Page 30 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

ISAIA

Her skin is hot beneath my cheek, damp with sweat, still humming from what we just did. I let my head rest against the swell of her stomach, listening. Waiting.

My palm spreads wide over the curve, protective, possessive, as if I hold tight enough, I can fuse us together and never let go.

I kiss her belly once. Then again. Slow. Worshipful.

God, I love this bump. I love what it means. Our child. Her carrying the proof of us inside her body. I never thought I could love anything the way I love her, but this…this breaks me open and has my heart beating outside my chest.

Her fingers weave lazily through my hair, soft, absent, but every stroke cuts me deeper. Because it feels like forgiveness I don’t deserve. I don’t deserve a woman like her, but fuck me if I won’t take her anyway.

The silence between us isn’t empty—it’s a weight, heavy as stone. It’s the sound of everything I’ve done, every choice I made that left her alone, echoing back at me.

“I’m sorry.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth. I don’t even lift my head to look at her. I just press another kiss to her stomach, letting my mouth say what my voice can’t. I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll never stop being sorry.

She doesn’t answer. And maybe she shouldn’t. My apologies don’t erase the nights she cried herself to sleep. They don’t erase the lies.

So I tell her with my hands instead. I curve one around her side, cradling her hip like she’s fragile, stroking her skin slowly with my thumb, back and forth, steady, like I can soothe her just by being careful enough.

My other hand stays anchored on her stomach, rubbing faint circles there, as if I’m already trying to calm our baby, too.

When her tear slips free, I see it glisten in the dim light, and my chest caves in. I don’t think. I just lean up, dragging my tongue over her cheek. Tasting her salt. Her pain. Taking it into me like I deserve to carry it.

She exhales, trembling, and the sound cracks me more than any bullet ever could.

“Why?” The word is barely a whisper yet carves between my ribs.

I don’t know if she means the lie. Or the silence. The absence. But it doesn’t matter, because the answer is the same.

I meet her eyes in the dark and let her see the wreckage I’ve been carrying. “Because I can’t lose you.”

Her breath shudders, and mine matches it, chest pressed against hers, heart pounding so loud it feels like the only sound in the room.

“I listened to all your voicemails. Every single one.”

She sucks in a breath like she’s holding back a sob.

“I heard every word. Every laugh. Every tremor when you tried not to cry.”

The whimper she lets out guts me, every tear she sheds slicing deeper.

“I’m so fucking sorry, troublemaker.” I kiss her stomach again, my lips dragging over the swell, lingering like I can brand myself there. “You don’t know how many times I sat in the dark with your voice in my ear, fists clenched, dying to call back.”

Her fingers tighten slightly in my hair, not pulling, not pushing. Just there. Present. And it unravels me.

I shift up, kiss the space just under her breast, then her collarbone, tasting the sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin. My hand stays splayed wide on her stomach, holding both of them, like I can anchor myself with that touch.

“I’ve missed you every second,” I confess, my voice cracking, breaking me down to bone.

“I missed your laugh, the sound of you breathing next to me in the middle of the night. The way your voice would shake when you beg me to touch you.” My forehead presses to hers. “I missed you. Every piece of you.”

I close my eyes, breathe her in, and whisper, “I don’t deserve you, or your forgiveness. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”

Her breath stutters against my mouth, but she doesn’t speak. Just looks at me, wide-eyed and shining, like she’s standing on the edge of something she isn’t sure she wants to see.

“Why now?” she whispers. “Why tonight?”

Tension grips my spine, my muscles, my heart. “I thought…if I stayed away, you’d be safe. That I was protecting you by not being with you. But I was killing us both.”

“Protecting me from what?”

This is the part I was dreading, the part where I have to confirm that her fear, her apprehension, her hate for my world is valid.

That the picture of a life with me is painted in smears of red and black.

And I’m afraid this might just be the one thing that causes me to lose her…

for good. Because it’s no longer just about her or me or us.

It’s about our baby, our child, an innocent life that I know Everly will do anything to protect—even if it means giving up on me.

But I’m done lying. I’m done hiding things from her out of fear I might lose her. I won’t let my fear ruin her life anymore.

I push myself up, swing my legs off the bed, and grab my jeans, pulling them on as I stand, not bothering to button up.

“Before I tell you, I need you to know that whatever you decide tonight, I’ll respect it. I won’t try to convince you otherwise. I won’t drag you to a private island to keep you. What happens next is completely up to you.”

She sits up on her elbows, and I hate the sight of worry lines between her brows. “Isaia? What’s going on?”

There’s a pang of fear in my chest as I rub the back of my neck, searching for the words to start with.

“After Anthony took you from me, I wanted to come for you, Everly. I swear to God. There was nothing I wanted more than to tear my way to New York and take you back. But I knew…I thought…Jesus.”

