Page 48 of Shattered Engagement

“She understands what’s at stake,” I tell him, with more confidence than I feel.

“Does she? Or does she understand only what you’ve chosen to tell her?” Vittorio shakes his head. “Women like her don’t walk away from family empires, Stefano. Not even for love.”

The use of my real name—something Vittorio rarely does—emphasizes the gravity of his warning. But before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an unknown number. I shouldn’t answer it. Protocol demands that I let it go to voicemail, and then check it from a secure location.

But something—intuition or perhaps the accelerated timeline making me reckless—compels me to accept the call.

“Gravano,” I answer, voice neutral.

“Enjoying your time with the bride, Stefano?” The voice is digitally altered, impossible to identify. But the name—my real name—sends ice through my veins.

Vittorio’s eyes widen at my expression. I put the call on speaker, signaling for him to trace it if possible.

“Who is this?” I keep my tone controlled despite the adrenaline surging through my system.

“Someone who knows exactly who you are and what you’re planning.” The mechanical voice continues, devoid of human inflection. “The son who returned from the dead. The ghost seeking vengeance.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “What do you want?”

“To offer friendly advice: walk away. The Calviño empire is more protected than you realize. There are players on the board you haven’t accounted for.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, though I know the answer.

“A warning. For old times’ sake.” The voice pauses, then adds: “Your mother would want you alive, Stefano. Not buried in a real grave this time.”

The call ends. Vittorio looks up from his laptop, shaking his head. “Untraceable. Bounced through too many servers.”

I stand frozen, mind racing through possibilities. Who knows my true identity? Who would warn me rather than expose me to Giancarlo? The mention of my mother feels like a violation—personal, intimate, designed to unbalance me.

“We have a leak,” Vittorio states the obvious. “Someone close knows everything.”

“Not everything,” I correct, though uncertainty gnaws at me. “They don’t know about Isadora. If they did, they would’ve used her against me more directly.”

Vittorio nods slowly. “So what now?”

“We proceed.” I pocket my phone, decision made. “But we tighten security, change meeting locations, switch to our backup communications protocol. And I want extra protection on Maria.”

At the mention of her name, guilt tightens my chest. I need to see her—my surrogate mother, the woman who saved me, who’s now fading from cancer while I play out my decades-long revenge plot. With the timeline accelerated, this might be my last chance.

“I’ll handle the security changes,” Vittorio assures me. “You go see Maria. If someone knows who you are, she could be in danger.”

I leave Vittorio with final instructions, then drive to Meadow Haven Nursing Home, my mind heavy with the mysterious caller’s warning. Players on the board you haven’t accounted for. Who? I’ve spent twenty years mapping every connection, every ally, every enemy in Giancarlo’s world. What am I missing?

The familiar antiseptic smell hits me as I enter Maria’s room. She looks smaller than the last time I visited, her once-robust body now bird-like beneath hospital blankets. But her eyes—those dark, sharp eyes that have seen through every lie I’ve ever told—remain alert.

“Stefano,” she says, using my real name like a gift. “You look troubled.”

I lean to kiss her papery cheek, inhaling the lavender scent she’s worn since my childhood. “Timeline’s been accelerated. The wedding is in two days.”

Maria nods slowly. “So it begins sooner than expected.” She studies me with that penetrating gaze that has always seen straight to my soul. “But that’s not all that’s bothering you.”

I tell her about the phone call, the mysterious warning, the mention of my mother. Throughout my explanation, her expression remains thoughtful rather than surprised.

“You’ve been expecting this,” I realize, recognizing the lack of shock in her eyes. “You knew someone else was aware of my identity.”

She sighs, reaching for my hand with fingers that seem more fragile each time I visit. “I’ve always known this day would come, Stefano. Secrets this big rarely stay buried forever.” Her thumb traces circles on my palm, a comforting gesture from my childhood. “But I didn’t know who might have discovered the truth. There are possibilities...”

“Tell me,” I demand, then soften my tone. “Please, Maria. I need to know.”

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