Page 87 of Isaia

Anthony’s grip on the glass tightens until it looks like it might shatter. His jaw clenches. “You’re lying.”

“Believe whatever helps you sleep at night. But know this,” I pin him with my gaze, “I’ll protect that woman with a ferocity you can’t even fucking fathom. I’ll burn cities to the ground for her. Carve out the spines of motherfuckers like you and lay them at her feet.”

“And that right there,” he states. “That’s exactly why you’ll lose her. You’re impulsive, reckless, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Everly wants and needs the one thing she’s never had in her life, the one thing you can’t give her.”

I glare at him.

“Stability.” He exhales the word like it’s a bitter truth. “Her dad cheated on her mom. When the dust settled and it was just her and her mom, her mom married Michele. Obviously, that didn’t go well, since she despises the man. So Everly left to live with her dad—until he died. And then she was sent right back to Rinaldi.”

He flicks his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the hard set of his jaw as he lights a cigarette. Smoke curls lazily from his lips as he continues.

“The first chance she got, she left. She’s been drifting ever since. Says she hates the idea of settling down, but it’s not that. She’s terrified of finding stability and then losing it all over again. That’s what keeps her running. Of course,” he takes a long drag then exhales, “if you knew her at all, you’d know this.”

There’s a smug look on his ugly motherfucking face—as if he's laid out the last hand in a poker game and already knows he's won. But my stone-like glare remains steadfast.

“Congratulations,” I mock. “You’ve regurgitated Everly’s life story. You think you have some claim over her because she’s shed some tears on your shoulder? You’ve been friend-zoned, motherfucker, clinging to every scrap you can get of her.” I lean closer, my glare burning through his goddamn forehead. “You’re nothing but a footnote in her story. So do yourself a favor, Paladino. Back the fuck off while you still have some dignity left.”

I let the words hang, watching him closely, gauging his reaction.

His eyes narrow as he takes another drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in like it's the only thing keeping him from lashing out, then lets the smoke crawl past his lips in tendrils.

“You want to play this game, Isaia? Fine. But don’t pretend you’re the only one willing to burn for her. Yes, I made her a promise, one I intend to keep. But let me make it abundantly clear.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “If the day comes when she decides she wants me as a husband, Iwillmarry her in a fucking heartbeat. And not you, or anyone, will be able to stop me.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” I sneer. “If you so much as breathe in her direction, I will come for you and everyone you care about.”

“You don’t scare me, Del Rossa,” he grits. “I will destroy you for her.”

And there it is. The declaration of love. The signature that just signed his death warrant.

He stands, and so do I, then I move in close so I’m all up in his ugly motherfucking face. “You’re not the one she’ll choose.”

“We’ll see, won’t we? Because unlike you, Isaia, I’m not trying to own her. I’m trying to be what she needs.”

The words rattle in my skull like a slap, reverberating with a bitterness I can’t shake. But he doesn’t understand. He couldn’t. He doesn’t know what it means to crave someone so entirely that they become a part of you, that their very existence feels like it’s stitched into your fucking soul. He talks about needs and friendship like those things even come close to what I feel for her.

Ownership isn’t the word. That’s too shallow, too hollow to capture this.

It’s not possession—it’s devotion. A devotion so absolute, it burns. A need so consuming, it eclipses every other thought, every other ambition, until she’s all that matters. And I’ll prove it, one way or another. Not to him, and not to anyone else—just to her. Because she’s the only one who matters.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he says, dropping a few hundred-dollar bills on the table. “I need to go find out what the fuck Rinaldi is up to.”

“Let’s pretend for a minute that I do believe you—which I don’t. Then why is Rinaldi so hell-bent to drag her ass back to New York if it’s not to marry you?”

“I don’t know.” He straightens his suit jacket. “But I can assure you, I’m going to find out.”

I don’t watch him go. Instead, I let my eyes wander back to the mezzanine where Caelian is leaning against the railing, his whiskey glass dangling from his fingers, watching the scene unfold like it’s his favorite drama.

“Did you two boys have fun playing who has the bigger dick?” Caelian quips as I make my way back up the marble steps.

I shoot him a sharp glare. “You enjoying yourself, or are you just here to be a pain in my ass?”

“Both, obviously.” He takes a lazy sip of his drink, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Though I’ve gotta say, watching you puff up like an overprotective peacock is quickly becoming the highlight of my evening.”

I stop next to him, planting my hands on the railing as I look out over the club.

“Let me guess. He’s in love with her, too.”

I grind my teeth, but I don’t reply.

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