The mezzanine offers a perfect view of the spectacle below—velvet drapes, marble floors, and a dozen glittering chandeliers reflecting off the glasses of top-shelf liquor. It’s luxury wrapped in sin, and every corner of Club Myth hums with indulgence.

There’s a naked woman swaying in a gilded cage overhead, a chain attached to a steel collar around her neck, her movements languid, designed to tantalize the crowd below.

The air thrums with low bass beats, murmured conversations, and the occasional sharp laugh of someone too drunk to keep their pleasure private.

Anthony sits near the center of it all, leaning back in one of the club’s plush leather chairs. A stripper is practically draped over him, her long legs straddling his lap, but his eyes? They’re not on her. He’s watching the stage, his sharp grin barely contained, exuding that insufferable confidence I’ve come to hate. He’s too calm, too comfortable, and it grates against every nerve I have.

This morning after Everly left with Luna, I had one of our guys follow her. I’ve got her under twenty-four-seven surveillance. No one’s going to take her away from me. Of that, I’m fucking sure.

At my side, Caelian swirls his glass of whiskey, leaning lazily against the railing. “You know, for someone you hate, you spend an awful lot of time staring at him.”

I don’t look away from Anthony. “I’m not staring.”

Caelian snorts, taking a slow sip. “Right. Just admiring his charm and good posture, huh? Or is this about Everly?”

I watch him like a hawk watches prey, noting every twitch of his top lip, every movement of his hands as he rests them on the stripper’s thighs without actually touching her. It’s a calculated move, a way to seem in control without committing. He’s playing a part.

I start rolling up my sleeves to my elbows. I hate suits, but the occasional black dress shirt and trousers is something I tolerate. It’s mostly the snug suit jackets and suffocating ties that bug the shit out of me.

“How’d you convince Alexius to let you invite the bastard?”

“I have my ways.”

“Now, see, if I were anyone else, not knowing you’re related, I’d think you’re referring to a nice, slobbering blow job.”

“Fuck off, Caelian.”

“So, let me make sure I’ve got this right,” Caelian drawls, leaning back like this whole thing is an overdone soap opera. “Rinaldi wants Everly to tie the knot with Paladino, but she’s not havingit—big surprise. And Paladino won’t go through with it unless she’s all ‘I do’ and starry-eyed.”

“Yes.”

“What a pussy,” he scoffs.

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