Isaia: Chapter 18

The familiar hiss of the espresso machine fills the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the rich scent of freshly ground beans.

Usually, the cozy chaos of the café would be comforting, a welcome distraction. But today, every noise feels louder, every movement more jarring, like the world is on fast-forward while I’m stuck on pause.

It’s been days since he left my house in the middle of the night, and I haven’t seen him since. Now I’m annoyed at myself for hating that he hasn’t been around.

Every time the bell chimed, I’d glance at the door, my stomach doing that annoying little flip. But it’s never him.

And I guess that’s a good thing.

Maybe he finally decided to back off, to give me some breathing room.

Or maybe he’s just got better things to do than haunt a coffee shop, watching me pour lattes and deal with customers who act like oat milk is an exotic treasure.

Still, there’s this nagging feeling I can’t shake. Like he’s close. Watching. And every night when I turn off my bedroom light, I wonder if he’ll come for me again. It’s insane, I know. But it’s not like I can choose exactly what gets my heart racing and blood humming.

Isaia is everything I’m trying to build a life away from. He’s the embodiment of everything I thought I didn’t want.

Thought.

It’s like the universe is trying to prove a point—the point being that we don’t get to choose our own fates.

I focus on wiping down the counter and lining up fresh croissants in the display case, but my hands move on autopilot while my mind races.

“Earth to Everly.”

Molly’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I blink, realizing I’ve been polishing the same spot on the counter for who knows how long. She’s standing there with her hands on her hips, one perfectly arched brow raised.

“You’ve been in another world all morning.”

I set the rag down. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the back. “Break time.”

“Molly, I don’t need a⁠—”

“You need caffeine and a friend who’s not afraid to call you out,” she says firmly, handing me a caramel macchiato once we’re in the break room. “Now, spill. What’s got you so distracted?”

“You’ve been away all weekend with your new boyfriend. Maybe this is just my new look.”

She scowls. “A pouting, miserable, I-desperately-need-to-get-laid look?”

I choke on the macchiato. “A what look?”

“I-desperately-need-to-get-laid look. I know it well. It’s a look that stares back at me in the mirror after not having sex for a month.”

“A month?”

“Stop changing the subject.” She crosses her arms. “What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a sip. The sugary sweetness hits my tongue, but it does little to soothe the knot in my stomach. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Molly narrows her eyes, settling into the chair across from me. “Well, ‘nothing’ has you zoning out and wiping the same spot on the counter for ten minutes. Talk to me.”

I glance down at my cup, swirling the caramel. “My mom…she’s sick,” I admit quietly. Other than Isaia, I haven’t told anyone. It’s all part of the don’t-get-attached lifestyle.

Molly’s face softens instantly. “Oh, no.”

“Breast cancer.” The word feels heavy on my tongue. “She just got diagnosed.”

“Everly, I’m so sorry.” Molly reaches across the table, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s… God, that’s awful. Are you okay?”

I nod, even though it’s a lie. I’ve been anything but okay since my mom dropped that bombshell.

Still, I can’t bring myself to tell Molly everything—how my mom used her diagnosis to manipulate me into that dinner. And I definitely can’t tell her about my stepdad’s involvement in whatever twisted game he’s playing.

“I’m managing,” I say, forcing a tight smile.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“She says the doctors are hopeful.” I shrug. “But it’s a lot to process.”

“I can’t imagine. But I’m here for you, Everly. Whatever you need.”

Oh, sweet Molly. I’m starting to get attached, and that’s dangerous. Attachments make leaving harder, and I’ve always been good at slipping away before the chains tighten.

“Thanks,” I murmur, hoping she can’t see the conflict brewing behind my eyes. “You’re a good friend.”

Molly rolls her eyes. “Damn right, I am. So good I can tell when you’re avoiding something. Spill.”

“I told you, it’s my mom.”

“That’s not all of it,” she presses gently. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re practically jumping every time the doorbell chimes. It’s like you’re waiting for someone.”

“You’re seeing things.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you high?”

“Stop.” We both laugh. “I’m serious. There’s something between you and Isaia. Everyone can see it.”

I swallow hard. There’s a slight pang in my chest, hearing his name, thinking of him. Longing for him. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“It’s the kind of complicated that makes quantum physics look like a bedtime story. Multiply that by the number of bad decisions you can make before your first cup of coffee.”

She frowns. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s, um…” I glide my fingers up and down the warm cup. “He’s intense.”

“All the Del Rossas are.” Molly studies me. “Are you in love with him?”

The question hits like a sucker punch. Love? No. That’s not what this is. It can’t be.

“It’s not that simple,” I say, shaking my head. “Isaia, he’s not the kind of guy you fall in love with. He’s the kind of guy you survive.”

Molly’s about to respond when the air around us shifts.

I feel him before I see him—an oppressive weight settling over the room like a storm rolling in.

My pulse quickens, a familiar tension coiling in my chest. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. His presence is unmistakable, filling the small space with a heat that makes the air feel too thick.

“Everly.” My name is a quiet command on his lips that speaks to every molecule of my being. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked on me. “Didn’t know break time included private meetings.”

Molly straightens, her confidence faltering under his gaze. “We were just catching up.”

