Isaia: Chapter 15

Maximo hands me a glass of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the room, glinting like liquid fire.

I wrap my fingers around the glass, but I don’t sit. I can’t. My muscles are wound too tight, a live wire thrumming beneath my skin. The storm inside me refuses to settle, each passing second only feeding the tension coiling in my gut.

While I’m outside her house, I feel at ease. When I have her in my sight, I’m in control. But the second she’s too far away from me, everything feels wrong. My bones, my blood, my fucking head.

If I weren’t there last night, that motherfucker would have taken her, and she would have been gone. And that would have meant me turning the entire goddamn world around to find her.

“Relax, man,” Maximo says. “I have our guys watching her.”

I pace the room, the sound of my boots muffled against the thick carpet, but it doesn’t dull the restless energy coursing through me.

Each step feels like a countdown to something I can’t see, something just out of reach. The walls feel closer than they should, the air too still, too heavy. Even the bourbon in my hand doesn’t offer its usual comfort—it’s just another weight I barely register as I move back and forth, my mind running in circles.

“We’re missing something,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “Why the fuck would Rinaldi want to kidnap his own stepdaughter?”

Maximo leans back in his chair, his expression grim. “I’ve got my guys digging, but everyone’s tight-lipped. Either they’re too scared to talk, or Rinaldi’s paying them real well to keep their mouths shut.”

I take a swallow from the glass, the bourbon stinging my throat as it slides down, a vicious ball of fire that does little to ease my tightening chest. “And her mom? What the fuck is that? Tricking her own daughter.”

“I dunno, man,” Maximo says, running a hand through his hair. “But we need to find out what the hell is going on, and we need to do it fast. Alexius is one problem away from losing his shit.”

“That makes two of us.” I pour myself another glass, and the bourbon slides down easier this time, though it does nothing to untangle the knots in my chest.

Maximo’s eyes stay on me, sharp and probing. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches like he’s peeling back layers, trying to see what’s underneath.

“What?” I snap, slamming the glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

He tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “How deep are you with this girl?”

Last night, I was real fucking deep. Balls deep. But that’s not what he’s asking. “None of your business.”

Maximo raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s fighting back a knowing smile. “That’s an answer all on its own.”

“Drop it.”

He doesn’t. “Is she a complication?”

I lean forward, bracing my hands on the table. “You think I’d let her distract me from what needs to be done?”

Maximo shrugs, unbothered by the tension crackling in the air. “I think she’s got her hooks in you. And when a woman sinks her hooks in deep, it’s only a matter of time before things start to spiral.”

I glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s been a part of this family long enough to know when to push and when to back off. Apparently, he thinks this is the time to push.

“She’s not a complication,” I say through gritted teeth. “She’s a priority. There’s a difference.”

Maximo leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If you say so.”

“I do.” I grab the bottle, pouring another drink. It seems getting drunk is on the agenda today. “Everly’s caught in the middle of something, and until we figure out why, she’s under my protection.”

“Under your protection?” His eyes widen. “Christ, Isaia. You sound like you’re declaring war over her.”

War. Armageddon. Bloodshed. “Maybe I am.”

Maximo lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “This girl’s got you twisted, man. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I don’t know what the fuck Rinaldi’s up to, but what I do know is that Everly’s innocent in all this. The girl I pulled out of that restaurant last night was shattered because her mom used her recent cancer diagnosis to manipulate Everly into facing the man she clearly hates with a blinding, goddamn passion. So tell me, what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit back and watch?”

Maximo pulls a palm down his face. “I’m just saying, for a guy who doesn’t do attachments, you sure as hell sound attached.”

“It’s not about that,” I growl.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Look, I’m not judging. Hell, maybe you need this. But you need to be smart about it. Rinaldi’s making moves, and we’re sitting here trying to piece it all together. You can’t afford to let your emotions get in the way. We don’t even know for sure whether we can trust her.”

“I trust her.” The words just roll out, like they’ve been trapped in me, waiting to be spoken aloud. “I really fucking trust her, Maximo. Don’t ask me why or how. I just do.”

A heavy silence drops around us like an invisible veil, masking the air with a tension that could cut through steel. Maximo stares at me, his eyes sharp as shards of glass—probing, questioning, considering.

He sighs. “Did you ask her about her relationship with Rinaldi?”

