Page 69 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

My fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table, the cool surface grounding me. Another bout of coughing wracks my mother's body, the sound raw and grating. Painful and... permanent.

"I need to know," I press on, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "Why keep this from me if I could have helped you all along?"

Stefanos' harsh laughter slices through the tension. His muscular shoulders shake, a tremor that seems to ripple through the room. Is this the best or worst moment of his life? I can't tell, and that uncertainty makes my skin prickle with unease.

"Don't." Alexandros' warning carries the weight of unspoken threats, but Stefanos seems beyond caring. Nikos, usually so amused by these power plays, now wears an expression as hard and cold as marble.

"Why not?" Nikos bites out, each word sharp enough to draw blood. Drawing blood? Ha. At the thought, my lips pull into a small smile that must look... scary. Unhinged, even. Like I'm teetering on the edge of something dangerous and want to leap into it.

Antonio pulls the chair next to me, his hand finding my thigh. The warmth of his palm seeps through the fabric, grounding me. Like he knows exactly what I need, even when I don't. It's infuriating how well he can read me, how easily he can steady me with just a touch.

Stefanos' fingers trace the intricate design on his glass, the movement almost hypnotic. When his gaze finds mine, it's like being pinned by a predator. He ignores everyone else in the room, his focus solely, unnervingly, on me.

"You either play the innocent role very well," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Or like me, your life isn't your own."

A chill spreads through my veins. What does he mean? What does he know?

"Is that riddle time?" Naomi calls out, her attempt at lightness falling flat in the heavy atmosphere.

Connor murmurs, his Irish lilt more pronounced with tension, "You really don't know when to be quiet, love. Do you?"

"And you really don't know when to fight for what matters," Naomi snaps back. "So... match made in mafia heaven?"

Their bickering fades into background noise as I process Stefanos' words. I take a deep breath, centering myself. When I speak, my voice is calm, controlled - a far cry from the scared, naive girl I once was.

"You know, Stefanos, I've been thinking about my life lately. About how much I've changed." I meet his gaze, unflinching. "For years, I wore blinders made of tulle and sweat, believing that if I just danced hard enough, everything would be okay. But life has a way of ripping those illusions away, doesn't it?"

I pause, letting my words sink in. The room is silent now, all eyes on me.

"My mother died - or so I thought. I fell for my stepbrother just as I was starting to see the truth of our world. I watched him get branded by my father, thinking I was responsible for his mother's death. I nearly died myself."

My voice doesn't waver. It's not self-pity I'm after - it's understanding.

"Through it all, I kept dancing. It was my anchor, my escape. Even in the hospital, fighting for my life, part of me was still that girl in pink shoes, believing in happy endings."

I lean forward, my eyes scanning the room. "But I'm not that girl anymore. And right now you guys are doing a show. I’ve told you I wanted the truth. Didn’t I make myself clear?"I lean forward. “Because now I find out my mother is alive... only to hear she's some sort of mastermind and my blood can save her. But tell me, Stefanos since you’re the only one talking, why would you guys do all this for my mom if you didn't get something too?"

I pause, letting my words sink in. When I continue, my voice is steadier, more assured. "I've learned a lot in this world - our world. I've learned that nothing comes without a price. That every favor, every act of 'honor', has strings attached. So what are yours?"

The room falls silent, the weight of my question hanging in the air. I can feel Antonio's gaze on me, a mix of pride and concern. Naomi's hand finds mine under the table, a silent show of support.

My mother's voice crackles through the speaker, strained but determined. "Isabella, darling-"

"No," I cut her off, my voice soft but firm. "I need to hear this from them first. I need to understand what's really going on here."

I turn back to the Greek brothers, my chin lifted. " What do you really want?"

Stefanos leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine. Each word he speaks lands like a physical blow. “Did you know your mom used Naomi’s father? Theirs wasn’t a love story.” Naomi stiffens next to me, but he continues, staring at my mother. “You knew he was going to get killed... because of you?" He pauses, letting the accusation hang in the air. My lungs constrict, making it hard to breathe. "Oh yes, your mother is sick, Isabella. She could die. And the world would be a fucking better place if we had left her in that mausoleum."

I look at the screen, searching my mother's face for any sign of denial, any hint that this is all some cruel joke. But what I seethere - a mixture of defiance and resignation - makes my heart stutter in my chest.

"You said she was responsible for your lover's death," I whisper, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

Stefanos nods, his eyes hard. "Your mother is a fucking grim reaper for all I care. She's made promises she can't keep. She's keeping secrets that could help us eradicate our enemies in Greece. She's—"

"Enough!" My mother's voice, though weak, cuts through Stefanos' tirade. "Everything I've done, every secret I've kept, was to protect Isabella. To keep her safe from this world."

The room falls silent, the tension palpable. I can feel Antonio shift beside me, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

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