Page 18 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

EVERLY

The smell of burnt coffee and grease clings to the air, heavy enough to coat the back of my throat.

A half-empty diner at sundown, neon signs buzzing above cracked vinyl booths, is the last place I thought I’d end up.

But here I am. Hands wrapped around a chipped mug that’s gone lukewarm, eyes flicking to the door every time it groans open.

The last place. That’s what this is. My last place. My last hope.

It shouldn’t be this hard to think of where to go or who to turn to.

But the truth is, I don’t have anyone. Not really.

There are the constant calls from Anthony, calls I ignore because why should I answer?

He already knows where I am. He’s always known—except for the island, and only because Isaia made sure of it.

Two powerhouses. Two men who could split the earth open if it meant pulling me to their side. I used to think it was protection. Now I know better. It’s possession. A war disguised as devotion, and I’m the battleground. For both of them.

At least Isaia never lied about who he was. From the start, he showed himself to be obsessive, jealous, over the top in ways that terrified me, consumed me, broke me open. He never once pretended to be anything else. And as hard as it was to live inside that storm, at least I knew it was real.

And now? I miss the storm.

I miss the way his eyes locked on me like I was oxygen.

The way his hand at my back felt like both a cage and an anchor.

The way his love—if you can even call it that—burned so hot it made the rest of the world fade to ash.

It was too much, too intense to be legal.

But I got high on it, over and over again.

He didn’t love me in pieces. He didn’t ration it out or keep it neat.

He devoured. He demanded. He destroyed. And God help me, I never felt more alive than when I was caught in his fire.

It scared me. Of course it did. But it also steadied me.

Because for all the ways he broke me open, he never once let me doubt that I was his.

Anthony never scared me like that. He was careful. Respectful. Always the safe choice. But safety looks different now. Safety feels like phone calls I don’t want to answer, secrets passed to my mother without my permission. Safety dressed up as loyalty, but now I know it’s always been a leash.

Now, I find myself longing for Isaia’s madness, because at least in the wreckage of him, I never wondered where I stood.

And sitting here now, staring into a mug of cold coffee, I’d give anything to feel that again.

To feel something that real—even if it burns.

But this is no longer just about me, about what I want.

It’s about something more. I place a hand on my stomach. Something precious.

Reality slides in, and I push the coffee away then lean back in my striped vinyl seat, hating that I’m alone.

After spending years not growing roots, after many friendships I let wither before they got too close, I’m finding myself in a place where the idea of being alone feels unbearable. I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t, which is why I chose to risk it by reaching out.

Across the diner, a little boy leans over the table, face smeared with chocolate, as his dad slides a spoonful of ice cream into his waiting mouth.

The mom laughs, her hand resting on the father’s wrist, and for a moment, the whole booth feels lit from the inside out.

They’re just sharing pie, eating sundaes, but the warmth between them is a universe.

My throat tightens. That’s what I want—for this baby. A family. A safe place. A reason to laugh without fear of what waits on the other side of it. But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to give my child that.

The door creaks open, and my pulse spikes, traitorous.

My head jerks up before I can stop it. For a second, my heart hammers like maybe it’ll be him—broad shoulders, dark eyes, leather jacket, storm walking straight toward me.

Part of me wants it to be. Part of me still hopes he’ll come through every door I look at.

But it’s not Isaia.

It’s the one person who managed to slip past my walls, who kept showing up even when I tried to shove her out. A friend I never thought I deserved, never thought I needed—until right now, when she’s standing in the doorway like some kind of lifeline I forgot I had.

“Molly.” Her name splinters out of me, raw, broken, and the tears come hard and fast. She doesn’t hesitate. She rushes toward me, and by the time I’m on my feet, I’m already sobbing. Her arms close around me, tight, certain, warm in a way I haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

Who knew the waitress I worked with at Ember & Bean would turn into the only lifeline I have left.

“Oh, Everly,” she coos, her hands in my hair as I soak her denim jacket with my tears. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

She leans back, gaze locking with mine, steady and unflinching.

“I’m going to help you through this, okay?

You’re not going through this alone. I promise.

” Her thumb sweeps across my cheek, catching tears I can’t stop.

