chapter 19

Diageo’s POV

I couldn’t sit still. Pacing the length of the living room, I clenched and unclenched my fists, my mind racing. I knew there was more to Isabella’s story than what she had shared with us. She had spoken openly about the Germans, but she completely avoided talking about the Irish. No one knew what had happened there, and that silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

It was bad. So bad that she had tried to end her life—not once, not twice, but ten times.

Ten times.

That number haunted me. Ten times, I had almost lost the woman I loved.

Yes, I *love* her. And yet, to her, I was just a best friend—maybe even a brother. And as much as I wanted to tell her how I felt, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t risk losing her in any way. So, I stayed quiet, watching from the sidelines, making sure she ate, holding her when she allowed it, and smothering her with tickles that she *claimed* to hate. But if tickling her was the only way to hear her real, unguarded laugh, then I’d take the occasional smack across the back of the head.

I just wished she could see how much she meant to me.

I walked into the house that Ryan and I were staying in and collapsed onto the couch. The weight of today finally hit me all at once. I had hurt her. I knew it. Ryan knew it. And the guilt was suffocating.

Just as I was about to lose myself in my thoughts, my phone buzzed.

Group Chat: The Devil and Her Minions

Devil: "I hope you both don't stay up thinking that you hurt me."

Minion 2 (Ryan): "Bitch, you know we will. As much as I mess around, we try not to hurt you, but it still happened.

Minion 1 (Me): "Sweetheart, we care deeply, and we hope you're not mad at us."

(Jesus, I sound whipped...)

Devil: "How about I try to sneak out and come to you both?"

I didn’t even think before I called her. She picked up after the second ring.

“Hey, Diageo, hope I didn’t wake you when I texted,” she said, her voice laced with exhaustion.

“You know that if I was asleep, I wouldn’t have answered,” I half-lied. Truth was, I hadn’t even considered sleep yet.

“Diageo?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“…Can I please come over? If it’s not a bother, it’s just…” She let out a deep sigh. “There are too many men here for me to sleep peacefully.”

My grip on my phone tightened. My mind immediately filled with every terrible reason why she would feel unsafe surrounded by men.

“You know I don’t care if you come over, sweetheart, but tell your dad first. You know he’ll go full Don on us if he wakes up and finds you gone.”

Isabella’s POV

After hanging up with Diageo, I knew I had to find Marco. I wasn’t about to risk sneaking out without telling him—I wasn’t ready for another lecture about trust.

I checked the living room first. Empty.

His office? Still nothing.

With a sigh, I hesitated outside his bedroom door before knocking. It only took a second for it to open, revealing Marco’s surprised face.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked, shifting awkwardly.

He stepped aside, silently inviting me in.

“Anything, bambina. I’m glad you came to me instead of going straight to Alessandro. He’d just say yes without thinking.”

I turned my head to see Alessandro sitting by the window, his usual lazy smirk in place.

“You and I both know you’d say yes too, Dad,” he shot back.

I bit my lip, nerves creeping in. “I know the family is here for a while, and I know I can’t do this every night, but… there are just too many men here for me to sleep comfortably.” I forced myself to keep talking before I lost my nerve. “I was wondering if I could stay with Diageo and Ryan tonight?”

I kept my gaze on my hands, my fingers twisting together. A warm hand suddenly lifted my chin. Marco’s deep eyes met mine, filled with something soft and understanding.

“Bambina,” he murmured, “I’m glad you asked instead of just leaving. But we don’t have your cars here, so you’ll need to get a lift from one of your aunts or cousins.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Alessandro beat me to it.

“You can’t drive with a cast, *idiota*,” he pointed out flatly.

I scowled. “I can get—”

“No.” This time, it was Marco cutting me off. “Please, just get a lift. It’s the only thing I’m asking.”

His eyes pleaded with me, and I sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll text you when I leave and let you know who’s bringing me.”

Both of them nodded, satisfied.

Now, I just needed to figure out who I was going to ask.

I had debated it for a while, but after finishing packing a small bag, I decided to get a drink before I left.

Stepping into the kitchen, I froze.

