Page 14 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

The car came to a slow stop on the cracked pavement. The building rose up like a scar—brick faded to gray, windows dead behind plywood, graffiti crawling down the walls. Anyone passing by would’ve written it off as another abandoned shell. But it was alive in all the ways that mattered.

The engine went still, and for a heartbeat, the car was swallowed in silence.

Enzo didn’t have to say a word—I could see it all over his face. He thought I was walking a wire without a net.

Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

My father’s voice still echoed, cold and heavy as a stone inside me.

I wasn’t naive; I’d always known he was capable of anything. I’d seen him make brutal choices—things most men wouldn’t even consider. The fact that I was his son had always been more of a technicality than a shield. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words, but they stung just as much.

Isabelle sat quietly beside me, her eyes narrowed as she took in the warehouse, her expression a mixture of caution and calculation.

She acted like she didn’t notice, but Isabelle was sharper than most men I knew.

The tension in the car was thick enough to taste, and she picked up every flavor of it.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the stifling afternoon sun. Her eyes locked with mine when I opened her door, steady and impossible to read.

“Welcome to the mess we call a safehouse,” I said with a shrug. “Trust me, it’s no prettier inside.”

She shot me a glance, then turned back to analyzing the building.

The heavy metal creaked, like it might snap in half, as Enzo pushed the door open.

Inside, fresh paint clung to the air. The polished floors and reinforced walls made it look like anything but the run-down facade it wore.

My small team was already gathered around the table in the middle, busy analyzing the information we collected on Parker and the Russians.

They’d been shocked when I first told them I’d married Isabelle—and that she’d be joining us.

No one said it out loud, but I’d seen it—every shift, every glance.

Now they were pretending it didn’t rattle them.

Heads down. Eyes on their work. But I caught the way Nina’s jaw ticked when we walked in.

Reid stiffened. Tony didn’t even look up.

They were trying to act like this was normal.

Like the Appointed DA walking into a room full of criminals was just part of the plan. It wasn’t. Until now.

Tony sat at the corner, hoodie half off his head, looking like he’d been molded into that chair. Social skills of a brick but sharper than a scalpel when it came to intel. Isabelle would figure that out quickly.

I nodded toward him. “Tony Rizzo. Best at digging up dirt. If it’s there, he’ll find it. If it’s not, he’ll find it anyway.”

Tony barely glanced up, muttering, “Pleasure, I guess,” before going back to his papers.

I turned to Nina, who stood there with the kind of presence that said she ran the place—and everyone in it.

“Nina Petrov. Ex-Russian spy. She handles the delicate stuff. And a heads-up, you don’t want her pissed off. ”

Not that she needed the warning—one look from Nina’s green eyes was enough. With her sleek dark hair and striking bone structure, she was as polished as she was dangerous.

She sized Isabelle up, calculating, probably wondering if she’d need to dispose of her by sundown.

“Good to meet you,” Nina said, her voice cool.

Next was Reid, who hadn’t peeled his eyes off his laptop in who knows how long. He had that permanent beach-bum thing going—messy hair, lazy beard—but the guy was lethal with a keyboard under all that.

“Reid Blackwell. Tech genius. If it’s digital, he’ll track it, wipe it, or plant something worse. Guy could ruin your life with a latte in one hand.”

Reid barely looked up, just raised a hand in greeting before going back to his hacking spree.

I turned my attention back to Isabelle. She didn’t speak, not right away. Just watched Tony work, as if she were trying to read the rhythm of the room before joining it.

She stepped closer to the table and hovered, her eyes tracking the notes in front of Tony.

He didn’t look up. Just pushed the folder toward her a few inches with the back of his hand.

“Go on,” he said. “If you see something, say it.”

She picked it up, and I didn’t miss the way Tony kept watching her from the corner of his eye.

“One of them is familiar,” Isabelle said after a while.

Tony looked up this time, scratching his graying beard, eyes narrowing with interest. “Which one?”

She traced the edges of the name on the page. “This one. I recognize it somehow, just not sure from where. Let me pull my old files—maybe there’s something there. ”

Nina’s eyes flicked from Tony back to Isabelle, her usual cool mask slipping just a touch. “You think there’s something there we can use?”

“Possibly,” Isabelle said, her confidence building. “If this guy’s the one I think he is, he’s probably covering for Parker. I just need to cross-reference with what I already know.”

Tony leaned back, genuinely impressed. “If you can dig up anything concrete, we could gain some leverage.”

For Tony, that was a standing ovation.