“You need me to be soft, I’ll be soft. You need me to fight, I’ll be the fucking sword. Whatever it takes.”

I choke on a sob. “You don’t know what you’re promising. This life—it eats everything. Everyone. It won’t spare you just because you care about me.”

“Honey,” she whispers, lips quirking into the tiniest smile, “I don’t scare easily. And if I do, I sure as hell don’t run. If the fire comes, we’ll burn together. But you’re not doing this by yourself.”

Something shifts inside me then. A jagged crack, but not the hollow kind. It’s the tiniest sliver of light. Hope.

We slide into the booth by the window, the seats squeaking under us.

The family across the diner is still laughing, forks scraping against plates, the little boy smearing chocolate across his cheek while his parents grin like the mess is the best thing they’ve ever seen. My chest aches watching them.

Molly follows my gaze but doesn’t comment and stirs her coffee instead. “Tell me everything, and don’t leave anything out.”

So I do. I tell her everything. I cry, I swear, I get angry, I get scared—and still the words keep pouring out.

I tell her about my father cheating on my mother, about Michele blackmailing me into marrying Anthony.

About my mother always choosing my stepdad’s side.

About how Anthony’s friendship carried me through the darkest years of my life.

I tell her about Isaia storming the church, the gunshot that shattered everything, the island where he kept me close enough to breathe for both of us.

Every secret, every bruise, every lie—I give it all to Molly, not holding anything back. I’m done with lies. Done with secrets.

And not once does she flinch. Not once does she look at me with judgment—even when I tell her the worst part—the part where I forgave Isaia for killing my best friend. Forgave him without reason, without logic. Forgave him in a way I can’t explain, because I don’t even understand it myself.

“But this,” I say, my fingers knotting in the napkin, twisting until it threatens to tear, “I’m not sure I can forgive him for lying to me about Anthony. And even if I do, what does that say about me?”

She shrugs. “That you’re human. You breathe, you bleed, you love. There’s no rulebook that says you have to do things a certain way.”

I cock a brow. “It’s called the Bible.”

“I’m afraid not even the Bible can prepare you for loving a Del Rossa brother.”

I snicker, wiping away some lingering tears.

“Have you heard from him?”

I shake my head and swallow.

“You called him, though, right?”

“I tried to…once. Before I knew I was pregnant.” My finger finally tears through the white paper napkin.

“Anthony talked me out of it. Said Isaia would drag me back, that he’d never let me go.

I was raw, terrified, and I listened.” My voice dips.

“Isaia never called either. I don’t know what to think. ”

“Do you want to see him?”

“He’s the father of my child. I suppose I have to.”

Molly leans on the table, her eyes soft but sharp in that way only she can pull off. “I asked, do you want to see him? Forget about the pregnancy. What do you want, right now, this very moment?”

A hollow laugh slips out, then fades as longing throbs through me at the thought of being with him—seeing him, feeling him.

I lick my lips, allowing my mind to run wild with the idea.

“I want him to storm through those doors,” I murmur, hating the way it cuts.

“I want him to look at me like I’m the only fucking thing keeping him alive.

I want him to wrap me up so tight I forget what it feels like to be scared, what it feels like to be without him.

I want Isaia.” My voice cracks. “I love him so much, it hurts, Molly.”

I shake my head, swiping at tears. “God, what a cliché, right? You hear that line in movies, read it in books, but I never understood it until now. It actually hurts. In my chest, in my bones, like a bruise that never fades. I can’t breathe sometimes, because the love is too heavy to carry.”

Molly reaches across the table, her fingers slipping over mine. She doesn’t flinch at the mess I am, doesn’t look away. “That’s not cliché, Everly. That’s your truth. And it’s ugly and beautiful all at once.”

Tears burn my eyes. “It feels like I’m bleeding for him, and the worst part is—I’d keep bleeding if it meant I could still have him.”

“At least you’re not lying to yourself about it. You love him. You hurt for him. That’s real.”

“And so are his lies.” The words taste bitter. “His deception is real, too. He let me believe my best friend was dead. He let me cry for Anthony. Allowed me to mourn him while knowing he’s still alive. What kind of man does that?”

