Page 64 of Shattered Engagement

She looks simultaneously fragile and indomitable—a sleeping warrior goddess. My goddess. My salvation. My destruction.

I sink into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is cool but alive, pulse steady beneath my fingers. The relief is so intense it’s painful, a crushing weight in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.

“You stupid, beautiful, brave woman,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “What were you thinking, taking on Giancarlo like that?”

Her face remains serene in unconsciousness, but I can almost hear her defiant response: I was thinking I’d burn the world down to save you, same as you would for me.

Because she would. This fierce, privileged princess raised in luxury chose to fight beside me, to bleed for me, to love me despite knowing exactly what I am.

A ghost. A liar. A man built entirely from rage and vengeance.

Or at least, that’s what I was before her.

My mother’s ring weighs heavy in my pocket—the ring Maria gave me just days ago, though it feels like a lifetime has passed. I take it out, the gold catching the dim light as I turn it between my fingers.

“I was supposed to take him down,” I tell Isadora’s sleeping form. “Twenty years planning the perfect revenge. The evidence compiled, the trap set, every detail calculated.” My voice breaks with a bitter laugh. “And then you walked into that club bathroom, and nothing has gone according to plan since.”

I lean forward, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I had to watch him hurt you,principessa.Had to see your blood spill because of my vendetta. That was never part of the plan.”

Her chest rises and falls steadily, the only response to my confession. But somehow, it’s enough—just knowing she’s breathing, that her heart continues to beat, that I haven’t lost her to my father’s cruelty like I lost my mother.

I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear falls on our joined hands. Twenty years without tears, and now, they come freely, silently tracking down my face as exhaustion, fear and desperate love break through walls I thought impenetrable.

“I can’t lose you,” I whisper. “Not for revenge. Not for anything.”

The truth of it shakes me to my core: I would walk away from twenty years of planning, from justice for my mother, from my very identity as Stefano Calviño—if it means keeping Isadora safe. The revelation should terrify me, this willingness to abandon the purpose that has defined my existence.

Instead, it feels like freedom.

Vittorio enters hours later, finding me still holding her hand, her engagement ring from Luca pointedly missing from her finger.

“We need to move,” he says without preamble. “The De Angelis organization has men searching every medical facility in the city. Antonio is out for blood—your blood specifically.”

“Dr. Berlusconi said two days,” I counter, not taking my eyes off Isadora.

“We don’t have two days. I’ve secured a safe house in Connecticut. Remote property, defensible terrain, fully stocked. My men are preparing it now.”

I finally look at him, seeing the gravity in his expression. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Vittorio hesitates, unusual for a man who has never minced words in the twenty years I’ve known him. “Luca has made his move. With Giancarlo hospitalized, he’s claimed leadership of the Calviño organization.”

“Good for him,” I say flatly. “Let him have it.”

“That’s not all. He’s aligned with the Ricci family. They’re combining forces, eliminating rivals. Three of our men were found dead this morning.”

The news should alarm me more than it does, but with Isadora lying wounded before me, power struggles in the criminal underworld seem distant and irrelevant.

“And the evidence against Giancarlo?” I ask, thinking of the files I’ve meticulously compiled for two decades.

“Secure. But useless while he’s fighting for his life in Columbia Presbyterian with guards at his door. The moment he’s stable, Luca will have him moved to a private facility where no one can reach him.”

I absorb this, turning back to Isadora. Her color is better, a hint of pink returning to her cheeks. Mine. Against impossible odds, against warring families and blood oaths and decades of hatred, she’s chosen me. I’ve chosen her.

“Set up the extraction for tomorrow morning,” I tell Vittorio. “First light. And I want Maria moved to the Connecticut property as well. Giancarlo’s men will target her now that they know who I am.”

Vittorio nods, but hesitates at the door. “What’s the plan, Stefano? Truly. Because it looks a lot like you’re choosing the girl over the revenge.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “Maybe I am.”

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