Page 13 of Unleashed
He turns the screen toward me, jaw ticking, and the contact name flashes up.
Isaia Del Fucking Psycho.
I arch a brow at him, not amused, and he simply shrugs.
My heart stumbles in my chest, an erratic, wild thud that almost chokes me as I reach out and take the phone from his hand. I wrap my hand around the device, feeling the smooth weight of it, the cold edges pressing into my palm, as if the moment itself is alive, trembling between past and future.
Anthony doesn’t move. He just leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s physically holding himself together, his jaw clenched so tight I swear I can hear the strain of it.
I pull the phone closer, the screen lighting up in my hand, Isaia’s ridiculous contact name burning into my eyes.
My thumb hovers over the call button, and I suck in a shaky breath, my throat tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. Mystomach twists, a knot of longing and dread tangled so tight I can barely swallow past it.
God, Isaia.
I ache for his voice. For his presence, his touch, his heat. I crave it like oxygen. Like my body remembers the way he feels before my mind can catch up, before the rational part of me can scream that I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t need him. But underneath the hunger, the desperate, helpless love, there’s fear.
Just as I’m about to hit call, Anthony grabs my hand. “What if he doesn’t have a good enough reason?” My heart plummets as his gaze focuses on mine. “Are you ready for that?”
“I dunno,” I reply truthfully. “I really don’t know.”
“Then wait.” He squeezes my hand. “Just…wait. A little longer.”
“For the truth?”
“I’m telling you the truth, but you’re too blinded by…your love for him,” he spits out the words like it’s fire in his throat, “and you’re desperate for him to have a reason that justifies everything he’s done.”
“Because my heart won’t survive otherwise.”
“Which is why you have to think with your head, and not your heart.” He presses his lips into a thin line as he searches my face like he’s trying to find remnants of the Everly before Isaia. “Deep down, you know as well as I do that there is no reason he can give you that’ll make it okay.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, and he encloses my hand, still clutching the phone with both of his.
“I’m asking you to wait just a little longer before making that call. You’ve hardly had any time to process all of this.”
He’s right. And it kills me because I want to hear his voice in my ear, telling me everything’s going to be okay. I want to hear him say my name the way he does when he’s desperate—like it’s a fucking prayer. I want to ask him why he lied and hear a good, plausible excuse that will make this all okay.
But Anthony’s hands are steady around mine. His warmth bleeds into my skin, rooting me. Grounding me.
“Just breathe,” he whispers. “You’ve been through hell. He put you through hell. And if you call him now, Everly… you’ll let him spin it. You’ll let his voice make it sound less cruel, less calculated, and I know you. You’ll forgive him before you haven’t had a chance to figure out what that forgiveness will cost you.”
Tears burn the corners of my eyes, my heart splitting open with the force of it. “I just… I need something to hold on to.”
“Then hold on to this.” His fingers close tighter around mine. “I came back for you. I never stopped trying to find you. Even when I thought you’d never forgive me. I never gave up.”
I meet his gaze, and for a second, it’s like we’re kids again. Just him and me. No mafia. No blood. No lies. Just two broken people trying to hold each other together.
“I’m not saying never,” he says quietly. “But not tonight. Not like this.”
I nod, slowly. Barely. And he gently pulls the phone away and slips it back into his pocket, letting go of my hand like he’s releasing something fragile. I don’t stop him.
I can’t.
Because he’s right.
Calling Isaia right now… I don’t trust myself not to fall apart the second I hear his voice. I’m not ready to decide if that kind of love is salvation… or self-destruction.
So, I sit back. Silent. Wrung out and aching.
