Isaia: Chapter 9

I’m parked far enough from her house to stay unnoticed, but close enough to see everything. The faint glow spilling through her curtains is like a lure, pulling my gaze over and over to the silhouette moving behind them.

Everly.

The name alone tightens something low in my gut. She moves from room to room, soft shadows against golden light, completely unaware that she’s being watched.

By me.

Something isn’t right about her. Everything about her is too clean, too curated for the role she’s playing. Sweet, wide-eyed waitress?

Sure, on the surface, it fits.

But a job like hers? That comes with late rent notices, cheap takeout, and cracked nail polish. Not this pristine, cozy little house.

The pieces don’t fit. And when the puzzle doesn’t make sense, I know where to start looking. Michele Rinaldi.

Rinaldi doesn’t operate with brute force. He’s smarter than that, a master manipulator. He doesn’t kick down doors; he sends someone soft enough to slide through the cracks, someone who looks like they belong until it’s too late.

Someone like her.

Everly is perfect for the role. Sweet smile, softspoken charm, every detail designed to disarm. But if that’s true, if she’s Rinaldi’s pawn, then why the fuck does the thought make me want to rip this world apart?

Why does the idea of her working for him make me want to destroy every goddamn thing in my path until there’s nothing left but her?

My grip tightens on the wheel until the leather groans beneath my fingers. I tell myself it’s suspicion that keeps me watching her, dissecting every movement, every glance, every pause. But it’s more than that. It’s something I can’t name.

A pull. A need. Something darker and infinitely more dangerous.

The phone buzzes in my lap, breaking the haze. Alexius.

“Anything?” His tone is sharp, clipped.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my tone even. The last thing I need is him picking up on the storm twisting inside me.

“Maximo’s sending a team to keep an eye on her.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ve got it covered.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

I roll my eyes, lighting a cigarette. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re too close to this, Isaia,” Alexius warns.

I picture him in his office, a cigar in one hand, bourbon in the other. Always in control. Always ready to remind everyone who’s king. “Come home. Get some fucking sleep.”

“I’m a big boy, Alexius. You want to order someone to bed, go find your wife.”

I hang up, inhaling the smoke before letting it trickle out the sides of my mouth in slow, snake-like shapes.

Alexius hates it when someone hangs up on him, so I’m pretty sure I’ll get the who-is-in-control speech the second I get home.

Out of all of us, Alexius is the most controlled. But when he explodes, it’s like a goddamn grenade. Everything within range gets shredded. He doesn’t lose his temper—he decimates. I’ve seen it firsthand. Felt it. There’s still a scar under my jaw from the day he almost killed me.

I remember it vividly. The rage in his eyes as he fucked Leandra in front of me, making her scream, marking her as his. He thought I loved her. For a while, I thought so too. But while he forced me to watch him fuck her, desperate to prove a point—the point being that Leandra belongs to him—I sat there bleeding, watching him take her, and my cock was rock fucking hard.

Of course it was. We’re all sick fuckers here.

The strangest part? When he pulled that stunt I already knew I didn’t love her like I thought I did. For so long, I carried this weight, convinced my desire for my brother’s wife was something darker, something forbidden. Turns out, it wasn’t lust or love. It was something else.

Protection?

From the day I saw her in her wedding dress, standing alone, scared, something shifted in me. I couldn’t stop myself from walking her down the aisle. She needed someone. And for a moment, I was that someone.

Leandra was untouched by the filth we live in—and miraculously, she still is. Maybe that’s what drew me to her—this need to protect something I never had. Innocence.

Growing up in our family, you lose that the moment you’re old enough to understand power and control. Our world strips purity away, leaving nothing but darkness behind.

Everly reminds me of that. Untainted innocence. Light. Warmth. She’s a contradiction in my world—a glimmer of something unspoiled. But she’s dangerous too. Dangerous because she stirs something in me I can’t control.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as her front door creaks open. My jaw tightens, my eyes narrowing as she steps out.

She’s wearing a halter-style mini dress and heels, her legs long and bare beneath the hem, her hair falling loose and wild over her shoulders. It’s not a dress that merely turns heads—it demands it. She stands on the porch, digging through her bag, completely unaware of the way she’s pulling me apart piece by piece.

Where the fuck is she going?

The thought burns through me, sharp and possessive. I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache, my mind spiraling. She doesn’t belong out there. Not in that dress.

I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding as she finally finds whatever she’s looking for in her bag and closes the door behind her.

I flick the cigarette out the window and start the engine.

Looks like someone’s dying tonight.