Isaia’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Good. Don’t let me interrupt.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his attention pinning me in place. “We should get back to work,” I mumble, standing abruptly. “Thanks for the coffee, Molly.”

She nods, worry etched across her face as I slip past Isaia. His hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of awareness through me.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“Not now, please.”

Isaia wraps a hand around my elbow, his grip firm but not harsh. “Yes. Now.”

Before I can respond, the bell chimes, and we both turn as a man strolls in.

“Anthony,” I whisper, my heart thumping wildly.

Isaia stiffens next to me as we watch Anthony Paladino stroll in like he just bought the whole damn block, his tailored suit impeccable.

His tie is slightly loosened, just enough to give off a devil-may-care vibe. But it’s the way he carries himself—an aura of quiet dominance, the kind of confidence that commands attention without needing to demand it.

It’s easy to see that even though they’re not from the same family, Isaia and Anthony are definitely gods in the same world.

My throat’s suddenly tight, my pulse thundering in my ears. Anthony’s gaze sweeps the room, calculated, assessing, until it lands on me.

A slow, easy smile tugs at his lips, one that somehow manages to look both charming and dangerous.

The tension skyrockets, and Isaia’s grip tightens. “Paladino,” he grits out with barely restrained hostility.

“Del Rossa.” Anthony’s tone is smooth, unbothered, as his sharp eyes take Isaia in. “We’ve never officially met.”

“I was hoping it’d stay that way.”

Anthony ignores Isaia’s jab as his gaze slides over to me, his entire demeanor shifting into something softer, more familiar.

“Everly,” he says my name laced with warmth. “It’s good to see you.”

Isaia lifts a brow. “You know him?”

“Ye—”

“Of course she knows me,” Anthony cuts in smoothly, taking a deliberate step closer, his focus locked on me. “We go way back, don’t we, Everly?”

The tension between them is suffocating, vibrating like static before a lightning strike. My heart pounds as Isaia shifts, subtly placing himself between Anthony and me. His presence is unyielding, a wall of protective fury.

“Anthony,” I interject despite the weight of their intensity. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d grab a coffee, maybe check in on my favorite person.”

“What’s wrong, Paladino?” Isaia tilts his head. “Did New York run out of coffee?”

“Funny,” Anthony scoffs.

“What are you doing here?” I cut in, the tension vibrating from Isaia sucking up all the air in the room.

Anthony casually slides his hands into his pants pockets. “I heard about your mom.” His gaze softens as he looks at me. “Wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How considerate,” Isaia bites out. “But you’re about as welcome here as a bullet to the head.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Please, stop,” I murmur softly, aware that customers are staring.

Isaia leans in, sheer menace vibrating off him. “You knew exactly whose territory you were stepping into when you walked through that door, Paladino.”

“True,” Anthony admits. “I just didn’t think you’d be here. Figured you’d have better things to do than play barista.”

“Like helping you slither back into the hole you came out of?”

Anthony shrugs. “Listen, I’m not here to step on toes. I’m just checking in on a friend. Though I have to say…” His gaze flicks to me. “I didn’t expect to find you working for a Del Rossa.”

“Careful, Paladino,” Isaia warns.

“Listen, Anthony,” I start and awkwardly slide around Isaia so I’m between them. “I appreciate that you took the time to check on me here. And I’m fine. I just—” Isaia’s practically breathing down my neck “—now’s not a good time.”

“Of course.” He holds my gaze. “Dinner, then. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight?”

Isaia lets out a mocking laugh. “Oh, that’s cute. But there’s no fucking way.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the gatekeeper of Everly’s social calendar.”

“Get the fuck out,” Isaia growls, every syllable a warning. His stance shifts slightly, just enough to radiate pure dominance, his gaze locked on Anthony like a predator eyeing his prey.

“Enough!” I snap, my heart pounding so loud it’s deafening. My gaze darts between Isaia’s stormy expression and Anthony’s infuriating smirk. “Both of you, stop. Anthony, I’ll speak to you later, okay?”

Anthony’s eyes are fixed on Isaia for a second longer before he looks at me, inching closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I promise.”

There’s a long, thick, and suffocating silence as the tension crackles in the air. If someone had to light a match, the fucking city will explode.

Isaia’s jaw clenches, his dark eyes drilling into Anthony like he’s one smartass comment away from losing it.

Meanwhile, Anthony stands there with a wry smile, like he’s enjoying the show. But every time our eyes meet, there’s a flicker of something else—concern—carefully hidden beneath his cocky facade.

Finally, Anthony steps back. “Fine, I’ll leave. But I will call you later.”

“Okay,” I mutter, but Isaia doesn’t relax.

His grip on my elbow tightens, his whole body thrumming with barely contained energy as Anthony saunters to the door. The bell’s chime cuts through the silence like a gunshot when it swings shut behind him, leaving the café in a tension-filled vacuum.

“Motherfucker,” Isaia growls, low and lethal. Before I can get a word out, he’s already moving, his grip unyielding as he steers me toward the back office.

“Isaia, what the hell⁠—”

“We’re talking,” he snaps, his tone sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The door shuts with a heavy thud, and Isaia turns to face me, his dark eyes blazing. The intensity in his stare pins me in place, a mix of anger, possession, and something far more dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“Start talking, Everly,” he says, his voice quiet but no less commanding. “Now.”