Page 23 of Shattered Engagement

The photograph slips from my fingers, landing silently on the plush carpet of my bedroom. It shows a younger Alessio—perhaps fifteen years ago—standing beside a heavyset older woman, his arm protectively around her shoulders. Nothing remarkable about that, except for the name scrawled on the back: “Stefano & Maria.”

Stefano. Not Alessio.

I found the photo tucked inside a worn paperback in his jacket—a jacket he draped over my shoulders yesterday when the evening air turned cool during our walk through the garden, and I refused to go inside. He stepped away to take a call, and curiosity got the better of me.

Now, that curiosity is transforming into something more dangerous: suspicion.

I pick up the photograph again, studying the woman’s face. She looks ordinary—kind eyes, gray hair pulled into a sensible bun, the sort of woman who might be anyone’s grandmother or favorite aunt. But the way Alessio—or Stefano—looks at her speaks of something deeper. Devotion. Love.

Not the expression of a man who claims to have no attachments.

A sharp knock interrupts my thoughts.

“Miss De Angelis, your fiancé has arrived.” Carmela’s voice carries through the door. She’s been my family’s maid ever since she finished high school, nearly ten years ago now. “Your parents request your presence in the main parlor.”

Luca. Back from Chicago earlier than expected.

I tuck the photograph into my desk drawer, smooth my dress, and check my reflection. The woman staring back at me looks composed, perfect—the De Angelis heiress preparing to greet her future husband. Only the slight tension around my eyes betrays anything else happening beneath the surface.

“Tell them I’ll be right down,” I call, applying a fresh coat of lipstick and powder as armor.

As I descend the grand staircase, voices drift up from the parlor—my father’s measured tones, my mother’s practiced laughter, and cutting through them both, Luca’s sharp, insistent cadence. The voice of a man accustomed to being heard, regardless of what he’s saying.

And then another voice—lower, controlled, but with an unmistakable edge of authority. Alessio.

My steps falter.

The tableau in the parlor is exactly as I imagined: my father and Luca in matching power poses by the fireplace, my mother perched elegantly on the edge of a settee, and Alessio—stationed near the door like the bodyguard he’s supposed to be, yet somehow commanding more presence than anyone else in the room.

His eyes find mine immediately, and something electric passes between us before he looks away, face impassive.

“Isadora.” Luca strides toward me, taking my hands in his. His grip is too tight, his cologne too strong. He kisses me on both cheeks, a performance for our audience. “Beautiful as always.”

“Welcome back,” I say, extracting my hands as gracefully as possible. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“I wrapped up business early.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away from my bride any longer.”

My father beams with approval. “Excellent! We were just discussing tomorrow’s pre-wedding dinner. The governor has confirmed his attendance.”

“Perfect,” Luca says, his hand settling possessively at the small of my back. “We need to make a statement with this wedding. The Calviño-De Angelis alliance will be unbreakable.”

I feel Alessio’s gaze on us, though when I glance his way, he’s staring straight ahead, the picture of professional detachment.

“Isn’t that right, Gravano?” Luca calls out, deliberately drawing Alessio into the conversation. “My father tells me you’ve been an exemplary guard dog for my fiancée.”

Alessio’s expression doesn’t change, but I notice the slight tightening of his jaw. “I take my responsibilities seriously, Mr. Calviño.”

“Call me Luca,” he replies with false geniality. “After all, if Father trusted you with a task of such importance, it means you’re a part of the family.”

The irony of his words might have made me laugh if the tension in the room weren’t so suffocating. Luca has no idea that his “guard dog” has already had his fiancée in ways he never will—against bathroom tiles with desperate hands and hungry mouths.

“Speaking of responsibilities,” my mother interjects smoothly, “we should finalize the seating arrangements for tomorrow. Antonio, why don’t you and Luca come to the study? Isadora can join us after she freshens up from her afternoon activities.”

The dismissal is clear. Business first, bride second.

“I’ll escort Miss De Angelis upstairs,” Alessio says, his professional tone betraying nothing of our complicated relationship.

Luca’s eyes narrow slightly. “Always so attentive, Gravano.” He turns to me, brushing his lips against my ear. “We’ll talk later,cara. I’ve missed you.”

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