Page 91 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Fuck.

My jaw clenches so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. My fists ball at my sides, nails digging into my palms. Every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of threat.

I'd take a bullet right now if it meant Isabella would stay behind to nurse me back to health. Hell, I'd swallow poison if it kept her here. The last time someone poisoned me she made sure I was safe…despite everything I had done to her.

The pain I've endured over the years? Child's play compared to the vice grip crushing my chest as I watch Isabella say goodbye to Elena. My lungs forget how to work, each breath shallow and burning. There's a weight pressing down, making my ribs feel like they might crack inward. Burns, scars, broken bones - none of that shit holds a candle to this. This isn't pain you can muscle through. This is drowning on dry land.

Our daughter.

Yeah, that's right. Ours. Blood be damned, Isabella's the one who's made Elena light up like a Christmas tree. I'll never keep Elena from knowing where she came from, but the way she's clinging to Isabella's legs, tears streaming down her little face? That's love, pure and simple.

Elena's little body shakes with sobs. "No go," she pleads, her voice muffled against Isabella's legs. "Stay, per favore." The fabric of Isabella's jeans darkens with Elena's tears, small damp circles spreading where her face presses against her leg. I can hear the wet catch in my daughter's throat as she tries to speak through her crying, her tiny fingers clutching at the denim like it might anchor Isabella to this spot forever. They're fumbling through each other's languages, building their own bridge word by word. It's like watching two pieces of my heart learn to beat as one.

Isabella kneels down, cupping Elena's face in her hands, and I watch as she promises to call, to tell her stories, to return as soon as she can to see her dance and sing and draw.

Elena nods, hiccupping through her tears, and I see the moment she tries to be brave. Like me, putting on a tough face when everything's falling apart inside.

After a few seconds, Isabella stands back up and scoops Elena up, her movements gentle but sure. She whispers something else in Elena's ear, and just like that, my girl's tears turn to a wobbly smile. She nods again, her little arms wrapped tight around Isabella's neck.

Cerberus, ever the faithful guardian, pads over from his spot in the inner yard, checking in on us.

And when Isabella’s eyes meet mine, there are tears there, too.

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. Isabella stands there in baggy jeans and one of my hoodies, looking morebeautiful than any woman has a right to. With our daughter in her arms.

Isabella’s curly hair has grown out a bit, falling in soft waves around her face. She's got it half up in some complicated twist that makes me want to run my fingers through it, pull it loose. Even dressed down for travel, she's breathtaking. It's not just her looks - it's the strength in her eyes, the grace in her movements. My ballerina. My wife. Wearing my clothes like she belongs to me. And she's about to walk out that door.

I've faced down death more times than I can count, but nothing - fucking nothing - has ever terrified me like this moment right here.

The Greeks aren't here. They're waiting at the private airstrip, probably strutting around like they own the fucking place. Franco's there too, with a handful of our most trusted guys. They're going over every inch of that plane, making sure there's no nasty surprises waiting for us.

Franco's flying with them. I trust him with my life, with Isabella's life. But it doesn't make this any easier.

Elena jumps back down from Isabella’s arms, laughing at Cerberus playing with a ray of sunshine that beams through the window.

My phone beeps with another message.Everything looks good.

I reply,Check again. Twice.

I've got eyes on every airport in Greece, ears in every major hotel. The burner phone I slipped into her bag is untraceable, loaded with emergency numbers. The other burner phone that’s in the hoodie has the same numbers and I also gave her her ring back, making sure it’s engraved and has the needed tracker. If someone takes it away from her? There’s another tracker in earring. She knows some of them, but not all for her safety.

I've even got a team on standby, ready to extract her at a moment's notice. But it still doesn't feel like enough.

We haven't heard a peep from Isabella's bastard of a father. The Germans and Russians are quiet too. Too quiet. I've been in this game long enough to know that's when you need to watch your back the hardest. Snakes always slither in the grass before they strike.

I can't sit around waiting for someone to show their hand.

While she's gone, I'll be dismantling her father's empire brick by bloody brick. Every connection, every ally, every dirty little secret - I'll root them all out. By the time she returns, I'll have built a fortress around us that no one can penetrate.

My hand goes to my back pocket, feeling the weight of the letter I wrote this morning. Words I couldn't bring myself to say out loud, but needed her to know. I'll slip it to her in the car, along with the locket that belonged to my mother. A piece of my past, a promise for our future.

"Papa?" Elena's voice cuts through the tension, and I find myself moving before I can think.

I wrap my arms around them both, my family, in a gesture I never thought I'd make in a million fucking years. Elena's small body nestles between us, her warmth like a pulsing star at our center. Isabella's breath tickles my neck, and I feel the subtle tremble in her shoulders that betrays her calm expression. The scent of Isabella's perfume mixing with Elena's shampoo - that combination of honeysuckle and strawberry - hits me like a physical blow. My throat tightens until breathing becomes a conscious effort. For a moment, I'm hyperaware of everything: the soft cotton of my hoodie that Isabella wears, the weight of Elena pressed against my chest, the slight dampness of tears on both their cheeks transferring to my skin. My fingertips press into Isabella's back, memorizing the curve of her spine, the exact spot where her body yields to my touch.

In this moment, with my family in my arms, the words I've been holding back finally break free.

"Ti amo, principessa," I murmur to Elena, my voice rough with emotion I can barely contain.

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