Page 42 of Entwined Lies (Entwined #1)

Luca

I used to trust my gut more than anything—years of betrayal would do that to a person. Lately, though, my instincts hadn’t just been whispering. They’d been screaming like the damn building was on fire. This morning? They’d damn near knocked me off my feet.

I was pouring my coffee when I caught Isabelle’s voice drifting in from the living room.

I moved closer, my steps silent against the marble.

Old habits die hard. Walking silently had been beaten into me as a kid, survival training, courtesy of my old man.

He always said that being noticed could mean death. Funny how that lesson never left me.

She faced the window, one arm crossed over her waist, gripping her own side like she didn’t trust her body to stay steady. Phone to her ear. Eyes somewhere far off.

“Is there any chance he found it?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but it carried just enough urgency to make my gut twist.

I paused, my senses on high alert.

Who? Found what?

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, nodding, her tone softer now. “Just… call me if you catch anything.”

The call ended, but she didn’t move. Shoulders drawn tight. Phone still clutched as if it had more to say.

I stood there, mug in hand. Warmth crept up my fingers, unnoticed until it almost hurt. Until it demanded attention .

I shifted my weight and tapped my foot against the floor—just enough to announce myself.

She turned on her heels. Her eyes widened for a second before her smile slid into place.

“Who was that?” I asked, voice casual, though I couldn’t shake the unease settling in my gut.

“Oh, just my mom,” she said, far too quickly. “She wanted to talk about Jake, she worries about every little thing. He’s been having some trouble at school lately, and she’s convinced he’s not getting enough sleep. Honestly, I told her it’s probably nothing, but you know how she is.”

The details started spilling out—how Jake had mentioned missing a book for his project, how her mom was complaining about his eating habits, how she’d asked if he was spending too much time on his tablet.

It was the kind of detail that was meant to sound convincing, but to me, it was too much. As if she were trying to drown the silence in facts—keep me from cutting into what actually mattered.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded slowly. “And worrying’s just… her thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Isabelle laughed. Her fingers fidgeted at her side, smoothing over her dress. “You know how she is. Can’t go five minutes without overthinking everything.”

Actually, I didn’t know. I’d never even met the woman, and Isabelle wasn’t exactly chatty when it came to Jake or her mother.

I kept my face neutral and held her gaze, searching for some sign, some crack in the story. Nothing she said screamed lie. But still—something was off.

“Right.” I pulled her in, trying to convince myself I believed her. “I’m sure that’s all it was.”

She leaned into me. Her hands were shaking—barely, but I felt it. Fingers curling into my shirt like she was holding on for balance, or maybe just to keep herself from falling apart.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Scared that all of this… everything with Parker, is going to put Jake and my mom in danger. I just want them to be safe.”

“He’s safe, Siren. I promise.” I tilted her chin up until she looked at me. “I bought the house next door. I’ve got men there. Always. They’re watching. Making sure your mom and Jake are safe.”

Her eyes went wide, tears clinging to her lashes. “You… you did that for us?”

I gave her a small nod. “I said I’d protect you. That means everyone you love. That means all of it.”

When Enzo had told me the night before that Parker knew about Jake, I increased the security measures.

I’d doubled the men at the house overnight, bumping it from four to eight without blinking an eye.

And that wasn’t all—we’d already started negotiations to rent the house across the street.

And by ‘negotiations,’ I mean offering a generous price tag and making it clear we’d prefer to avoid any unpleasantness.

Seems the neighbors got the hint. People usually do when they’re given a choice between cash and chaos.

But as I stood there with Isabelle trembling in my arms, I couldn’t help but think that none of it was enough. Parker knowing about Jake changed everything.

“You know, if you want, we can move them here.”

“No.” Her protest was immediate. “I mean… I trust you, but I don’t want to turn their life upside down more than it already is.”

She stared at me, her eyes searching mine, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tell if it was gratitude or guilt swimming in them. Knowing my luck, it was probably a bit of both. But I kept my mouth shut, didn’t push.

Her body relaxed a little, but my mind was racing, with that familiar voice in the back of my head whispering that something didn’t add up.

I’d seen too much, heard too many lies, to brush off the feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling me.

Maybe I was being paranoid, or maybe my gut was right.

Either way, I’d keep my eyes open. Because if there was one thing I’d learned, it’s that the truth always has a way of bleeding through the cracks.

