Isaia: Chapter 8

For the last three days, I’ve been digging, searching, trying to piece together who Isaia really is.

The Del Rossas. Dark Sovereign.

Mafia.

And not just any mafia—an empire with roots so deep they run this city like it’s their playground. Then there’s Club Myth, a glorified brothel, according to Molly. A sex club for the elite, the rich and powerful.

It’s always sex, isn’t it? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Throw in some black market livers with a dash of spleen, and you’ve got yourself a mafia cesspool.

I’m not stupid. I know how the mafia operates—pulling strings, manipulating, controlling people and businesses like puppets on a stage.

I spent six years trapped in that world, and the second I was able to, I bolted before that life had a chance to devour me.

But families like the Del Rossas? They’re like black holes. No matter how much light you throw at them, they swallow it whole. They consume everything and leave nothing but darkness in their wake.

And Isaia? He’s dangerous. Even if he wasn’t a Del Rossa, it’s there in his eyes—the danger, the poison.

So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

My hands go through the motions—wiping counters, setting up the espresso machine—but there’s the warning in my stepfather’s voice that echoes inside my head, the words he said to me the day I walked out.

“You’ll be back. They always come back—whether on their own or being dragged by their hair.”

Maybe Isaia was sent by my stepfather, Michele Rinaldi, to drag me back to New York. The thought makes my stomach twist.

Voices from the back office break through my haze. Mrs. Wright, the café’s owner, is back there talking with someone. I didn’t even realize anyone else was here.

I peek around the counter just as she walks up. “Oh, good. Everly, you’re here,” she says, smiling as if it’s any other day. “One regular coffee and an espresso, please. Bring it to my office.”

“Sure, Mrs. Wright,” I reply automatically.

She turns and heads back. Mrs. Wright is never here this early, but I shrug it off and start making the coffee.

The familiar aroma of fresh beans fills the café, settling into every corner. The routine brings a semblance of calm to my frantic heart as I pour water into the machine and set two cups on the tray, my thoughts scattered.

I’ve been on edge ever since I learned who Isaia really is—what type of family he’s from.

I’m checking the lock on my door twice now whenever I’m home, and sometimes even a third time just in case. I’m more aware of my surroundings, and my paranoia is spiked since I have this constant chill, like someone’s watching me.

“Pull it together, Everly,” I mutter under my breath, picking up the tray of drinks.

The closer I get to Mrs. Wright’s office, the clearer the voices become. The café isn’t open yet, so it’s easy to make out the tones without the noise of the morning rush.

Mrs. Wright’s cheerful voice mingles with another—deeper, smoother, with a sharp, predatory edge.

I knock, waiting for permission to enter, and when I do, my heart plummets and the cups rattle on the tray in my shaky hands.

Isaia…in a suit. A suit. Perfectly tailored, and damn if it doesn’t cling to his frame in all the right ways.

I didn’t expect to see him—definitely not in Ember & Bean. And definitely not dressed like he just walked off the cover of Mafia Vogue.

I steal a glance at the paperwork spread across the table, and the tension tightens in my chest. This isn’t a casual visit. Something is happening, something that sets off every warning bell inside me.

I place the tray down, avoiding eye contact, but Isaia’s gaze is penetrating, like it’s seeping through my pores.

His eyes follow my every move, daring me to react. And damn it, I’m reacting.

God, his broad shoulders fill out the jacket like it was made for him, sharp lines emphasizing the way he commands the room without even trying, looking casual as hell.

There’s a slight uptick at the corner of his lips—like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how much it’s getting under my skin.

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay calm, to act like his presence doesn’t rattle me. But the way his eyes keep sliding over to me—it’s like he’s daring me with some unspoken challenge.

“Thank you, Everly,” he says, and my name on his lips is like a seductive touch down the small of my back.

Our gazes meet, and it’s a single moment of forgetting who he is, what he might be up to, the danger he represents.

My stomach twists, my insides coiled with…something—something I don’t want to name.

I leave the office as quickly as I can without making a scene, but the second the door closes behind me, I lean against it, sucking in a deep breath.

“What the hell is that?” I whisper, my heart racing.

Molly rounds the corner, her brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m either having a panic attack or a seizure. Take your pick.”

Her eyes widen with concern. “What happened?”

