Isaia: Chapter 1

I’m not a monster.

But I can be.

It’s an easy skin to slither into and out of. Just like the leather jacket I’m wearing.

My brothers prefer the perfectly tailored Armani suits that fit them like sin.

Me? I don’t need to dress up to be the devil.

My knuckles slam into Lionel’s face, bone crunching under the force. He stumbles back, coughing blood, choking on his apologies.

I wipe my chin with the back of my hand. “What’s the rule, Lionel?”

He coughs some more, and Maximo tightens his grip on Lionel’s arms, pinned behind his back.

“What’s the rule, motherfucker?”

“No…” he sobs a little, “no dealings with kids.”

“That’s right. No dealings with kids. And what did you do?”

His eyes are pinched closed, blood dripping from his mouth. “I sold… Jesus, Isaia. I’m sorry, man.”

“You sold drugs to kids. Thirteen years old, Lionel. Thirteen.” My rage erupts again, and my fist hits his face once more.

Maximo lets him drop to the ground, where he belongs, and I step back, dragging in a deep breath, reminding myself of Alexius’ orders.

This isn’t a kill mission. It’s a message. A warning. Subtle but uncompromising. But, fuck, I’m practically salivating to put a bullet in this fucker’s head.

I yank Lionel up by his collar, forcing his eyes to meet mine. His breath reeks of fear, his piss-soaked pants clinging to his legs as he quivers like a leaf.

“Please, Isaia. I swear, I won’t⁠—“

I slam him against the wall, silencing him with a look. I lean in close. “There are consequences when you fuck up like this.”

“I know.” The fucker’s a mess, trembling from head to toe. “I’m sorry.”

“Consider this your last warning.” I let the words hang in the air like the blade of a guillotine. “If I catch you near kids again, I’ll make sure you bleed out slow. You understand?”

“Yes.” The word barely escapes his lips, and I snarl as I let go of him.

“Fucker,” I mutter, turning my back on him. He deserves worse. Much worse. We should be making plans to bury his corpse right now, not dish out warnings like it’s confetti at a goddamn wedding.

I hear footsteps. Quick. Small. And I freeze, both Maximo and I looking in the direction of the sound.

A man rounds the corner, a little girl by his side. Instantly, I’m on high alert.

They shouldn’t be here. No one should be here. This is a disgusting alley, and no one comes here except drug addicts and dealers.

I step forward, wiping my bloody knuckles on my jacket.

The man’s tall, average build, wearing a fake smile like it’s part of his job. But my eyes dart to the girl. Six, maybe seven, clutching a stuffed bear, wide eyes darting between me and the stranger beside her.

Something about the way she stands there, stiff and quiet, doesn’t sit right.

Our stranger’s wearing a brown coat, jeans, shoes—nothing fancy, but clean.

The girl, on the other hand, is squeezed into a pair of pink corduroy pants that are two sizes too small, her legs poking out between the too-tight fabric and her grubby white socks. Her shirt’s stained and twisted, a raggedy hand-me-down faded into a washed-out yellow.

These two, they don’t fit.

He’s a middle-class Joe, and this little girl’s appearance is screaming poverty louder than a gunshot.

My gut tightens. Something’s off.

The man tries to play it cool, all casual and calm. Too calm.

His hair is graying at the temples, eyes quick and calculating behind round glasses. He seems harmless enough, but danger doesn’t always come with a warning label.

His gaze lands on Lionel’s bloody face, then lifts to meet mine. “Gentlemen, we don’t want any trouble. My daughter and I⁠—”

“Daughter? She’s your daughter?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What’s her name?” I inch closer, studying him.

“Uh…Jane.”

I glance down at the girl. “Jane? Is that your name?”

“Yes,” the man snaps. “I told you her name.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” I kneel, bringing myself to the girl’s level. “Sweetheart, do you know this man?”

She shakes her head, her lip quivering. “No,” she whispers, looking down at her shoes. “He said he has a house full of teddy bears…”

The man’s calm cracks. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

I gesture for Maximo to take the girl. “I got this.”

He nods then lifts the girl into his arms. “Let’s go find your parents, kiddo.”

The man locks eyes with me, his face a mask of panic behind a thin veneer of composure. “Wait, you don’t understand,” he pleads. “She was in danger. I was just⁠—“

“Saving her? From who? You?” My words carry a quiet threat, filled with the promise of pain.

