Page 74 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Naomi looks at me with a rueful smile. "Yeah," she agrees. "It really is majorly fucked up."

I reach out, taking her hand in mine. "I get it, you know," I tell her, my free hand absently tracing the phantom ache in my side where Antonio's touch still burns. "The confusion, the frustration. It's like being thrust into a ballet you've never rehearsed, expected to nail every step while the audience waits for you to fall. It’s having feelings you don’t understand and yetthey brew right below the surface waiting for an outlet or an explosion.”

Naomi squeezes my hand, her eyes meeting mine. For a moment, we're silent, the understanding between us deeper than words.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Naomi finally says, a hint of her old humor creeping back into her voice.

I can't help but chuckle. "Yeah, we are. The virgin mafia wife and the ballerina with an undead mother turned... whatever I am now."

Naomi leans her head on my shoulder, and I feel some of the tension drain out of her. "At least we're in this mess together, right?"

"Always," I promise. And I mean it. No matter what happens next, we’ll find a way to keep this connection, to push forward, to have a say in our own lives.

We sit like that for a while, not talking, just being. And knowing we're not alone and that we have each other’s back makes it all feel a little more bearable. Even more... possible.

Chapter forty-four

Antonio

"Ineedfuckinganswers,"Isnarl, slamming my fist on the desk. The pain barely registers through the red haze of anger and... something else that feels a lot of fear. "This treatment the Greeks are dangling? I want every goddamn detail. Side effects, success rates, the whole nine yards."

I pause, Isabella's face flashing through my mind. The hope in her eyes when she heard about her mother... fuck, it twists my gut in ways I don't want to think about. It's that same look she had when she used to talk about dancing, before all this shit went down. Before I... before I broke her trust. The fact that she can still look like that, still hope after everything, it makes me want to protect her, to make sure she’s not disappointed.

But there’s too much going on. Too many lies.

"Franco," I growl, "this shit doesn't add up."

Franco raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to spit it out.

"Isabella's mother... she didn't just stumble ass-backwards into an affair with Naomi's old man. And she sure as hell didn't escape Isabella's father by being a fucking idiot." I want to slam my fist on the deck again or one of the Greek’s brothers’ face, frustration boiling over. "She knows how to play the game. Maybe better than we gave her credit for."

I start pacing, needing to move or I'll lose my fucking mind. "What if there's more to her plan than this treatment bullshit? What if..."

The weight of my past fuck-ups is heavy on my shoulders. I used to be so goddamn sure of everything. Look where that got me.

"Christ," I mutter, running a hand over my face. "I don't know what to think anymore. I was so fucking sure Isabella was behind it all. And I was dead wrong."

Franco watches me, his face unreadable. "Boss, this ain't like you, second-guessing yourself."

Letting out a harsh laugh, I turn to face him. "No, it's not. But being so cock-sure nearly cost me everything. It's a weakness, this doubt."

I clench my fists, feeling that familiar fire in my gut. "But maybe... maybe it's also a strength. Makes me look harder, dig deeper."

I lock eyes with Franco. "We got to watch our step here. I won't make the same fuck-ups again. We need more info, and we need it yesterday."

Everything in me screams to take control, to lock this shit down. But I force myself to hold back, to think it through. "If Isabella's mother is playing a bigger game, I don't want to show our hand too soon. Because there's history there, deep roots. I need to know how far back it goes, what kind of power they're really packing." I inhale deeply. “Check with Massimiliano.”

“Are you sure?”

Massimiliano is the last guy I’d go to, before. He and I have... a shitty history. Climbing through the ranks didn’t give me many friends in the other regions.

“I’m sure.”

My jaw clenches as I think about Isabella wanting to leave. The Beast inside me roars, wanting to lock her away where no one can touch her. But I know better now. I've fucked up too many times already.

"We need leverage. Something to make Isabella see that running off to Greece is a bad idea. But I can't just forbid it or lock her up. That's not..." I trail off, running a hand through my hair in frustration.

"Not the right way to handle it," Franco finishes for me, understanding in his eyes.

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