“A Del Rossa.” Molly doesn’t even blink. “Rules don’t apply to them. Whole damn world could be on fire, and they’d still make up their own.”

I let out a hollow laugh, bitter at the edges. “I thought…with me, he’d be different. That he could love me enough to change and leave this world behind because he knows how much I hate it.” I shrug, shoot her a half-hearted smile. “Guess I’m not done with the clichés.”

Molly tilts her head, eyes sharp in that way that always makes me feel like she sees more than I want her to. “If he changed…would he still be the man you fell in love with?”

The question cleaves through me, and I know the answer before she even finishes asking.

I fell for Isaia’s chaos. For the obsession that made me feel like the only woman alive.

For the darkness he didn’t bother to hide, the hunger that didn’t play by anyone’s rules but his own.

I fell for the way he looked at me like I was air, like he’d die without another breath if it didn’t come from my lungs.

For the way his hands on my body felt like both a warning and a promise—cage and anchor, restraint and surrender.

I fell for the danger in him, the violence simmering under his skin, because it meant I was the only one who could soften it.

I fell for his love because it wasn’t safe or neat or polite—it was fire, wild and reckless, scorching everything in its path.

And I let it scorch me. I wanted it to. Because no one else ever made me believe I could be someone’s whole world.

That’s Isaia. My undoing and my shelter. My monster and my salvation.

“I don’t know anything anymore. I’m afraid I no longer know the difference between right and wrong.”

Molly leans back, crosses her arms, and just looks at me. “Okay, then, riddle me this. If you’re so unsure, so torn up about it…why the hell are you here?”

My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

She gestures around us—the diner, the clatter of plates, the hum of life. “Chicago. His city. His family’s city. You could’ve gone anywhere. Anywhere. And you land here?”

“I came here because of you.”

“I’m flattered. Really, I am. But that’s bullshit.”

“I don’t—”

“You knew the odds of running into him here were great. Or at least one of his brothers, a Del Rossa wife, maybe.”

I swallow hard, heat prickling behind my eyes. “I didn’t… I just—I had nowhere else to go.”

“You chose here, Everly. You wanted to come here. Not for me. Sure as fuck not for the pizza.” The corners of her mouth curve upward. “You came here because of him.”

My chest tightens, breath stalling halfway, because she’s not wrong.

Molly rests her elbows on the table, her gaze pinning me like she can see straight through every wall I’ve tried to put up. “You came here because some part of you hopes he’d find you. Or that you’d find him.”

Tears blur my vision, the neon lights smearing into streaks of red and white. “Do you think I’m that pathetic? That after everything he’s done, I’d still want him to come crashing back into my life?”

“Pathetic?” She snorts softly. “No, babe. You’re a girl in love with a man who burns too hot for this world. You don’t just walk away from that and never look back. You don’t stop craving the fire just because you got scorched.”

“I don’t even know if I want to see him again. Half of me wants to run, and the other half…” My throat tightens. “The other half is already searching for him in every shadow.”

“Exactly.” Molly’s voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “You’re here because Chicago is his gravity, and you’re caught in the pull whether you want to admit it…or not.”

Molly’s words stick, and I can’t shake them.

She’s right. I knew exactly what I was doing when I got on that bus.

I knew Chicago wasn’t safe, not for me, not for the baby.

Isaia’s city. Isaia’s family’s city. Every block, every shadow carries the risk of running straight into him—or worse, into the enemies that follow him like vultures.

And still…I came.

I tell myself it’s because I had nowhere else to go, because Molly’s the only one I could call. But deep down, I know that’s not the whole truth. I came here because part of me wanted the risk. Because part of me would rather stand in the middle of Isaia’s fire than keep drowning in silence.

It makes me reckless. It makes me weak. But it also makes me his. And suddenly, it’s like I feel him. Like he’s close. Like his gaze is warm breath against my cold skin, the back of my neck prickling with awareness.

I look out the window, into the darkness—wishing, hoping, longing for him to be there. The idea of him watching me—fuck—it thrills me in ways it definitely shouldn’t. This is not a game anymore, not with a baby involved.

But I can’t deny it. Wondering if he’s out there, somewhere among the beat-up cars and broken streetlights, it stirs me alive in a way only my husband can.

“Isaia…”