“She’s not talking,” I answer simply. “But it’s clear she hates the man.”

“And she won’t tell you why?”

I shake my head. “I’ve asked, and she refuses to give me a straight answer. Fucking stubborn woman.”

Maximo’s phone vibrates, drawing his attention, but my mind drifts elsewhere, pulled under by the vivid, all-consuming memory of her.

The soft moans that rolled off her lips, each sound a plea and a command all at once. The way her body moved as I tongue-fucked that beautiful cunt of hers. She was so unsure yet so damn eager, like she was discovering herself in my hands. Her hesitant yet hungered touch, the way she clung to me like I was her lifeline.

It’s that inexperience, that untouched vulnerability, that made her fucking perfect. The way she surrendered—body trembling, lips parted, eyes wide as if she were both terrified and exhilarated—did something to me. Something dark. Something that isn’t letting go. An angel ensnared with a devil like me.

“Isaia.”

Maximo’s voice snaps me out of my spiral. I glance at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at his phone, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“What?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended.

Without a word, he hands me his phone, and my stomach tightens as I stare at the screen. The grainy photo isn’t much, but it’s enough to make my blood run cold.

It’s a picture of a man at the grand entrance of the Langham Hotel, his tailored suit perfectly cut, his hair slicked back in that signature way, every inch of him exuding arrogance and power. Even with the poor resolution, the lines of his face are unmistakable.

“Anthony Paladino,” I grit out.

The son of one of New York’s five leading Cosa Nostra families, and a man who rarely leaves his domain unless there’s something worth crossing state lines for.

The Langham isn’t just any hotel—it’s a statement, a place for those who want their presence felt without saying a word. Seeing him there, moving so confidently, as if Chicago is just another chessboard for him to manipulate, sends a jolt of tension through me. His appearance isn’t just unexpected; it’s a fucking problem.

“What the hell is Paladino doing in Chicago?” I growl.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Maximo says. “This city isn’t big enough for two New York families to casually drop by. Especially not without it meaning something.”

I continue to study the image and my pulse quickens. “Rinaldi’s here. Paladino’s here. You think it’s a coincidence?”

Maximo snorts. “You know better than that.”

My grip on the phone tightens, the plastic casing creaking under the pressure. “This isn’t random.” My jaw clenches. “First Rinaldi shows up, making moves like he owns the place. Now Paladino. They’re not here for sightseeing. They’re circling this city like fucking vultures.”

Maximo exhales sharply. “And where there’s vultures, there’s something worth picking apart.”

I stop, turning to face him. “We need to know what they want. Fast.”

“I’ll get more eyes on Paladino. If he’s here, he won’t be hiding. Guys like him thrive on being seen.”

“And Rinaldi?”

“Still poking around. He’s cocky, but not careless. If we get a chance to press him, we will.”

I run a hand through my hair, my thoughts spinning. Everly’s at the center of this, whether she realizes it or not, and I’m done dancing around the edges.

“Everly’s the key,” I mutter under my breath.

Maximo slams back the rest of his drink, his gaze sharp. “You’re too close, Isaia. You know that, right?”

Close? He doesn’t know the half of it. He doesn’t know how her taste lingers on my tongue. He doesn’t know how my thoughts are riddled with her, how badly I want inside that body of hers. It’s like she’s in my blood, and I’m not sure if I can purge her without bleeding myself dry.

“I’m handling it,” I say, even though the words feel hollow.

“Yeah?” Maximo raises a brow. “Then handle this. Paladino’s not a man who shows up uninvited. He’s here for a reason, and if we don’t figure out what it is, we’re going to have a problem.”

I nod, though my mind is already elsewhere. Paladino. Rinaldi. Everly. The pieces are moving, and I’m stuck playing catch-up. But one thing is certain; I won’t let anyone touch her.

Not Rinaldi. Not Paladino. No one.

My chest tightens, the familiar burn of obsession curling through my veins.

It’s not just lust. It’s a need, deep and unrelenting, to possess every inch of her. To own her in a way no one else ever will. And fuck, that’s dangerous. Because the more I try to control it, the more it consumes me.

I open my eyes, my hands falling to my sides as I breathe out heavily. She’s under my skin now, in my head, and no amount of focus on the shitstorm circling us is going to change that.

Everly Beaumont isn’t just a distraction.

She’s a goddamn addiction.