His lips move, but before he can say another word, I bury my fist in his gut. He doubles over, gasping for air.

“Now it’s my turn to save her,” I growl in his ear, drawing my gun.

His eyes widen in terror as he realizes what’s coming. “No, no⁠—”

“There’s a special kind of hell for motherfuckers like you.” I pull the trigger. One shot, and it’s done.

He crumples to the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him, painting the alley in a darker shade of red. There’s a sick thrill coursing through me, a satisfaction ground deep into my bones.

I just rid this world of one less nasty pervert motherfucker who deserves to have his dick hacked off.

Lionel’s cursing behind me, and I’m pretty sure he just pissed himself again because, goddamn, that rancid stench is wafting up strong.

“You…you just…” Lionel stammers. “Jesus Christ.”

“Lionel?” I sigh then turn and aim the gun at his face. “Fuck off before I shoot you.”

Lionel doesn’t need to be told twice.

He scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with fear, then bolts down the alleyway like his pants are on fire.

I watch him for a moment before slipping my gun back into its holster and straightening my jacket.

Our dead pervert’s blood almost reaches my shoes, so I step back and light a cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke curl from between my lips.

As I’m watching the smoke disappear, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s Maximo. The text is short and to the point, as always.

I slip my phone back in my jacket pocket and walk.

The adrenaline is a rushing high, throbbing in my veins, knocking against my bones. My chest is tight, my pulse thrumming in my ears. I’ve done this a thousand times, but it never changes.

The violence, the blood, the cold certainty of knowing what needs to be done. I know nothing else. It’s who I am—a Del Rossa. The youngest brother.

They say blood ties us all, but sometimes I wonder if I’m cut from the same cloth as they are. My brothers—they revel in this life. The power. The fear. It’s like gasoline to them.

Alexius, Nicoli, and Caelian walk through the world like gods, untouchable. They love this life. Breathe it in. Bask in the respect, the terror. For them, the mafia isn’t a job—it’s home.

But me?

It’s different.

This life… it clings to me like black slime, coating everything, seeping into my skin. It’s a part of me, but I hate how much it consumes. How it sticks, how it taints everything.

Part of me loves it—the power, the control, the way it makes me feel invincible. But I fucking hate it, too. Hate the weight of it, the darkness it pulls over my eyes, making the world nothing but shadows and enemies.

I’ve never fit in. Not fully.

I do the job, better than anyone else, but there’s always been something off, a piece of me that doesn’t quite lock into place. Like the life I was born into never really wanted me, and I’m too deep in to leave, but too apart from it to ever feel whole.

The alley fades behind me, but the tension doesn’t. It’s always there.

I parked far away, where no one would connect me to what just happened. I like the walk after a job—the quiet stretch of minutes where the world doesn’t know what I’ve done, and I’m just another guy passing through.

It’s in these moments—walking alone through the shadows—that I feel most like myself. The space between chaos and calm.

The sun is setting, and the spring air hits my skin; it’s cool and crisp, an ironic counterpoint to the mess I’ve just left behind.

Most guys I know—my brothers—like to soak in the aftermath. For me, it’s always been about the silence after. The moment when the world doesn’t make sense, but I do.

Two blocks away, I pass through a park. The world here is bright, too bright. People jog along the paths, kids laugh and chase each other, parents sit on benches, chatting, oblivious.

The park is alive with normalcy, the kind of peaceful ignorance that feels foreign to me. It’s like the fucking matrix—a big facade hiding the real shit. A fake world full of people who have no clue about the darkness creeping right behind them.

“Luna, no!”

Something heavy bumps against my legs—not hard enough to knock me down, but enough to make me stumble.

I catch myself just in time and look down, spotting a basset hound with droopy ears and a tail wagging like it’s having the time of its life.

The dog isn’t big enough to take me down, but it sure as hell has tangled itself in my legs, the leash now wrapped tightly around my ankles.

“Shit.” I try to shake the leash loose, and the dog just sits there, staring up at me with big, dopey eyes, like it’s proud of what it’s done.

“I’m so sorry!” a voice calls out, half-laughing, half-panicked.

I look up as a woman rushes over, hair flying everywhere, cheeks flushed from chasing her dog. She’s out of breath, but there’s a playful glint, like she’s trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Luna, you’re killing me!” she scolds, bending down to untangle the leash. “I swear, she’s usually not this dramatic.”

