Page 26 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

ISAIA

The voicemail ends, and the silence that follows is just too fucking loud.

I toss my phone, aiming for the coffee table, but miss, and it lands on the floor.

As it clatters on the polished oak, I draw a ragged breath.

My chest’s heaving as if I ran here. My hands won’t stop shaking.

And her words echo in my head, still spilling through me—about how the baby’s grown, how she feels the kicks now, how her dresses barely zip.

She tells it like I’m not there. But I am. She just doesn’t know it.

I’ve seen it. All of it. The way her palm drifts to her stomach when she thinks no one’s watching.

The tender circles she rubs there while she browses the cereal aisle like she’s not glowing, like she’s not the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

I’ve watched her linger in front of the mirror, turning side to side, studying the curve of her bump, biting her lip like she can’t believe it’s real. My child. Our child.

And I can’t touch her. I can’t fucking touch her, and it’s killing me. Slowly.

“Fuck!” I throw the glass, and bourbon arcs through the air, shards detonating against the bookshelf, glittering across the spines of books.

The library smells like old paper and spilled liquor. This isn’t my space, it’s the family’s, a monument to generations of men who carved out an empire in blood and ink. I’m just sitting here rotting in it, using it as a coffin because it’s quiet, and it reminds me of her.

She loves books.

Even now, I can picture her curled up with one, brow furrowed, lips moving when she thinks no one’s watching. Except now it’s not her guilty-pleasure smut—now it’s pregnancy guides, parenting manuals. She’s still building a future, even if I’m not in it.

I grab the bottle this time, skip the glass. The bourbon’s harsh, bitter, burning all the way down, but it’s not enough to cauterize the wound. Nothing is.

The door creaks open, and I loll my head back. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Jesus. You look like shit.” Maximo leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression flat in that way only he can manage. His eyes scan the broken glass, the wreckage of me, and he lets out a low whistle. “I’ve seen corpses with more color in their cheeks.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I mutter, tipping the bottle back again.

“Not exaggerating.” He steps inside, gaze sweeping over me like I’m evidence at a crime scene.

“Shirt’s wrinkled, you’ve got more stubble than a hedge, and you smell like a distillery jerked off all over you.

” His mouth ticks in that cruel little grin.

“Hell, if you keeled over right now, we wouldn’t even need to stage the body. You’re halfway to the morgue already.”

“Then bury me and be done with it.”

He snorts. “Don’t tempt me. I’d have to carry you, and you’re a heavy bastard.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can’t. You’ve got a guest.”

I glare at him over the bottle’s rim. “Not in the mood for your jokes.”

“Not joking.” He ambles closer, plants himself against the edge of the desk like he owns it. “And before you ask, no—you don’t get to kill him.”

My brows snap together. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means Alexius and I had a little chat, and we agreed. You need to see this person.”

“None of you know what the fuck I need.”

Maximo’s grin widens, all teeth and no mercy. “Swear you won’t kill him, and I’ll let him in.”

My laugh comes out dark, jagged. “That’s a big fucking assumption—that I’m capable of promising restraint.”

“Then don’t promise.” He shrugs. “Just…try not to make me mop blood off the hardwood tonight.”

The bourbon sloshes in the bottle as I slam it down on the table. “Fine. Whatever. Bring in your sacrificial lamb.”

Maximo straightens, eyes glinting with something smug. “Good boy.”

“Fuck you.”

He stops next to me on his way to the door. “Give me your gun.”

I raise a brow. He doesn’t budge.

With a huff, I pull the weapon out from behind me and shove it into his hand.

“I love how you think I need a gun to kill whoever this is. I’ve got a marble bust heavy enough to crack a skull.

A letter opener sharper than a blade. Hell, I could drown him in a glass of 1942 and toast while I do it.

You really think emptying my holster is gonna make a difference? ”

“What kind of parent would I be if I made it easy for you? Now fucking behave.”

The door creaks wider, slow like it’s teasing me, the shadows stretching long across the rug. Heavy footsteps hit the floor just outside, the steady thump of a cane dragging a beat behind. That sound…the gods must be fucking with me right now.

Anthony.

“Motherfucker.” My fingers curl into fists on instinct as I leap to my feet, chair screeching back hard enough to gouge the rug.

Every muscle screams to break him, to put his face through the nearest shelf.

The sight of him in this house—in my space—feels like someone poured gasoline straight into my goddamn veins.

