Page 71 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

"Okay," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "So you've said your piece."

"And you kind of ruined dinner," Naomi chimes in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, Mrs... wait, how do I call you?"

"Costa. You can call me Mrs. Costa," Isabella's mother replies, her voice crackling through the speaker.

Of course. Costa. A name that carries weight in our world, a name that's caused more bloodshed than I care to remember. I can feel the muscles in my back coiling, ready for a fight that's been brewing for generations.

My hand finds Isabella's knee under the table, my grip probably too tight, but I need to feel her, to remind myself why I'm holding back, why I'm not tearing this room apart brick by fucking brick.

Naomi continues, her words dripping with venom, "Hmm, I was thinking of calling you Mother-Who-Disappears-For-Her-Own-Sake-Forgetting-Her-Daughter-Until-it's-Convenient."

I nearly choke on my wine, the bitter liquid burning my throat. The girl's got more bite than I gave her credit for.

Connor's laughter cuts through the tension like a knife. "As I’ve learned, my wife’s never wrong," he says, but then his voice drops, turning as cold as a tombstone. "Plus... she found out her father was probably part of some plot he had no idea about. And he's still dead. No coming back for him."

I watch as Naomi's eyes lower, a flicker of pain crossing her face. Isabella leans in, whispering something I can't catch.Whatever it is, it has Naomi wiping away tears. "Always," she murmurs back.

The moment stretches, heavy with unspoken grief and loyalty. It's a reminder of how our world tears families apart and leaves scars that never truly heal.

Suddenly, Isabella grabs the phone, her movements sharp and decisive. "I have a lot to think about," she tells her mother, her voice steady. "I'm assuming I can call you back when I have all the details." And just like that, she hangs up.

Stefanos whistles, low and appreciative. "Cold, Isabella."

I don't know what's fucking cold about what she did. She listened to them, didn't she? Gave them more time than I would have. My eyes narrow as I catch Alexandros still looking at Isabella like she's a piece of meat he wants to savor. That asshole needs to learn his place, and fast.

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can feel it coiling in my muscles, begging for release. But now's not the time. Not yet.

"I need to talk to my wife," I growl, my voice leaving no room for argument. Because whatever happens next, whatever Isabella decides, it's going to be on our terms. Not theirs. Not her mother's. Ours.

My wife shakes her head like we didn't just have our world turned inside out. Like we don't need to hammer out our next move right fucking now.

"You promised me a sleepover with Naomi," she says, her voice steady, challenging. She stands up, her eyes meeting mine without flinching. "Naomi and I are going to chat. And I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I feel my jaw clench, the muscles in my neck tightening like steel cables. Every instinct screams at me to grab her, to lock us both away until we've figured this out. But I force myself to stayput. She needs this time with Naomi, needs to process without me hovering. Doesn't mean I have to fucking like it, though.

The Greek brothers are watching, probably waiting for me to lose my shit. Fuck them. It’s not them who matters. It’s her.

I nod, once, sharp. "Fine," I growl, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "But first thing tomorrow, we talk. Clear?"

She nods back, just as sharp. "Crystal."

Connor stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. Fuck me, is he actually showing some emotion? He pulls Naomi into a bear hug, crushing her against his chest like she might slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

Naomi tenses for a second, surprise flashing across her face. Then she relaxes into him, her body going soft. It's strange, seeing her without that sharp edge she usually carries.

Connor doesn't crack wise or smirk. Instead, he growls into her ear, his voice low and rough, "Don't disappear on me, love."

Naomi pulls back, eyeing him with a mixture of confusion and something else I can't quite place. "It's almost like you care," she says, her tone wavering between her usual sarcasm and something... softer.

Connor grunts, the sound noncommittal, but his arms tighten around her for a split second before he lets go.

As Naomi walks out with Isabella, I catch the thoughtful look on her face. Like Connor's little display has given her something to chew on. Can't blame her. It's fucking unsettling, seeing the Irish bastard act in such a serious and... real way.

I glance at Connor, noting the muscle jumping in his jaw like mine still does as he watches them leave. Well, well. Looks like I'm not the only one with a complicated marriage on my hands.

I can feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. Tomorrow can't come soon enough. Because one way or another, we're going to figure this out.

Together.

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