“Isaia just happened.”

“What?” Molly looks ready to panic.

“Yeah. He’s in there with Mrs. Wright.”

She steps closer. “Do we know why?”

“No idea, but it’s something.” I glance back at the door, my pulse still erratic.

“Shit.” Molly bites her thumbnail, glancing at the office. “I don’t like this, Everly. I’ve worked here for years, and never once have I seen a Del Rossa in here. Now Isaia’s in there?” She points toward the office. “With our boss?”

“I know. It’s the end of the world.” Dramatic, I know. But by God, the timing for dramatics is perfect right now.

About half an hour later, after I’ve downed three espressos and jittered through my nerves, Mrs. Wright and Isaia finally emerge from the office.

I’m just about to unlock the doors to the café when I freeze, staring as they shake hands, exchanging polite smiles—the kind that hide something darker.

My nerves are already frayed, but when Mrs. Wright walks away, Isaia’s eyes lock on mine, and I hold my breath.

There’s something there, a hidden message, a challenge, and I can feel every single espresso doing its job way too well. My heart’s practically moonwalking out of my chest, and I’m one poorly timed wink away from an actual medical emergency.

He rubs his jaw as he studies me from across the room, and I can feel the exact moment he decides to toy with me. The cocky glint in his eyes is blinding.

I narrow my eyes as he takes off his jacket, tossing it over a chair before he sits. He loosens his tie, unbuttons his collar, and starts rolling up his sleeves—all while his eyes remain on me.

My pulse races.

This man is trouble. I know it. I should walk away. I should keep my distance. But every instinct, every pull inside of me tells me to walk toward him.

I stomp over, trying to muster up some bravado. “Three times in one week,” I say, arms crossed over my chest. “Once? Coincidence. Twice? A fluke. But three times? Now, that’s just suspicious.”

He stares at me, his gaze intense. “You have a habit of keeping track of me, Everly?”

“It’s hard not to notice when you keep popping up.”

“Maybe I just have good taste in coffee,” he says smoothly, shrugging as if it’s nothing.

I roll my eyes. “Right. Because I’m sure a guy like you drinks lattes with foam art and listens to indie acoustic music while brooding in the corner.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Let’s cut the bullshit,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him. “Did he send you?”

Isaia leans forward. “Did who send me?”

“You know who.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Isaia’s eyes darken, his forearms resting on the table, and my breath catches at the sight of his veiny, muscled arms.

My gaze falls to the tattoo on his forearm—an intricately detailed broken clock split down the middle, with shattered glass surrounding it. Beneath the cracks, a Latin phrase wraps around the design.

Memento Mori.

Damn, I should’ve taken Latin.

I clear my throat. “My stepdad. Did he send you?”

“If you know who I am like you say you do, you’ll know I’m no one’s bitch or errand boy.”

“Is that slang for, ‘no, your stepdad didn’t send me?’ Because I’m not fluent in gangster.”

First, it’s a slight curve at the corners of his mouth. A smile. And then it turns into a laugh—well, more of a snicker than a laugh, but by God, if this wasn’t such a serious conversation, it would have been a proud moment for me.

“I like you, Everly Beaumont.”

“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t like me. The last thing I need is for you to like me.”

He leans back, finger tapping on the table. “Who’s your stepdad?”

I narrow my eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“Lies. You probably know my blood type by now and the exact date and time I had my last flu shot. And just so you’re updated, I had a burrito for supper last night. Last Tuesday, it was a peanut butter and mayo sandwich.”

“Ew.” He frowns. “Who the fuck eats peanut butter with mayo?”

“I the fuck eat peanut butter with mayo.”

He stares at me like I just grew a second head. “That’s…terrible.”

I lean back, smug. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“No, thanks.” He shifts in his seat, an amused smile creeping across his lips. “But now I definitely need to take you out for a proper meal, considering what you’ve been subjecting yourself to.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Dinner, huh? Let me guess—you’re going to sweep me off my feet with some five-star meal? Candlelight, wine, and you’ll smugly watch me forget all about my sandwiches.”

He leans in, his grin slow, dangerous. “That’s the plan.”

“Hmm. Tempting. But I’ve got a rule.”

His brow quirks. “A rule?”

