Chapter 5
EVERLY
I saia Del Rossa.
The name lingers in the air like a warning, and judging by the look on Molly’s face, this is someone I should be running from. Yet here I am, frozen in place.
His approach is slow, deliberate—every step controlled, as if the entire room bends to his will. People shift out of his way without even realizing it.
And then his dark gaze locks on to mine. I can’t help but feel like I’ve been marked, chosen, and claimed. His focus is so intense, the rest of the world fades away.
“Shit,” Molly hisses again, yanking on my elbow harder this time. “I’m serious, Everly, stay away from him. He’s?—“
Her words die on her lips as he comes closer, and every ounce of oxygen in the room seems to vanish.
My heart hammers in my chest, each beat louder than the last. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and the energy radiating off him is suffocating, a dangerous magnetism that pulls me in even though every logical part of me wants to run the other way.
Last night, I knew my stranger who doesn’t smile was intense. But now? This man walking toward me, his intensity is on an entirely different level.
“Do not fuck around with this guy,” Molly warns quietly, her fingers still gripping my arm like she’s the only thing keeping me from stepping into a fire.
I snap my gaze to her, whispering back, “Fuck around? I wasn’t planning on fucking?—”
“Everly?”
“Oh, God.” It’s him, and he just heard half the sentence I didn’t get a chance to complete.
Molly looks like she’s expecting me to spontaneously combust under his gaze. I can barely think straight, but somehow, I manage to turn and face him.
Nothing— and I mean nothing —could have prepared me for the moment our eyes meet up close, with him towering over me like a palpable force that could rip the universe apart.
His irises are a burning, impenetrable black, a tempest brooding with raw ferocity and untamed power. It’s mesmerizing and completely unthinkable that I didn’t notice this last night.
I force a smile, hoping it hides the fact that my brain has short-circuited.
“Hi.”
Hi?
Just…hi?
Isaia’s lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, and the air between us buzzes with tension.
He doesn’t speak right away, just watches me, and I swear he’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had.
Finally, he speaks. “You weren’t planning on fucking…what, exactly?” His voice is velvet, smooth, but laced with danger.
“Oh,” I clear my throat, trying to sound casual even though I’m silently praying to die. “You know. Fucking around. Just…generally.”
Another twitch of his mouth—no smile, just a sinister quirk, like he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“Generally?” he echoes, his tone drenched with a subtle mockery that has my cheeks burning.
“Yeah, uh…” I place my palms on my face, trying to hold on to some dignity. “Can we maybe, like, redo this?”
“Redo?”
“Yeah. You walk in all brooding and menacing, like you’re plotting world domination, and I sit here pretending my friend isn’t currently glaring daggers into the back of my head.”
I risk a glance at Molly. She’s pale, eyes wide with panic.
Isaia’s gaze flicks to her for the briefest moment before returning to me, as if she’s an afterthought. “And how do you think this scene should go, then?”
I swallow the lump in my throat, fighting back a shudder. “Well, for starters, you could stride in, leaving me unbothered instead of…you know, short-circuiting my brain.”
“But where's the fun in that?”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to hold my ground despite the chaos going on inside me. “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who's into fun.”
“Depends on the kind of fun.”
Instantly the space around us narrows as tension hums in the air.
“Let me guess,” I start, trying to ignore how my pulse races. “Your kind of fun comes with a lot of rules.”
He leans closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Not rules. Just…no limits.”
“No limits, huh? That can be dangerous.”
“No more dangerous than your dog on a leash.”
I smile at that.
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
“That’s the second time you’re offering to buy me a drink.”
“Maybe I just want to see what you’ll say this time.”
There’s something about the way he says it—like he’s laying down the first card in a game I’m not sure I want to play, but I’m too intrigued not to.
I gather my bag and stand. “A drink with a stranger will be reckless of me, don’t you think?”
Isaia’s eyes darken with amusement, and he takes a step closer. “Maybe. But I’d make it worth your while.”
How he says it, his tone laced with suggestion—sends a shiver down my spine. His presence is magnetic, and I can feel the air between us growing heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name but can’t ignore either.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“No limits, remember?” He leans in slightly, his whisper brushing against my skin. “I don’t play by half measures.”
My breath catches, his words hanging in the air, daring me to take the bait. The pull between us is undeniable, and I’m caught in it for a moment, helpless.
“And what if I don’t want to play?”
His eyes gleam with that dangerous edge. “Oh, you’re already playing, Everly. You just don’t know it yet.”
I can’t lie; I’m intrigued. A little scared, but mostly intrigued.
“Fine,” I say, lifting my chin. “One coffee. But I have to warn you, I’m not easily impressed.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“You’ve got until I finish my double espresso.”
Isaia’s gaze flicks to Molly. “Two double espressos. Back table.”
Molly’s expression freezes, her earlier warning echoing faintly in my head like a distant alarm. But the longer I’m in this man’s presence, the quieter it gets—until it’s barely there at all.
