Page 38 of Unleashed
Chapter 12
EVERLY
Inside the elevator, my hand is splayed protectively over my stomach. I keep doing that without thinking. It’s wild how quickly that connection takes root. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and already my instincts are constantly reaching for this new life inside me.
My other hand presses flat to the cold metal wall, trying to ground myself while the numbers tick upward, each glowing red digit a countdown I’m not ready for.
My soul is breaking.
I can still feel Isaia’s mouth on mine—hot, punishing, desperate. How our lives on the island felt like a world of our own. No outside noise. Just us, amidst the infinite blue, where our love and dreams were mirrored in turquoise water, silence interrupted only by the pattering of rain against palm fronds. But now, those beautiful moments are tainted with the realization of the world around us, the reality that we weren’t alone but isolated. My memories have taken on a bitter aftertaste, like dessert turned to ash in my mouth.
Our time on that island was a lie—from the moment I opened my eyes until Anthony ripped me away.
I still don’t know why he lied. Or maybe I do. Maybe I’m just holding on too tight to what we had for me to finally accept the truth.
If there’s one thing I could wish for right now in this moment, it’ll be for him to kiss me hard enough I’d forget all of it. The lies. The blood. The nightmare he dragged me into. His hands on my waist, fingers digging in like he could hold me together if he just held me tight enough.
And Anthony…
God, Anthony.
I just got him back. My best friend. My anchor. The one person who always made me feel safe. And now I’ve walked away from him, too. I left them both.
I’m so fucking tired.
Tired of the lies. The power games. The blood. My whole life, I’ve sworn I’d never be part of this world. I promised myself I’d do anything—everything—to stay far from the mafia’s reach. But it still found me. Wrapped itself around me. Dragged me down.
The elevator halts, a gentle shudder, and the doors glide open.
Time stops, and I hold my breath.
Standing tall, spine straight, her chin tilted just enough to look like royalty, is my mother. She wears pearls—of course she does. A strand so perfectly placed it seems like it was measured. Her lipstick is that soft mauve she always favored, untouched by time, not a smudge. A cream blouse, tucked neatly into agray wool skirt, cinched with a belt that could cut glass. Heels, polished. Poised. Controlled.
But it’s her hair that stops me.
It glows beneath the hallway light, soft waves that don’t shift even when she tilts her head. Too perfect. Too still. Too lifeless.
A wig.
The realization hits like a fist to the chest—quiet but devastating. Her hair… It’s gone. Chemotherapy has stripped her of it. The woman who once treated split ends like a crisis, who swore by weekly salon appointments and scolded me for letting my roots show, now hides behind synthetic strands.
She’s always taken pride in her appearance—of the image she curated like a brand. Polished. Immaculate. Unshakable. And now… now she wears a lie on her head just to resemble the woman she used to be.
My throat closes.
How much did it cost her? Not just the treatments—the sickness, the weight loss, the weakness—but the humiliation of watching clumps fall out in the mirror. The heartache of looking at her reflection and not recognizing it anymore.
And I wasn’t here. I was on an island, got married and played house while my mom was here all alone, fighting for her life.
Guilt and sympathy crash over me, a tidal wave, buckling my knees. I’m not even sure I’m able to carry any more guilt. First Anthony, and now her. But I did try to call. I wanted to, but Isaia always came up with excuses…and now I know why. He was afraid she’d tell me Anthony was still alive.
God. What else did he take from me? What parts of my life did he manipulate to keep his secret?
Something deeper breaks loose—something softer. That ache for connection. For the mother, I once begged to see me for me. To choose me. To love me first. But despite the distance that’s always kept the cracks in our relationship from mending, the pain of her choosing Michele over me, she’s still my mother.
She will always be…my mother.
A sob breaks free, jagged, and I stumble forward, collapsing into her. “Mom.” My arms wrap around her, clinging tight, face buried in her shoulder as tremors shake me.
