Page 36 of Shattered Engagement

“I need to speak with Miss De Angelis about security concerns,” I say, not backing down. “Privately.”

Luca turns back, disbelief written across features so similar to Giancarlo’s it makes my stomach turn. “Excuse me?”

“It’s standard protocol,” I lie smoothly. “A brief security update before the main event. We usually take five minutes to discuss exit plans just in case.”

I can see him calculating his options. Causing a scene would draw unwanted attention, but allowing his bride to step away with another man, even one he believes works for his father, bruises his ego.

Whether he says yes or not, I am going to fucking have a conversation with Isadora now.

“Fine.” He releases her arm, leaving behind angry red marks I commit to memory. “Five minutes. Then she returns to my side, where she belongs.”

Isadora manages a graceful nod. “Of course, darling.”

The endearment makes bile rise in my throat.

I guide her away with a hand hovering near but not touching the small of her back, the picture of professional detachment. We move through the ballroom toward a service corridor, nodding politely to guests who recognize us. Once we’re alone in the dimly lit side room, I stop and face her.

“Are you all right?” I ask, my fingers gently tracing the marks Luca left on her arm.

“I’m fine,” she says, though the slight tremor in her voice betrays her. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”

The casual admission makes my blood boil. “How long has he been hurting you?”

“He doesn’t consider it hurting,” she explains, her voice steady despite the pain I know she’s feeling. “Just... correction. Guidance.” She meets my gaze directly. “It’s how men like him show ownership.”

“Men like him,” I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. “Men like my father.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t soften the truth. It’s one of the things I’ve come to appreciate most about her—her unflinching honesty in a world built on lies.

I want to pull her into my arms, to kiss away the marks Luca’s fingers left on her skin. Instead, I take a step back, putting the necessary distance between us. These walls have eyes, and we’ve already risked too much.

“Five more days,” I remind her, and myself.

She nods, understanding everything I’m not saying. “Five days.”

Her fingers brush against mine—a fleeting touch that sends electricity racing up my arm. Desire coils tight in my belly, a constant companion whenever she’s near. I want to push her against the wall, hike up that silk dress, and remind us both who she really belongs to. I want to erase Luca’s touch with my own, mark her as mine in ways only we would know.

But I can’t. Not here. Not now.

“We should return,” she says, her voice slightly breathless as if she’s read my thoughts. “Before Luca comes looking.”

I clench my jaw, forcing myself back into the role I’ve played for so long. “Of course.”

Just before we leave the side room, she pauses, turning to face me fully. “Stefano?” She whispers in a way that only I can hear her.

My real name on her lips sends a shiver down my spine.

“When this is over,” she continues, her eyes holding mine, “when Giancarlo falls and Luca learns the truth—what happens to us?”

The question catches me off guard. Us. Such a simple word loaded with such dangerous potential.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I never planned for an after. Never planned for... you.”

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume—jasmine and something uniquely her that makes my heart race. “Perhaps it’s time to start planning.”

Before I can respond, she turns and walks back into the ballroom, spine straight, head high—every inch the mafia princess she was born to be. I follow a respectful distance behind, resuming my position as her watchful protector.

Across the room, Giancarlo Calviño enters with his wife on his arm. The man who ordered my mother’s murder, who thought he’d erased me from existence, greets guests with practiced charm. His eyes—a shade or two darker than mine—scan the crowd with the calculating assessment of a predator among prey.

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