Page 60 of Unleashed
I crumble, sliding down until I’m curled on the floor, arms wrapping around my middle as though I can shield the life inside me from everything unraveling outside. Luna whines, nudging against my side, her warm weight pressing into me, but even she can’t soften the jagged edges tearing me to pieces.
I cry for Anthony’s betrayal. For the friend I thought would never cross a line he just shattered. But most of all, I cry for Isaia—for the man whose absence is still the loudest thing in the room, even when silence is all that’s left.
One betrayed me. One abandoned me. Both…broke me.
Chapter 21
ISAIA
The voicemail ends, and the silence that follows is just too fucking loud.
I toss my phone, aiming for the coffee table, but miss, and it lands on the floor. As it clatters on the polished oak, I draw a ragged breath. My chest’s heaving as if I ran here. My hands won’t stop shaking. And her words echo in my head, still spilling through me—about how the baby’s grown, how she feels the kicks now, how her dresses barely zip.
She tells it like I’m not there. But I am. She just doesn’t know it.
I’ve seen it. All of it. The way her palm drifts to her stomach when she thinks no one’s watching. The tender circles she rubs there while she browses the cereal aisle like she’s not glowing, like she’s not the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve watched her linger in front of the mirror, turning side to side, studying the curve of her bump, biting her lip like she can’t believe it’s real. My child. Our child.
And I can’t touch her. I can’t fucking touch her, and it’s killing me. Slowly.
“Fuck!” I throw the glass, and bourbon arcs through the air, shards detonating against the bookshelf, glittering across the spines of books.
The library smells like old paper and spilled liquor. This isn’t my space, it’s the family’s, a monument to generations of men who carved out an empire in blood and ink. I’m just sitting here rotting in it, using it as a coffin because it’s quiet, and it reminds me of her.
She loves books.
Even now, I can picture her curled up with one, brow furrowed, lips moving when she thinks no one’s watching. Except now it’s not her guilty-pleasure smut—now it’s pregnancy guides, parenting manuals. She’s still building a future, even if I’m not in it.
I grab the bottle this time, skip the glass. The bourbon’s harsh, bitter, burning all the way down, but it’s not enough to cauterize the wound. Nothing is.
The door creaks open, and I loll my head back. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Jesus. You look like shit.” Maximo leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression flat in that way only he can manage. His eyes scan the broken glass, the wreckage of me, and he lets out a low whistle. “I’ve seen corpses with more color in their cheeks.”
“Nice to see you, too,” I mutter, tipping the bottle back again.
“Not exaggerating.” He steps inside, gaze sweeping over me like I’m evidence at a crime scene. “Shirt’s wrinkled, you’ve got more stubble than a hedge, and you smell like a distillery jerked off allover you.” His mouth ticks in that cruel little grin. “Hell, if you keeled over right now, we wouldn’t even need to stage the body. You’re halfway to the morgue already.”
“Then bury me and be done with it.”
He snorts. “Don’t tempt me. I’d have to carry you, and you’re a heavy bastard.”
“Fuck off.”
“Can’t. You’ve got a guest.”
I glare at him over the bottle’s rim. “Not in the mood for your jokes.”
“Not joking.” He ambles closer, plants himself against the edge of the desk like he owns it. “And before you ask, no—you don’t get to kill him.”
My brows snap together. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means Alexius and I had a little chat, and we agreed. You need to see this person.”
“None of you know what the fuck I need.”
Maximo’s grin widens, all teeth and no mercy. “Swear you won’t kill him, and I’ll let him in.”
My laugh comes out dark, jagged. “That’s a big fucking assumption—that I’m capable of promising restraint.”
