Chapter 3
THREE
ANTHONY
Conversations hum around us in the restaurant, glasses clink, cutlery taps against porcelain, but it all fades into the background the longer I sit here. The kind of place where deals are made without anyone ever realizing one just happened.
I should be paying attention to what Lucien is saying, but instead, I’m staring at the whiskey in my glass, rolling it about and watching the liquid catch the light.
“You’re not listening.”
I glance up, meeting my cousin’s unimpressed stare. “I am.” A lie. I’m not.
“You’re not,” Lucien says, not missing a beat. “I just outlined three possible routes the Dragunoviks are using to move product through Brooklyn, and you didn’t react once.”
I take a slow drink, letting the burn settle something restless in my chest. “That’s because I already know. It’s not news to me.”
Lucien huffs. “Bullshit.”
A faint smirk pulls at my mouth. “Fine. I wasn’t listening.”
“No shit.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, watching me as if I’ve personally offended him. “What is with you these past days? You’ve not been yourself. You’re distracted, and I need to know why.”
I can’t tell him why. I can’t tell anyone what’s occupying my mind.
I’ve never spoken of the depth of my relationship with Isabella.
It wasn’t just fucking as they all believe.
It was so much more than that. But that didn’t mean anything, not now.
Not when it ended as toxic as it did. “I’m here, aren’t I? ”
“Physically.” His gaze sharpens. “Mentally, you’re somewhere else, and that could be dangerous. It could lead to mistakes.”
He’s not wrong, and it irritates me he’s astute enough to notice.
Not that Lucien doesn’t notice everything.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that’s been sitting under my skin since I walked in.
Not that it isn’t right. Since I saw Isabella on the street a couple of days ago.
“The Russians are making noise, but we’ll deal with it,” I say.
“They’re doing more than making noise.” Lucien leans forward now, his voice dropping just enough to keep it between us. “They’re undercutting. Moving in where they shouldn’t be.”
I nod once, finally focusing on something relevant. “We knew they would, but they won’t win.”
“And if they do win? What then?”
I don’t answer immediately, because we both know what comes after that.
War.
Not the quiet kind we’ve been managing for years.
Not well-ordered, not calculated, and unknown to authorities, but something bloodier, harder to contain or hide in a city like New York.
“They won’t get that far,” I say eventually, not entirely certain what I’m saying is true.
“We’ll push back, and they’ll back off.”
Lucien watches me, and I can see he doesn’t believe anything I’m saying. “You sound very sure of that.” He downs his drink. “You think they’ve got help?” Lucien asks, reading my silence like he always does.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I say.
“And who would be stupid enough to align with them?”
Before I can answer, the door to the bar opens. I don’t look right away, but I feel it. That shift in the room. Subtle, but it's there. Enough to pull my attention whether I want it to or not. So I look. And there she is.
Isabella.
Everything else falls away for a second. The noise, the conversation, the weight of everything we've just discussed. Gone. Just like that.
She steps inside like she owns the place, composed and untouchable.
Same as always, but there’s something different about her now.
She’s harder. The soft features I once adored are shrewd and guarded.
Like she’s stripped away whatever softness that used to exist and left only the parts that survive.
Or maybe I’m just seeing her clearly for the first time. I’d been blinded by her, fooled once before. There was no limit to her deceptions.
The man beside her leans in, saying something I can’t hear. Richard is his name. I know exactly who he is. Since seeing her back in New York, I’ve made it my business to know the men around her. He looks comfortable. Too comfortable, and my jaw tightens.
“Anthony.” Lucien’s voice pulls at me, but I don’t look away. Isabella hasn’t seen me yet. Her focus is on Richard, on whatever he’s saying, and something tight coils low in my chest that I can’t ignore.
“Don’t make a scene,” my cousin says quietly. A warning if ever I heard one.
“I won’t.”
“You want to explain why she’s always capable of making you forget to function?”