“Yep.” I nod, keeping my tone light. “Never accept dinner invitations from men who look like they could break my heart—or my neck.”

“Smart rule. But who says I’m planning on breaking either?”

“Call it a hunch.” I stand. “But I’ll pass. Thanks for the offer, though. It was…almost charming.”

His eyes darken with amusement, but there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that makes my pulse quicken. “I bought the café today.”

The universe comes to a screeching halt, and I slide back into the seat. “You what?”

“I’m your new boss,” he says, holding his arms out like he’s just descended from heaven.

“You bought. The café?”

“I did. I always wear suits when I make business deals.”

“Why?”

He cocks a brow. “Not sure. Maybe it makes me feel more confident.”

“Okay, first off, I’m not talking about the suit. And second, your confidence is already teetering at heart attack territory. You definitely don’t need a suit to shoot that shit up into a full-blown cardiac emergency.” I huff and sit back. “Why would you buy this place?”

He holds my gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I know a good business when I see one. And this place? It’s a goldmine—or at least, it could be under the right management.”

“You expecting to make back your investment one cappuccino at a time?”

“Maybe,” he replies smoothly, low enough that only I can hear the sharp edge in his words.

I raise a brow, not buying it for a second. “Or maybe you enjoy having eyes and ears in all the right places.”

“Smart girl,” he murmurs, the heat radiating from his body palpable. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? Why would you think your stepdad sent me after you?”

My heart skips a beat, but I drop my gaze to the table, steadying myself. When I look back at him, I’ve forced an expression of indifference, though I feel anything but calm. “That’s none of your business.”

“When you accuse me of something, it becomes my business.”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything,” I say. “I simply asked a question.”

“So am I.”

The intensity of his gaze makes it impossible to sit still any longer. I stand, needing to move, needing to breathe.

The bells above the café door jingle as someone walks in, and Isaia glances past me, his grin sharpening.

“Just in time.”

I turn, and there’s a delivery guy holding a bouquet of sunflowers, talking to Molly, and she gestures straight at me.

My stomach flips, and I whip back to Isaia. “What did you do?”

The delivery guy steps beside me, extending the flowers. “Miss Beaumont?”

“Um…thank you.” I take the bouquet, my eyes still locked on Isaia, trying to read him, to understand what game he’s playing.

Isaia gets up, grabs his jacket, and starts for the exit.

“Wait,” I call after him, not ready for this strange, charged interaction to be over. “I’m not done with you.”

He pauses, casting a lazy glance over his shoulder. “I have places to be, and a very uncomfortable suit to get out of.”

“We’re not done,” I snap, surprising even myself with the boldness.

He turns fully now, a flicker of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Fine. One question.”

“What?”

“I’ll give you time for one question.”

My mind blanks. Of all the things I could ask him, my brain refuses to cooperate.

Isaia arches a brow, his amusement deepening. “I’ll see you around, Everly.”

“Wait. Why sunflowers?”

His expression shifts, mild confusion flickering across his face. “That’s your question?”

“Yes. Why sunflowers?”

Isaia steps closer, the distance between us evaporating with every inch he closes. The air thickens, my skin prickling with awareness as the heat between us rises.

His scent—wooden amber, black pepper, and vanilla—envelops me, pulling me deeper into the moment. It’s intoxicating, earthy and dark, the kind of smell that wraps around your thoughts and lingers long after he’s gone.

My pulse races, thudding in my chest, each beat amplifying the charged tension between us.

The room feels smaller, suffocating in the best possible way, my breath catching as he inches even nearer. His rich, chocolate gaze holds mine, and I’m hyperaware of everything—his proximity, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the unspoken pull between us.

His voice drops low—husky and smooth, the kind that slides under your skin as he murmurs, “Sunflowers are drawn to the light, Everly.”

His words ripple through me, sending a shiver down my spine. There’s something deeper in what he’s saying—something that feels more personal, like a quiet confession hiding behind it.

And in this moment, I can’t decide if I want to step away…or closer.

For a second, he lingers, neither of us moving. And I think he might close that final sliver of distance.

My heart races faster, every muscle in my body tense and ready, as if I’m teetering on the edge of something I shouldn’t want but can’t resist.

But he steps back, leaving me breathless and shaken.

“I’ll see you around, Everly.”