Page 28 of Shattered Engagement

“No.” I meet her gaze unflinchingly. “I want him to know who’s taking everything from him before he dies. I want him to recognize me as his son in his final moments.”

Maria sighs heavily. “Revenge has consumed him for so long. I fear what happens when it’s over.”

“One thing at a time,nonna,” I say gently, using the endearment she never lets me forget she’s earned.

Isadora watches our exchange, something softening in her expression. For the first time since I’ve known her, I see neither the polished mafia princess nor the wild woman from the club, but someone in between—thoughtful, compassionate, weighing moral complexities.

“And where do I fit into this plan?” she asks finally.

“You weren’t part of it,” I admit. “Meeting you was... unexpected. A complication.”

Maria laughs softly. “Fate has a sense of humor, pairing the son Giancarlo rejected with the bride of the son he chose.”

Isadora flushes, confirming Maria’s perception of what exists between us. “The wedding is in six days.”

“Yes,” I acknowledge, watching her carefully. “Which is why you needed to know the truth now. Whatever you decide to do with this information affects everything.”

Maria squeezes her hand. “He’s giving you a terrible choice, my dear. But then, women in our world rarely get easy ones.”

Isadora looks between us, her expression unreadable. Then she stands, smoothing her dress with hands that tremble slightly. “I need to see the rest. Where it all began. Then I’ll decide.”

I push away from the windowsill, nodding. “We’ll go there next.”

Maria calls my name—my real name—as we turn to leave. “Stefano. Whatever happens, remember there is life after vengeance. Don’t lose yourself so completely that you can’t find your way back.”

The warning strikes deeper than she knows. Because already, I feel myself changing course, the orbit of my existence shifting to accommodate the gravity of the woman beside me.

I bend to kiss Maria’s papery cheek. “Rest,nonna.I’ll visit again soon.”

Outside, in the strengthening morning light, Isadora remains silent until we reach the car. As I open her door, her hand catches my wrist, her touch searing through my sleeve.

“She loves you,” she says simply. “Not as a weapon or an asset. As a son.”

The observation cuts to the heart of what I’ve been missing for thirty years—uncomplicated love, without agendas or expectations. I swallow hard, unwilling to examine how her insight affects me.

“Get in the car,principessa,”I say, my voice rougher than intended. “We’re not finished yet.”

Her fingers linger a moment longer, a silent acknowledgment of everything I’m not saying, before she slides into the passenger seat. As I round the hood to the driver’s side, I feel the weight of Maria’s photograph in my pocket—a reminder of who I was before revenge consumed me.

And for the first time in decades, I wonder if there might be a future beyond the vengeance I’ve dedicated my life to achieving.

A future that inexplicably includes the woman whose emerald eyes now watch me with a mixture of wariness and something dangerously close to understanding as I start the engine and drive us toward the final piece of my past.

10

Isadora

The car slows as we enter a neighborhood I’ve never seen—not the kind of place Antonio De Angelis would allow his daughter to visit. Buildings crowd together like tired soldiers, decades of grime dulling their facades. Graffiti marks territory in a language I understand despite never having been taught: this belongs to us, not you.

Alessio—no, Stefano—drives through these streets with the quiet confidence of a man returning home. His eyes constantly scan our surroundings, but there’s familiarity in his movements now, the rigid enforcer posture softening almost imperceptibly.

“Not what you expected?” he asks, catching my assessment.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” I answer honestly. After meeting Maria, nothing about this man feels predictable anymore.

He parks beside a weathered brick building, unremarkable except for the faded blue door. No doorman, no security cameras—just worn concrete steps leading to an entrance that’s seen better decades. Worlds away from the fortified mansions we both inhabit now.

“This is where Maria brought you?” I ask as he kills the engine.

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