The day dragged on, and Isabelle became more unraveled by the minute. It was like watching a fuse burn down—dangerous and inevitable. Every time I glanced her way, I could see her carefully constructed mask slipping a little more, the cracks spreading.

Reid was off in his own world, buried in data, feeding whatever scraps he could find into Isabelle’s laptop. But whenever she checked the screen, something flickered across her face. Fear. Dread. Like she already knew the punchline, and it wasn’t a good one.

Chrissy and Enzo’s efforts had turned up squat, which wasn’t helping the mood.

The lack of progress hung over us like a storm cloud—thick, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

She’d been pacing the living room for nearly an hour, shuffling the same stack of magazines around like that might fix something, then adjusting the curtains again, like they’d moved out of place on their own.

Every rustle, every fidget scraped against my nerves. It wasn’t just her anxiety—it was the way it spilled out, got into the walls, the air, under my skin.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Sitting still, saying nothing—it was eating me alive.

“Get dressed,” I said, sharper than I meant.

She blinked, eyes wide. “What?”

“We’re going out. Dinner. Just… get ready. ”

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was pure desperation, but I had to try. Because watching her fall apart while I stood still wasn’t something I could do anymore.

Her eyes flicked up, hesitation written all over her face—but she didn’t fight me. She didn’t say anything. Just disappeared into the bedroom.

I waited until she was out of sight and let out a breath, running a hand down my face.

What the fuck was I thinking? A night out wasn’t going to solve any of this. Not even close.

She reappeared from the bedroom, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

That dress clung to her like sin—white, fitted, proper on the surface, but slit just high enough to be a threat.

Her blond hair fell around her shoulders, making her look like an angel.

But it was her eyes that did it—those green eyes that had haunted me for over a decade.

They pinned me in place, like I was some helpless insect caught under glass, completely at her mercy.

And right then, it hit me—hard. She was it .

She’d always been it. No matter how many times I’d lied to myself about how this was just temporary, some passing phase, my brain clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

Who was I kidding? I’d known it ever since I woke up to an empty bed twelve years ago, but too stubborn to admit it.

I was screwed. Properly, royally screwed. But I didn’t even care. Because the truth was, she wasn’t temporary. She was the only thing that had ever felt real in a world that never stopped lying.

I should’ve said something. Anything. But I just stood there like an idiot, hands at my sides, mouth useless—until she finally broke the silence for me.

“Ready? ”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “You look incredible.”

She didn’t smile, just gave a small nod, as if letting her guard down for even a second might make everything unravel.

And that’s when I understood—she wasn’t putting on this act for me.

She was doing it for herself. It was her armor, the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

All the forced smiles, the bravado, the calm she pretended to have—it wasn’t for my benefit. She needed it.

Maybe she thought if she acted fine long enough, the fear would just…

go. Like she could lie to herself until she believed it.

But it was still there. And she was still pretending.

God, I knew that feeling all too well. That need to keep it together, to pretend the cracks weren’t there, because once you let them show, once you admitted how close you were to breaking, there was no going back.

In the car, she seemed more at ease. For about five minutes—until she started glancing around, fingers tapping against her thigh in time with some invisible clock.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she answered a little too quickly.

Bullshit. But I let it go. For now.

We reached the restaurant, and the smells came first—garlic, sweet basil, aged wine, all curling through the air like an invitation.

This place always had a way of pulling me in.

Trees in their clay pots, strings of tiny lights tucked into the branches.

That soft, dim lighting that made the world feel far away.

The velvet hugged us as we slid into the booth, all deep red and quiet luxury.

Isabelle reached for her glass, tracing the rim without looking at it. Her eyes moved—from the candle’s flame, to the arched entrance, back to the table. Never still.

“Any news on Ivanov?” she asked, not quite meeting my gaze.

“Not much. Why? ”

“I just want to make sure we’re safe.”

“It’s handled. You don’t need to worry.”

She smiled like she believed me, but her body told a different story—still wound up, still waiting to break.

For the rest of the dinner, she put on a good show. Bright smile, easy laughter, every word exactly where it was supposed to be. But her fingers betrayed her. She never stopped fidgeting. Not once.

When we stepped outside, her gaze shot upward. Toward the rooftops.

“Expecting Batman?” I asked, keeping it light, even though my gut twisted.

Whatever she was hiding, it wasn’t small. That much was obvious now. And if she didn’t tell me soon, I’d dig it up myself. The hard way. And that? That never ended well for anyone.