I drag my attention back to Lucien, picking up my glass just to give myself something to do. “Drop it.”
He sighs and checks something on his phone when it pings. “One day you’re going to have to explain. I don’t need whatever happened between you two to get messy.”
I tune Lucien out, or at least I try to. He keeps talking about routes, shipments, and leverage, but I don’t care. I can’t seem to care about anything when my past is around me. All five-foot-nine, green-eyed beauty that she still clearly is.
I don’t need to look at her to know where she is. I track her movement without meaning to. The way she sits, the way she shifts, the way she leans just slightly toward Richard when he speaks.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Was it serious between her and this Richard? They’ve been dating for two months and seem quite comfortable and at ease around each other.
I fucking hate the guy.
I look away again, scanning the room, trying to reset, and I clock Isabella stand. She smooths her dress down, then says something to Richard before heading toward the bar.
Alone.
My grip tightens on my glass. Don’t move. I do anyway. “I’ll be back,” I mutter, already pushing up from my bar stool.
“Anthony, whatever you’re thinking of doing…don’t,” my cousin warns, not even bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
I ignore him and head toward the bar, keeping my pace steady, measured. Like this isn’t intentional. Like I’m not drawn to her whether I want to be or not. She turns as if she’s forgotten something at her table, and we run into each other.
Her eyes lock on mine, assessing and familiar in a way that hits harder than it should.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
We just look at each other. And it feels like nothing’s changed.
Like the years that we’ve been apart don’t exist. Like the damage, the betrayal, the history, none of it matters in this one suspended moment.
Then I remember what she’s capable of. What her family can do. What Matteo did to Briar and Elio to Dallen.
Fucking bastards. The lot deserve to burn in hell.
Her expression hardens. Mine follows suit. I step aside, and she does the same. We pass each other without a word. No acknowledgment. No further reaction.
Nothing.
Like we’re strangers.
I order a drink and lean against the bar as I wait.
I turn and take in the room, already knowing what I’ll see.
She’s seated again. Back with him. Leaning slightly toward him as he speaks, like she’s interested, like she’s engaged, like I wasn’t just standing inches from her a moment ago.
It’s all a fucking show. She’s as false as they come.
She can pretend all she likes that this Richard guy has her attention, but I know she’s as affected as I am when we’re close. We shouldn’t be, we’re not suited. Not anymore. We’re each other’s fucking kryptonite.
“Your beer, sir,” the barman says, moving on to others waiting.
I pick up my glass and head back to my table to try to refocus on what Lucien was talking about earlier.
“So,” Lucien says, watching me far too closely, “that looked intense.”
“It wasn’t anything.”
“Right.” He smirks and finishes his drink.
I don’t engage. I can’t. Because my attention is once again dragged back to Isabella, whether I like it or not. I watch her without meaning to. The way she moves. The way she speaks. The way she exists is like I don’t matter.
A new sensation for me, and one I don't like now that I’m living it. I set my glass down harder than I mean to, the sound angrier than I intended.
“Anthony.” Lucien’s tone is a whispered warning.
I don’t answer. Because she’s moving again. She says something to Richard and starts toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. He nods, barely paying attention, and she walks away. The idiot should know better than to leave her alone.
My decision is immediate. “I’ll be back.” I follow, not rushing, not hesitating, keeping enough distance that it doesn’t look obvious, but not enough to lose her.
She disappears down the hallway, and the noise of the restaurant fades the farther I go, replaced by something quieter. More private. More dangerous. I try a door, and it’s unlocked. I open it, and it’s a storage room, big enough for a little private conversation.
I wait for her to return, and the moment she steps past, I clasp her arm, hauling her into the darkened space before she has time to scream. “Enjoying your night?” I ask, holding my hand over her mouth.
She stills in my arms and attempts to bite my palm. The feel of her lips, her teeth, makes my cock hard, and I hate that I react to her in this way. “Calm down, Bells. I won’t hurt you… Yet,” I warn.