Nonna, my aunts, and my female cousins were all sitting around the kitchen table, sipping tea and chatting. The moment I walked in, conversations halted, and all eyes turned to me.

“Isabella!” someone called warmly. “Come join us.”

I hesitated. “I’m okay. Just getting a drink.” I moved to the sink, trying to ignore the way my heart pounded. I wasn’t used to asking for help, but I knew I had to.

I cleared my throat. “I, uh… I was wondering if one of you could maybe give me a lift?” My hand rubbed the back of my neck, nerves creeping in.

There was a brief pause before Alessandra smiled and nodded. “Of course, just tell me when you’re ready.”

Relief washed over me. “Thank you.”

I turned to leave, but Nonna’s voice stopped me. “Isabella, wait.”

I turned back hesitantly.

She studied me for a long moment, then simply said, “You are always welcome here, *figlia mia*.”

I swallowed hard, nodding before quickly leaving the room.

I wasn’t used to this.

I wasn’t used to being wanted.

The drive to Diageo and Ryan’s house was quiet. Alessandra didn’t ask questions, and I was grateful for that. The last thing I wanted was to explain why I couldn’t sleep in a house filled with my own family.

When we pulled up, the front porch light was already on, and before I even opened the door, Diageo was walking outside, barefoot, arms crossed, and wearing his usual cocky smirk. Ryan stood behind him, leaning against the doorway with a knowing look on his face.

“You gonna stand there all night, or do I gotta carry you in?” Diageo teased, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

Before I could react, he stepped forward and lifted me effortlessly into his arms. I let out a startled yelp, smacking his shoulder. “Put me down, you idiot!”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p,’ walking us inside. “You’re injured, and I don’t trust you not to do something stupid, like running up the stairs without your crutches.”

I huffed. “I don’t need—”

Ryan cut me off with a lazy grin. “Sweetheart, you literally almost jumped out of a window this morning. Forgive us if we don’t trust your judgment.”

I crossed my arms but didn’t argue. Mostly because I *had* been planning to run up the stairs.

Diageo finally set me down on the couch, and Ryan tossed me a blanket. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m fine.”

Diageo flopped down beside me, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “You sure? We got ice cream.”

“…What kind?”

“Your favorite,” Ryan answered, already heading to the kitchen.

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t even know my favorite.”

“Cookies and cream,” he called back.

I blinked. “How the hell—”

Diageo smirked. “We pay attention, sweetheart.”

Ryan returned with a bowl of ice cream, plopping down on the other side of me. “Now, be honest,” he said, handing it to me. “Was it the amount of men in the house that made you uncomfortable, or was it something else?”

I stiffened, gripping the spoon tighter.

Diageo’s voice was softer this time. “Issa, you don’t have to tell us everything. But don’t lie to us either.”

I stared at the ice cream, suddenly not hungry. I hated this. I hated how easily they could see through me.

Finally, I sighed. “It’s not them, exactly. It’s just…” I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “I spent years surrounded by men. But not like family. Not like you guys. I learned a long time ago that men always want something.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched, and Diageo’s arm tensed behind me.

I pushed forward before either of them could explode. “I *know* they’re my family, and I *know* they wouldn’t hurt me. But my body doesn’t know that. My brain doesn’t know that. Every time I closed my eyes, I could hear them. Smell them.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard.

A heavy silence settled between us.

Then, Diageo shifted, suddenly lifting my legs and draping them across his lap. “Well, lucky for you,” he said, forcing lightness into his tone, “you’ve got the two best guard dogs right here.”

Ryan snorted. “More like a golden retriever and a pit bull.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which one’s which?”

“Oh, he’s the golden retriever,” Diageo said immediately, jerking his thumb at Ryan.

Ryan scoffed. “Bullshit. *You’re* the golden retriever. You follow her around like a lost puppy, waiting for her to give you attention.”

Diageo gasped dramatically. “That’s *not* true.”

I smirked. “It’s kinda true.”

Ryan held up a hand for a high-five, and I met it with a grin.

Diageo grumbled but didn’t move my legs. In fact, his fingers absentmindedly started tracing patterns on my knee. I pretended not to notice.

For the first time in days, I felt safe.

And that was terrifying.

Words 1679