Once we’re seated, Isaia’s frame dominates the space. He’s slightly too big for the chair, the expanse of his back seeming to stretch the limits of it, making the small café feel even more cramped.
The way he settles in, though, is effortless, as if he’s used to commanding whatever space he’s in. Even here, in this too-small chair, he radiates power and control. It’s unsettling how he can make a simple chair seem like it’s bending to him.
I lean back, studying him. “So, what’s your story?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“Oh, I don’t know…maybe the way the entire café stopped breathing when you walked in? Even the coffee machine had the decency to go quiet.”
His lips twitch. “You noticed that, huh?”
“Hard to miss. It’s like the universe shifts when you enter a room. If you’re trying to blend in, you’re doing a terrible job.”
“I’m not the blend-in type,” he says, leaning back. Even sitting, he takes up more space than he should, commanding attention without trying.
“Yeah, I figured. So, what are you doing here?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Here, as in this café? Or here, sitting across from you?”
“Let’s start with here in the café.”
“Obvious, isn’t it? I’m getting coffee.”
I arch a brow. “Judging by the way people stared at you when you walked in, how people are still staring at you, my guess is they all know you, yet they’re shocked that you’re gracing them with your presence. How come I’ve never seen you in here before?”
“Maybe you missed me.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
Molly sets our espressos down, and I glance at her as she turns to leave, wide-eyed, as if to silently scream, Get out now .
I pretend not to notice. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who randomly grabs coffee with strangers.”
His expression deepens, but now it’s calculated. “Who said anything about random?”
I blink, caught off guard. “So, this isn’t random?”
“It’s as random as your dog wrapping her leash around my legs,” he says, but there’s something unsettling in his tone, like he’s hinting at more.
I watch him grip the tiny espresso cup, his large hand making the cup look comically small. Coffee spills over the rim, and he curses.
I study him. “You’re not built for delicate things, are you?”
“I have a nasty habit of ruining delicate things.”
There’s a double meaning in there, loud and clear, and it’s dialed up the heat a notch.
“So, Everly,” he starts, saying my name like he’s testing out the taste on his tongue, “have a surname?”
“Beaumont,” I say. “Everly Beaumont.”
“You’re new to town.”
“Who said I’m new?”
“I haven’t seen you around.”
I lift a brow. “Maybe you missed me.”
He licks his lips and tilts his head slightly. “I doubt that.”
There it is again—that unmissable rise in tension, the gentle chill that brushes along my skin. It’s a heat, like a simmer that starts at the corners, slowly spreading through bone.
“Where you from, Everly Beaumont?”
“Here and there.” I pick up my cup and take a sip, casually avoiding going into too much detail.
“Here and there,” he repeats, rolling the words over like he’s weighing them. “Mysterious.”
“Not mysterious. Just private.”
“You got family here?”
“No. It’s just me and Luna, passing through.”
He raises a brow. “Passing through? You got business in town?”
Those alarm bells are chiming slightly louder.
There’s interested, and then there’s interested . Isaia? He’s just too interested, and I’m not sure I trust it. I can’t afford to—not if he was sent to find me.
“My friend seems to think you’re trouble,” I say, deflecting. “Are you?”
A shadow crosses his face, dark and dangerous. “Depends on what you consider trouble.”
“I consider intimidating men who wear leather jackets and suck up all the oxygen when they walk into a room to be the kind of danger they warn you about in thrillers—you know, the part where every instinct says ‘run,’ but you’re too damn curious to move.”
“Is that your way of saying you find me intriguing?”
“That’s my way of saying I don’t make a habit of sticking around to see how it ends.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t usually end well for girls like me.”
He slants a brow. “Girls like you?”
“Girls who attract trouble.”
“And what makes you think you attract trouble, Everly Beaumont?” Isaia's voice washes over me in an intoxicating wave. There’s a beat, a moment when our gazes are locked, the café buzz fading into the background.
“Experience,” I respond simply, looking away from him and back to my cooling coffee. “And men who like calling me by my first and last name are usually trouble. Plus, there’s my friend who’s still telepathically warning me to stay away from you.”
“Your friend doesn’t know me.”
“I have a feeling the entire city knows you…Isaia Del Rossa.”
I don’t miss how his eyes narrow a little, the slight surprise that settles on his dark brows. He wasn’t expecting me to know his full name, which is weird because evidently everyone knows who he is—except me.
Maybe I shouldn’t stick around.
“Well, thank you for the coffee.” I get up and smile. Even if he’s a man with ill intentions, everyone deserves a smile now and then. “I’ll see you around.”
“Definitely,” he replies, and I hear the promise in that one single word.
As I walk out, I can practically feel his eyes on me with every step I take.
Clearly, the Del Rossa name means something in this town, and I need to either pack my shit and leave or find out exactly who Isaia Del Rossa is.