Reid finally tore his eyes from the screen. “You’re suggesting we comb through your old cases for leads?”

“Maybe it’s a dead end, but if we can connect these people to past cases, it might lead us to something worthwhile.”

Nina’s expression shifted, just a flicker softer. “Seems like you might be more useful than I thought.”

As the team dug deeper, I found my gaze drifting back to Isabelle, a small sense of reassurance settling in. Nina was giving her credit, Tony was listening, and even Reid had paused his typing a few times to take in what she was saying.

Isabelle wasn’t just keeping up—she was fitting in with my crew like she’d been part of this all along.

Maybe she was doing it just to get through this, to finish the job and put distance between us.

But hell, she was holding her own. And for the first time, I felt something close to relief: I’d made the right move bringing her in.

? ? ?

The drive back to the house was so quiet it hurt. Enzo didn’t say a word, and neither did we.

Isabelle was stiff and distant, fingers tapping away like she couldn’t sit still. There was something she wasn’t saying, something she was chewing on .

Finally, she turned to me, her expression dead serious. “Luca, we need to talk about Jake.”

It shouldn’t have caught me off guard, but his name cracked through me anyway.

Is she finally going to tell me that he is mine?

I’d been waiting for it, dying to hear her say it. But more than anything, I wanted to hear about Jake, to talk about him, to see him, and—maybe, if I dared to admit it—to be part of it all. But I kept my face neutral, forcing my expression steady.

“Alright. What about him?”

“I don’t want him staying with us.”

Wait—what?

Her words hit like a slap, and frustration flared up. “Why not? He’s your son. Shouldn’t he be with you?”

She shook her head. “Luca, my mom’s house is where he feels safe, where he’s comfortable. Ripping him out of that environment and bringing him into this… mess isn’t fair to him. I’ll see him, but having him live with us would only cause more damage.”

I gritted my teeth, fighting to stay cool. “Leaving him with your mom doesn’t make any sense.”

She fully turned to face me, her voice rising a little. “Have you ever even raised a kid? You can’t just shelve them when it’s inconvenient. He needs someone who’s there for him, day and night. Right now, that someone is my mom.”

I was ready to tear that apart, ready to throw back something sharp—but she nailed me with the truth.

I hated it, but she was dead-on. I’d never been there for anyone like that, didn’t know what it took to have a kid.

Hell, I barely knew where I stood myself most days, let alone where I’d stand as a father.

Maybe I couldn’t give Jake the stability he needed right now, and I had no business dragging him into this clusterfuck we called life.

But damn, I wanted to know my son. Was that selfish?

Probably, but it didn’t make me want it any less.

“My men will be around the house 24/7. If Jake isn’t going to be under my roof, I want eyes on him and your mother. All the time.”

It slipped out faster than I intended, but now that I knew about Jake? I’d be damned if I didn’t keep him safe. Hell, he could be the Antichrist for all I knew, but he was mine. And no one touched him.

Isabelle gave me a look. “Your guys hovering around them? Not happening. They’ll be fine without you turning my mom’s house into a fortress.”

Oh, she thinks this is a negotiation. How cute.

I gave her a nod and let her hold on to the illusion of control.

Reality? I’d put two men on watch outside her mom’s place before the FBI even cleared out—but two weren’t enough.

Not by a mile. She had no idea what I was prepared to do, and that’s exactly how it needed to stay.

If she even glimpsed half the thoughts running through my head, she’d check me into a psych ward herself.

Jake was going to have eyes on him, whether she agreed or not.

I’d have my men move in next door, pose as neighbors, watching his every step from close range.

They’d be there day and night, blending in, keeping tabs on anyone who so much as looked his way.

If it took buying out half the damn block to make it happen, so be it.

No one would get near him without going through me first.

I leaned back and folded my arms as I watched her. Stubborn as hell, no doubt, but the way she fought for Jake? I couldn’t help but respect it.

In the rearview mirror, Enzo’s eyes caught mine. One look, and we both knew what came next. We’d been through enough together to read each other like an open book. He gave a small nod—barely a movement, but enough to tell me he was already thinking two steps ahead.

Isabelle, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange, had no idea what I would do to keep Jake safe—or her, for that matter. And it was better that way. She was strong and independent, but what she thought didn’t matter. This was about protection, not permission.

I sank deeper into my seat, running through the logistics in my head. Enzo would handle it—he always did. No one would notice the extra security, the extra eyes in the shadows. Jake would be safe.

And Isabelle? She’d thank me later—probably after trying to rip my head off first.