Page 24 of Shattered Engagement

The whispered words are meant to sound intimate, yet they carry a weight of possession that makes my skin crawl. I force a smile and watch as my parents lead Luca away, their voices fading as they discuss dinner placements like military strategies.

The moment they disappear down the hallway, I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Are you alright?” Alessio asks, his voice low, eyes scanning the hallway for potential eavesdroppers.

“Fine,” I reply automatically.

His gaze, penetrating and too perceptive, sees through the lie. “Your hands are shaking.”

I glance down, surprised to find he’s right. I clench them into fists. “Luca has that effect on me.”

“He’s threatened by me,” Alessio observes, guiding me toward the stairs with a hand hovering near—but not touching—my elbow. Ever the professional in the common areas of the house.

“Everyone should be threatened by you,” I say quietly. “Especially someone named Giancarlo Calviño.” I whisper.

His steps falter, almost imperceptibly. “What are you talking about?”

I wait until we reach the top of the stairs, where the security cameras don’t quite reach. “Who’s Maria, Alessio? Or should I call you Stefano?”

His face doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does—a flash of something primal, dangerous. His hand closes around my upper arm, not painfully but with unmistakable urgency, and he steers me toward my room.

Once inside, with the door firmly shut, he releases me and takes a deliberate step back. “Where did you hear that name?”

I move to my desk, retrieving the photograph from the drawer. “You dropped this in your jacket. Along with these notes and flash.”

He takes the photo, his expression darkening as he recognizes it. For a moment, I think he might deny everything, but instead, his shoulders sag almost imperceptibly.

“You shouldn’t have gone through my things,” he says, but there’s resignation in his voice rather than anger.

“And you shouldn’t be lying about who you are while claiming to protect me,” I counter. “Who are you really, Alessio? Because I’m starting to think the enforcer loyal to the Calviño’s is just another mask.”

He pockets the faded photograph, his movements controlled but tense. “It’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it for me,” I demand, stepping closer to him. “Because in seven days, I’m supposed to marry into the Calviño family, and I’d like to know exactly what I’m walking into.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a breath-stealing moment, I see conflict raging behind them—calculation, caution, and something else. Something that looks remarkably like concern.

“What else do you know?” he asks.

“I know you’re planning something against Giancarlo,” I say, watching his reaction carefully.

His expression hardens. “Going through other people’s things is dangerous,principessa.”

“So is lying to the people you’re supposed to protect,” I shoot back. “I also found this.” I pull another leather-bound flash drive from my pocket—another item from his jacket. “Heavily encrypted, but I recognize the markings. Financial data, I’m guessing. Evidence?”

This time, alarm flashes across his features before his control reasserts itself. He moves with startling speed, closing the distance between us and plucking the drive from my fingers.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he growls, his voice dropping to a dangerous register that should frighten me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my body. “You had no business unzipping the inner pocket of my jacket.”

“Then tell me,” I challenge, refusing to back down even as he towers over me. “Because right now, I’m seven days away from marrying into a family that my bodyguard is apparently plotting against. That makes me either a target or an unwitting pawn.”

Something in my words seems to reach him. His expression softens fractionally, and he takes a deep breath.

“I can’t tell you everything,” he says finally. “Not yet. But I can tell you that I’m not who Giancarlo Calviño thinks I am. And yes, I have plans for him—plans that have been in motion for longer than you’ve been engaged to his son.”

“Is that why you slept with me that night?” I ask, the question that has been burning inside me since I found out his secret. “Was I part of the plan?”

His hand shoots out, gripping my chin with gentle but immovable fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. “No. That night had nothing to do with any of this. I didn’t know who you were.”

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