Page 18 of Shattered Engagement

The endearment—the same one he’d whispered against my skin that night—hangs between us like a live wire. Before I can respond, he’s out of the car and opening my door, professional mask firmly back in place.

The bridal salon staff fawns over me, the De Angelis heiress, while regarding Alessio with curious glances that quickly drop when met with his imposing presence. He positions himself by the door, a silent sentinel as I’m guided to a private fitting room.

“Your security is quite... intimidating,” the stylist whispers, helping me into the custom Vera Wang creation that costs more than most people’s yearly salary.

“That’s rather the point of security, isn’t it?” I reply, watching in the mirror as the dress is fastened around me. Its weight settles on my shoulders like a beautiful burden.

When I emerge for the final assessment, Alessio’s eyes find mine in the mirror. For a heartbeat, his professional mask slips, and I see naked desire flash across his features before he can hide it away. The hunger in his gaze makes heat pool low in my belly, a visceral reminder of how it felt to have those eyes watching me come undone.

“What do you think?” I ask, turning to face him. The question is for the benefit of the hovering stylists, but my eyes challenge him directly.

He clears his throat. “The dress is... suitable, Miss De Angelis.”

“High praise from a security expert,” I say dryly, turning back to the mirror. The woman reflected there looks like a stranger—perfect, polished, a porcelain doll dressed for display. Nothing like the woman who’d writhed against Alessio in that club bathroom, taking what she wanted without shame.

After the fitting, we stop for lunch at an upscale restaurant where themaître d’knows both families by name. As we’re seated at a private table, I notice Alessio scanning the room, assessing each patron, each exit.

“Do you ever stop working?” I ask, unfolding my napkin.

“No,” he answers simply.

“Not even for pleasure?” The word hangs between us, loaded with memory.

His eyes darken, but his expression remains composed. “Pleasure is fleeting. Discipline endures.”

“Is that what you call what happened between us? A lack of discipline?”

He leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “What I call it doesn’t matter. It happened. It’s over. We move forward.”

“Into a future where I marry Luca Calviño and you...what? Fade back into the Calviño organization?” I shake my head. “Tell me, Alessio, does Luca know what one of his father’s favoriteCapodid to his bride?”

His hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist beneath the table. Not painful, but firm, commanding attention. “Don’t push this, Isadora. There are ears everywhere, and consequences for recklessness that even your family name can’t protect you from.”

The threat should frighten me. Instead, it sends a thrill of anticipation through my body, awakening nerve endings I’ve tried to numb since that night. I lean closer, close enough to feel his breath against my cheek.

“Is that concern I hear, Mr. Gravano? Or guilt?”

His thumb strokes once, almost imperceptibly, across my pulse point before he releases my wrist. The casual intimacy of the gesture nearly undoes me.

“Both,” he admits, surprising me with his honesty. “Your fiancé isn’t known for his forgiving nature.”

My phone rings, cutting through the tension. Luca’s name flashes on the screen. Speak of the devil.

Alessio notices, his expression darkening as I answer.

“Isadora,” Luca’s voice, sharp with impatience. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“I had my fitting,” I reply, conscious of Alessio watching me, reading every micro expression. “The dress needed alterations.”

“I don’t care about the dress,” he snaps. “I care that my fiancée is unreachable while I’m working in Chicago.”

I straighten my spine, old defenses sliding into place. “I apologize, Luca. It won’t happen again.”

Alessio’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing at my submissive tone.

“That’s better,” Luca says, appeased. “I hear my father assigned Gravano to you. Good. He’ll keep you in line until I return.”

The casual dismissal in his voice, the assumption of ownership, makes something inside me crack. “Is that what you think I need, Luca? Someone to keep me in line?”

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