“It’s fine,” I say, clipped, trying to step out of the mess. But the more I move and the more she tries to help, the worse it gets. Every step I take tightens the leash around my legs, and her efforts to free me only pull the knots tighter.

I shift my weight, trying to free one foot, but I lose my balance instead.

Before I can catch myself, I stumble forward. In some ridiculous twist of fate, I reach out to steady myself and end up pulling the woman down with me.

We hit the grass with a soft thud, and for a second, I’m staring up at the sky, wondering how the hell I went from an alley soaked in blood to lying in a park, tangled up with a dog leash.

She’s laughing—full-on laughing, her face half-buried in the grass.

“Well, this is not how I thought my day was going to go,” she says, rolling onto her back, leaning her head to the side, looking at me.

And I swear, the world stops.

Two mismatched eyes—one green, one hazel—stare at me, bright and mirthful, a universe in each iris.

For a moment, I freeze, caught off guard. It’s not just the color that gets me; it’s the way they’re looking at me, open and unguarded. She doesn’t seem embarrassed or flustered at all. Instead, she’s smiling like the whole situation is the best part of her day.

And her smile, it’s dangerous—not in the way I’m used to, not the cold, manipulative kind that hides intentions. It’s dangerous because it’s real.

And fuck, I don’t know what to do with that.

I clench my jaw. “Your dog’s a menace.”

She grins at me, not missing a beat. “I know. But she’s so cute, right?”

I snort, shaking my head as I finally manage to sit up. The dog is still wagging her tail, completely satisfied with herself.

“I’m Everly, by the way. And this,” she gestures to the dog while brushing grass off her legs, “is Luna, my partner in crime.”

“Isaia,” I mutter, tugging at the leash still wrapped around my ankle.

She leans in to help untangle it, and when our hands brush for just a second, I feel it—a strange charge in the air, something that makes me pause for a heartbeat.

“Nice to meet you, Isaia.” She stands, reaching a height of no more than five foot five. Maybe shorter. She’s this bright, little thing, but her energy is pulsating. It’s like a tornado in a damn teacup.

“You all right down there?” she teases.

“Yeah,” I say. “Think I survived.”

She laughs again, and there’s something about the way it sounds that makes me want to hear it again.

I watch as she grabs Luna’s leash, grass still stuck in her light brown hair. It’s more a blend of light brown and blonde, soft curls touching her shoulders.

“Again, sorry for, you know, tackling you with my dog.” Her smile’s still there, her features striking, but not in an obvious way. Her face has this gentle balance, with high cheekbones that frame her mismatched eyes.

It’s those eyes that hold my attention, though. Different but perfectly in sync, like they each tell a separate story but are somehow a part of the same whole.

I get up and right my jacket. “I could say get a leash, but your dog seems to think it’s a weapon.”

“We usually reserve that trick for special occasions. Consider yourself lucky.” She shoots me a playful wink.

“You do this often? Knock people over in the park?”

“Only the ones who look like they could use a good takedown,” she fires back with a smirk. “You know, keep things interesting.”

I glance at her, half-tempted to respond, but the words don’t come. I don’t know why, but it’s disarming. And I don’t like it.

She gives Luna’s leash a gentle tug, still smiling. “Come on, menace. Let’s leave this poor guy alone.” Then she turns back to me, that grin never leaving her face. “But, hey, if you ever need a repeat performance, you know where to find us.”

I slide my hands into my jacket pockets. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her outfit shouldn’t grab my attention, but damn, it does. That flowy green dress, clinging just enough in the right places, the scarf draped over her shoulders, bringing out this casual, laid-back vibe.

But it’s more than that.

It’s how she wears it—like she doesn’t have to try, like she knows she looks good but isn’t bothered about it. Those boots, too. The suede clings around her legs just right, giving her a relaxed, easy-going energy.

The whole look is simple but somehow magnetic, and yeah, I’m noticing.

She gives a small wave, leading Luna off, and I’m still standing there like an idiot when I suddenly blurt out, “Hey?”

She turns.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Another smile forms as she continues walking backward. “Drink with a stranger? That would be reckless of me, don’t you think?”

“Your dog seems to like me.”

She shrugs. “Even so. Besides, I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who stays a stranger for long.” She gives Luna’s leash another tug. “Come on, girl. We’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”

I watch them walk away, her dog strutting like it just won something.

For a second, I almost laugh at the absurdity. I don’t get knocked off balance. But this? This felt different. Like I just walked out of one world and into another.

And that’s what bugs me.