Chapter 30
EVERLY
T he estate looms like something out of a dream, or perhaps a fairytale. It’s breathtaking in its opulence—a sprawling mansion surrounded by immaculately manicured gardens that glow under the soft shimmer of strategically placed lights.
The driveway stretches endlessly, lined with a fleet of expensive cars that glitter like jewels in the dim evening light. The air itself feels different here, humming with an aura of wealth and power so tangible it’s almost oppressive.
This is where the rules are written, bent, or broken entirely.
Isaia pulls the Ferrari to a smooth stop in front of the grand entrance, and before I can fully absorb the grandeur, a valet is already opening my door.
Isaia steps out first, his commanding presence drawing the attention of everyone nearby, and then he’s there, offering me his hand. I take it, my palm resting against his, and the heat of his touch grounds me as I step out, the soft fabric of my dress brushing against my legs.
“I’m not gonna lie,” I start. “I’m slightly nervous and a lot intimidated.”
“Don’t be. You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”
He slides an arm around my waist and pulls me close, searing my lips with a kiss that could melt through bone. He owns my mouth, his tongue tracing over mine with a fiery mastery that leaves me gasping when he finally releases me.
“Before this night is over,” he murmurs, “I’m fucking you in that dress.” The raw promise causes a rush of something hot and liquid through my bones, and I place my hand on his chest, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.
“God, you’re so romantic,” I tease.
“Only for you,” he drawls, the sound like smooth whiskey over ice.
We walk up the sweeping staircase, each step leading farther into his world, a world that’s all dark corners and forbidden secrets, as intoxicating as it is dangerous.
The inside is even more extravagant than the outside. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings of the grand ballroom, their golden glow casting the room in a warm, ethereal light. Every detail, from the marble floors to the intricately carved woodwork, screams wealth.
Men in sharply tailored suits and women draped in designer gowns move through the space, sipping champagne and exchanging veiled smiles. But beneath the surface, the air crackles with tension.
This isn’t just a fundraiser; it’s a stage for power plays, a silent war of dominance fought with whispered deals and measured gazes.
Isaia keeps me close, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. The heat of it seeps through the fabric of my dress, steadying me as my eyes dart across the room, taking in the grandeur. But the deeper we move into the crowd, the more eyes Isaia’s presence demands.
Some gaze at me with frank curiosity, their eyes like knives probing delicate skin, while others avoid my gaze, their fear of Isaia palpable.
He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Breathe, baby girl.”
“It’s kind of hard to when everyone’s looking at us.”
His hand slides an inch lower on my back. “They’re wondering who you are, why you’re here. They’re trying to figure out if they should envy me, fear me…or both.”
I glance up at him, my cheeks heating. “Envy you?”
“I told you, you’re the most beautiful woman in this room. Of course, they envy me. They’d give anything to be the one with you on their arm.” He pulls me tighter to his side, his eyes pinned on mine. “But I’ll bleed them dry before they get a chance.”
It’s an explicit declaration of ownership, and though a part of me chafes at the possessiveness threading through them, another—more primal, less reasonable—thrills at the undertone of protectiveness.
It’s maddening, this duality of wanting to push against his control while feeling undeniably safer within it.
We stop at a small circle of people, and it takes me a moment to realize who they are. Isaia’s family.
Nicoli and Alexius stand side by side, their identical features and sharp gazes impossible to ignore. They’re striking in the way only men who know their power can be, but there’s an edge to Alexius, a steeliness that sets him apart.
Nicoli’s wife, Mirabella, is the first to greet me. Her warm smile and sparkling eyes immediately put me at ease.
“You must be Everly. You’re causing quite the stir, you know. Half the women here are glaring at you, and half the men are plotting ways to take Isaia’s place.”
“Let them try,” Isaia quips and eases me further into him.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Everly,” she says.
“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you, too.” My energy feels small in comparison to hers, and her warmth is infectious.
Leandra, Alexius’s wife, steps forward next. She’s regal in an almost intimidating way, but her smile softens her sharp features. “Isaia’s plus-one. You’re braver than I thought.”
“Braver?” I ask, my brow arching.
“Isaia’s a handful,” she replies, shooting him a knowing look. “But I suppose you already know that.” There’s no mistaking the edge in her tone—something I can’t quite place.
“So, this is the woman who’s got our little brother’s balls in a twist. I’m Caelian,” he says, his tone laced with mischief. “I’m the fun one. The rest of them are all just boring assholes with sticks up their asses.”