Maximo slams a palm to my chest, shoving me back a stride.

“Easy, Cujo. This is a library, not a kennel. Don’t start foaming at the mouth.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” My voice comes out shredded, guttural.

Maximo smirks, though his grip on me tightens. “See, that’s the thing—I like these walls blood-free. And Alexius already gave his word that this SOB will walk out of here today alive.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my brother’s word.”

“But I do. So do not make me kick your ass.”

My glower tears from Anthony to Maximo. “I’d love to see you try.”

He leans in, jaw tight and whispers with a hiss, “You look like shit, man. You think acting like a rabid dog is intimidating. It’s pathetic. So, pull your fucking shit together and do not embarrass this family.”

“You think I care about this family right now?”

“Probably not.” Maximo tilts his head, voice sharp as broken glass.

“You think Everly’s gonna swoon when she hears you snapped her best friend’s neck in the family library?

You think she’ll cradle your drunk ass and whisper about what a hero you are?

” His lip curls. “No. She’ll never forgive you.

It’s a miracle she’s forgiven you once.”

The words land like a gut punch, knocking the wind out of me. My fists shake, useless at my sides.

Maximo finally releases me with a shove that sends me a step back. “So sit the fuck down. Drink your bourbon. Glare at him all you want. But you will not lay a hand on him. Not here. Not today.”

The silence stretches, taut as a wire. The only sound is the tick of the grandfather clock and Anthony’s uneven breath as he finally dares to step further into the room.

“I’m not here to fight.” His tone is too calm, too measured, like he’s talking to a fucking animal.

“You sure as hell walked into the wrong room for that,” I snap, the bourbon bottle sweating in my grip. “One wrong word and I’ll crack that cane over your skull.”

His lips curl. “Go ahead. Beat the cripple. That’ll really make Everly proud.”

My vision goes red, my whole body coiled to lunge, but Maximo’s hand clamps my shoulder before I can move.

“The only reason you’re still breathing is because my aim was off once.”

“Your aim’s always been shit, Isaia. You can’t even hit the one target that matters—being there for her.”

I let out a mocking laugh. “You have no idea how badly I want to shove a knife into your face right now.”

“That’s right.” Anthony casually places both palms on the top of his cane, that cool swagger of his working on my last goddamn nerve. “Try killing me again. See if she’ll forgive you a second time.”

“Proves how much she really cares about you. I told her you were dead, and she still let me fuck her.”

That’s when his cold armor cracks, a surge of rage shattering his icy composure. At least now I can say today I’ve accomplished something great.

Visibly, he takes a breath, and it’s disappointing watching him slide on that mask of indifference again.

“I don’t care what you think you know about the relationship I have with Everly.

I know she loves me. Clearly not as much as she loves you—God knows why she does—but she’ll always love me, too.

And that’s why I’m standing here, taking your bullshit, instead of letting you rot in this mausoleum you call a house. ”

I laugh, the sound hollow. “You can’t stand the fact that she chose me. Me. Every time. Even after you swept in like a motherfucking knight, thinking you were doing her a favor by taking her from me. That’s why you’re choking on your own goddamn jealousy.”

“And look where that’s gotten her, choosing you. Pregnant. Alone. Some fucking husband you turned out to be.”

My vision tunnels. “Careful. I’ve gutted motherfuckers for less.”

“You’ve also abandoned the woman you swore to protect. So forgive me if I’m not impressed by your resume.”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

Maximo slides between us, expression bored, voice dry as dust. “You two sound like high school girls fighting over who wore it better.”

“Stay out of this,” we snap in unison, both glaring at him.

“See? You already agree on something. Adorable.”

Anthony’s jaw ticks as he looks back at me. “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. I don’t care if you dream about killing me every night. But she deserves better than the ghost of a man drinking himself to death in his daddy’s library.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I gulp down more bourbon, wipe my mouth. “If it were that easy, don’t you think I’d be with her right fucking now instead of wasting breath on you?”

“Then what’s stopping you? What excuse is big enough to leave her in pieces while you rot in here? Because all I see is a coward who can’t handle his responsibilities.”

The insult detonates in my chest, and I lunge forward, fury snapping the last tether of control, but Maximo’s arm slams across me, shoving me back.

“Stop your shit,” he growls. “Or I’ll kill both of you myself and save us all the headache.”