I lick my lips, my throat dry.

“After lying to you about Anthony, I knew you’d never forgive me.

I knew I lost you the moment you saw him breathing.

And I just…I couldn’t.” I glance up at the ceiling like the words might be written there.

“I convinced myself I’d rather live with the uncertainty whether I had lost you or not than live with the fact that I had.

” My fists clench at my sides as the pain of that thought stabs me.

“That’s how stupid I was, how scared…fuck. ”

Everly's silence is chilling, her eyes wide and unblinking as she watches me pace across the room, a lion in a cage, a man on the edge.

“When I found out about the pregnancy—” my gaze drops to her belly “—I wanted to come for you. I was ready to burn the world down so I can be with you and our…our baby.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because me being with you meant you’d be in danger. It meant our baby would be in danger.”

Confusion flickers across her face. “Isaia, I don’t understand.”

“Then let me back up.” My voice scrapes raw as I force the words out. “Years ago, we had a serial killer on our hands. A fucking religious psychopath who brutally tortured women, murdered them, believing he was doing the work of God.”

Her eyes widen, just slightly, but enough. She feels the turn coming.

“That man was my brother.”

That’s the moment color drains from her cheeks.

“His name was Micah. We didn’t know about him until he started leaving a trail of bodies for us to find. Turns out our father had a son with another woman, before Alexius and Nicoli were born.”

“Oh, my God.” She sits up straight, crossing her legs.

I start pacing again. “He…ah…he took Mira. But we managed to get to her in time, and Alexius killed him, shot the fucker. That day we buried him so deep, we erased him from existence.”

“I don’t understand. If he’s dead, why are you telling me this?”

“Because a few months ago, it started again.” My eyes lock on hers, hold her there, make her feel the weight of it. “One of our associates’ wives was murdered in the exact same way Micah killed his victims.”

“Jesus. A copycat?”

“Yeah. It was before I knew you were pregnant.” I take a seat on the window ledge, looking back toward the bed, elbows on my knees, rubbing my palms together.

“The night I found out about the pregnancy, I was on my way to you, not giving a shit about lies and forgiveness, or anything else. All I wanted was to be with you, hold your hand and never stop kissing you. I love you so much, Everly. You are fucking air to me.”

She eases a strand of hair behind her ear, and I swear those beautiful mismatched eyes have the power to bring me to my knees.

I inhale deep. “Nicoli stopped me.”

Confusion settles on her features.

“After the whole Micah thing, Mira got hurt by a family rival. Really, really hurt. I’m talking no amount of therapy could ever heal her scars.

And to this day it fucks with Nicoli’s head, knowing he couldn’t save her from it.

Thinking of all the things he could have done differently to protect her.

Every time he looks into his wife’s eyes, he sees the million ways he failed her.

And he made me realize that the safest place for you and our baby would be anywhere but with me.

Not being tied to the Del Rossa name was the only way I could protect you. ”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, her lips parting like she wants to speak, but nothing comes. Just silence, heavy and deafening.

I drag a hand down my face, elbows pressing into my knees.

“I told myself I could live with it. With the distance. With you thinking I was gone, as long as it meant you were safe.” My laugh is harsh and hollow.

“But I wasn’t living. I was rotting. And you were crying into a fucking voicemail while I drank myself half to death. ”

Her shoulders curl in, arms wrapping around her stomach, protective and fragile all at once. “The elevator?”

I smile, rough a hand through my hair as I lean back, remembering how I slipped up that day.

“I knew you had a doctor’s appointment. Followed you, thought if I can’t be with you in that room, I can at least be in the same fucking building.

But when you stepped into that elevator—Jesus, Everly.

I fucking lost it. I couldn’t have you so fucking close and not touch you. ”

Color spreads across her cheeks, and Christ, if that isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Her blush. Her blood reacting to a memory where I touch her, feel her, claim her.

“Everly—”

“Why now, Isaia? What changed your mind?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Call it a mutual…acquaintance.”

“Who?”

There’s a knock on the front door, and I let out a half snort, half scoff because—goddammit—even his timing is fucking perfect. “You, ah…” I get up and grab my shirt. “I don’t think you’re going to believe this.”

Everly’s already on her feet, bare legs flashing under her oversized shirt, heading for the door before I can blink.

I snag the hem, yanking her back against me, a growl in my chest. “Unless you want me to commit murder on the goddamn welcome mat, you’ll put on something else.”

She arches a brow at me, chin tilted in that defiant way that makes me want to fuck her until she screams. “Like what?”

I give her a look, deadpan. “A large sweater. Or a nun’s habit. Take your pick.” I crash my lips to hers, kiss her hard, leaving no room for argument. “You get dressed, and I’ll get the door.”

This is going to be fun. Not.