I chuckle at that, Isaia just glaring at his brother, unamused.
His wife, Giana, rolls her eyes but smiles. “Don’t mind him. He lives to be obnoxious.”
“It’s true,” Caelian admits, unrepentant. “And she loves every obnoxious bone in my body…pun intended.”
“God, you’re such a child,” Giana quips.
Despite the weight of the event and the sheer intimidation factor of the Del Rossas, the warmth of their wives surprises me.
Mirabella and Leandra engage me in conversation, telling me about the twins, and Nicoli and Mirabella’s newborn baby girl, Natalie. And how Caelian is trying to keep Giana away from the kids so she doesn’t get any ideas.
Giana leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You look stunning, by the way. Isaia has good taste.”
The compliment eases the tension in my chest. “Does Caelian pick out your dresses, too?”
“They all do,” Mirabella chimes in. “It’s a Del Rossa thing. They want the world to see that we belong to them—stunning, untouchable, and completely out of reach.” She glances at Nicoli like she’s ready to devour him. “I love how possessive they are.”
Before I can respond, the air around us shifts. A new arrival steps into the ballroom, and though I don’t see him immediately, I feel the change. It’s subtle, like a ripple in still water, but unmistakable. When I glance over, nerves erupt along every inch of my skin.
“Anthony,” I whisper.
Isaia’s grip on my waist tightens almost imperceptibly, his body going rigid beside me. I can feel the heat of his anger radiating off him in waves, each more intense than the last, but his face remains a mask of cold, controlled indifference. To anyone else, he’d look calm—composed, even—but I know better. Beneath the surface, he’s a storm waiting to explode.
Across the room, Anthony’s gaze moves steadily over the crowd, his expression open, polite—every inch the charming man I’ve always known him to be.
He pauses briefly to greet someone, with a slight incline of his head and a handshake before his eyes find us. His lips curve into a warm, easy smile that feels more like an invitation than a challenge, and I find myself relaxing despite Isaia’s growing tension.
As Anthony strides toward us, his steps measured but unhurried, the air between Isaia and me grows heavier.
Isaia’s hand shifts slightly on my back, his palm pressing against the fabric of my dress.
Anthony stops in front of us, his smile widening slightly.
“Isaia,” he greets. “Everly. You look stunning tonight.”
Isaia snakes his arm further around me, gripping my hip—a sign of ownership as Anthony’s gaze drops to where Isaia’s hand is.
“Thank you.” I smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“It seems the Del Rossas have a way of ensuring everyone who’s anyone shows up, don’t they?” His gaze flicks to Isaia, lingering for a moment before returning to me. “But I must say, seeing you here is the highlight of my night.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Isaia beats me to it, his tone edged with something unmistakably territorial. “You’re wasting your time, Paladino.”
Anthony raises a brow, unbothered, his tone calm but pointed. “Just making conversation, Isaia. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
“Not with her, it’s not.”
“Actually, Everly, I was hoping for a moment to talk. Just the two of us.”
“That’s not happening,” Isaia growls.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Anthony snaps, yet his eyes are on me.
I look between the two of them, the weight of Isaia’s hand on my back grounding me while Anthony’s steady, unwavering gaze holds me in place. I clear my throat, summoning as much composure as I can manage.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, glancing up at Isaia. “Anthony’s my friend.”
Isaia scoffs. “Friends don’t look at friends the way he’s looking at you,” he remarks without taking his eyes off Anthony.
“It’s just a conversation, Isaia,” I say, then turn to Anthony. “Ten minutes. Come on.”
Anthony smiles, then holds out his arm for me to take. It’s a sly move to get under Isaia’s skin, so I grab a glass of champagne from a waiter, pretending to miss the gesture.
I glance back at Isaia, his dark, unforgiving gaze tracking my every step, a storm raging in his eyes. It sends a shiver down my spine, the intensity of his focus like a physical tether pulling me back toward him. Even as I walk away with Anthony, the air around me feels heavy and charged, as if Isaia’s presence is still wrapped around me, a silent, inescapable claim.
Anthony leads me to a quieter corner, his usual charm replaced by something darker. His jaw tightens, and his eyes dart toward Isaia, who watches us like a predator ready to pounce.
When Anthony finally speaks, his tone is low, urgent. “What are you doing with him, Everly? Do you even know what kind of man he is?”
“My personal life is none of your business.” I cross my arms, refusing to let his tone shake me, though the weight of his concern is unsettling.
“How deep are you?”
“What do you mean?”
Concern paints his features. “How deep are you with the Del Rossas? If you’re trapped, I can help you.”
“I’m not?—”
“We can leave right now, and I’ll take you with me back to New York. Keep you safe from that family.”
“What? No.” I frown. “I’m not trapped, Anthony.”
He steps closer, and from the corner of my eye, I see Isaia wanting to rush over, but Alexius places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“Anthony, I’m fine. I don’t need help,” I press.
“Why didn’t you tell me Michele tried to have you kidnapped?”
My heart slams down into the soles of my feet. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“What? Everly, I worry about you every day.”
I place a palm on my forehead, and I’m sure it’s Isaia’s gaze currently burning a hole in my back. “Anthony, I’m fine. You do not have to worry about me.”
“Your stepdad tried to kidnap you twice?—”
“Wait…what?” My blood runs cold. “Twice? I only knew about the time at the restaurant.”
“There was another attempt,” he says grimly. “But Isaia got to the guy just in time. Slit his throat like a fucking savage. A gun is just as efficient, if you ask me.”
My stomach churns, my chest tightening under the weight of his words. I knew Isaia wasn’t a good man. I’ve always known he’s capable of violence, that his world is built on blood and power. But hearing this—knowing he ended someone’s life to protect me—makes it all too real.
Anthony’s voice breaks through the turmoil. “The other night, I got an invite to Club Myth.”
“Club Myth?” The Dark Sovereign’s playground.
“Isaia wanted me there so he could make it clear that you’re off-limits, like we’re in a fucking pissing contest over you. He’s not who you think he is. Isaia isn’t a man who protects people out of kindness or love. He does it out of control. Possession. You can’t trust him, Everly. He’s dangerous.”
Doubt creeps in, insidious and sharp, slithering into the cracks of my resolve.
The image of Isaia—the man who broke into my house to leave me a dress, who kissed me with a fierceness that felt like truth—suddenly feels more complicated. A darker edge to the intensity I’ve craved from him.
But then I remember the way his touch steadies me, the way his presence shields me from the chaos of my life. The way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. And something inside me rebels against Anthony’s words, refusing to let them take root.
“I think I can decide who I trust,” I say firmly.
His expression tightens, a mix of exasperation and disappointment. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Everly. And I don’t think you understand the stakes.”
“I’m not a pawn in anyone’s game—not Rinaldi’s, not yours, and not Isaia’s.”
“You’ve never been a game to me. You know that.” There’s an urgency in his tone. “I have always put our friendship first—put you first. You’re in too deep with these people. Let me get you out of this before it’s too late.”
“I understand why you feel this way, Anthony. I do. But Isaia isn’t just what you see on the surface. He’s…”
“Dangerous,” Anthony finishes for me, his tone grim. “And you’re ignoring it because you think he’s different for you. But men like Isaia don’t change. I’m sorry, Everly, but I’m not going to stand by and watch this man ruin your life.”
The warning penetrates deep, the sheer look of concern in Anthony’s eyes causing my pulse to thrum between my ears.
Am I in too deep?
With Isaia, it’s never simple—he’s chaos and danger wrapped in something intoxicating, something I can’t seem to let go of no matter how much sense it would make. Isaia’s world is a labyrinth of violence and control, where every turn feels like it could lead to ruin. But so is Anthony’s.
So is my stepdad’s.
It’s like fate has already decided that this is the world I belong in, and no matter the choices I make, all paths eventually lead to the same place for me. Whether it’s Anthony, Michele…or Isaia.
So the real question isn’t if I’m in too deep—it’s whether I’d ever choose to climb out.
For a second, I meet Anthony’s gaze, then gently take his hand. “You have always been a good friend to me, and I appreciate how much you care. I really do. But you can’t keep protecting me because you think it’s what I need, even when I tell you it’s not.”
“Everly—”
“Despite what you might think, I’m not trapped. I’m with Isaia…because I want to be.”
Hurt flashes in his eyes. “Everly, I can't just stand by and watch you self-destruct.”
“I’m not self-destructing. I’m choosing.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Then it’s my mistake to make.” I go on my toes and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I need you to respect that.” And then I walk away.
Across the room, Isaia’s dark eyes lock on mine, and the storm brewing there is nothing short of terrifying—and thrilling. Every step I take toward him feels like crossing a threshold, and by the time I’m close enough for his hand to claim my waist again, I know there’s no turning back.