Page 27 of Shattered Engagement

“Because she’s dying.” The words tear from my throat, raw with an emotion I rarely allow myself to feel. “And because I need you to understand what’s at stake.”

Her hand moves to touch mine on the gearshift, but she stops herself, clearly remembering our agreement to maintain distance. The aborted gesture affects me more than if she’d completed it.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak again as we pull into the parking lot of Meadow Haven Nursing Home—a modest facility where I’ve ensured Maria receives the best care money can buy, under a name that can’t be traced back to me.

Inside, the antiseptic smell hits me first, followed by the underlying current of mortality that permeates these places. Early morning light filters through wide windows as staff begin their day. Isadora stays close as we walk down the hallways, her presence strangely comforting.

“Mr. Romano,” the nurse at the station greets me with a tired smile. She’s nearing the end of her night shift and knows me by one of my many aliases. “She’s been up since five. Already asking when you’d arrive.”

“She always knows,” I reply, the corner of my mouth lifting in a half-smile.

Room 217 is at the end of a quiet corridor, door partially open. I knock softly before entering, Isadora is a silent shadow behind me.

Maria sits by the window, early morning sunlight just beginning to illuminate her fragile frame. At seventy-eight, her once-robust body has been hollowed by cancer, but her eyes—dark, sharp, missing nothing—remain unchanged.

“Stefano,” she says, her voice stronger than her body suggests. Then her gaze shifts to Isadora, surprise and curiosity flickering across her features. “And who is this beauty you’ve brought to an old woman at such an early hour?”

“Maria, this is Isadora De Angelis.” I make the introduction, watching carefully for her reaction.

Maria’s eyes widen slightly, recognition dawning. “De Angelis? Antonio’s daughter?” When I nod, she chuckles softly. “Oh, Stefano. Always making things more complicated than they need to be.”

I feel Isadora’s questioning gaze but keep my attention on Maria. “She knows part of the truth. I’m showing her the rest today.”

Maria studies Isadora with the penetrating focus of someone who’s spent decades reading people’s secrets. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she extends a thin hand. “Come closer, child. Let me look at you properly.”

Isadora moves forward without hesitation, taking the offered hand with gentle respect. “It’s an honor to meet you, Maria.”

“Ah, polite too. And sincere, which is rarer.” Maria smiles, patting the chair beside her. “Sit. You have questions.”

As Isadora takes the seat, I lean against the windowsill, watching these two women—one who saved my life, and one who’s unwittingly become entangled in it.

“Stefano was just two when I took him,” Maria begins without preamble. “I was his nanny, hired by his mother who suspected what kind of monster she was arranged to marry. She was right to fear, but not quick enough to escape.”

Isadora’s eyes find mine, questioning. I give a small nod, confirming Maria’s words.

“Giancarlo Calviño ordered the hit on his own wife so he’d be free to marry his mistress,” Maria continues, her voice hardening despite her frailty. “I overheard his men that day. They’d already killed her, were looking for the child. I ran with Stefano, changed his name, disappeared into neighborhoods where they would never look.”

“Why?” Isadora asks. “Why would a father want his own son dead?”

“Power,” I answer, the word bitter on my tongue. “My mother was the daughter of a dyingcapo. Giancarlo married her for her family connections, had a son to solidify his claim. Once her father died and the organization was secure under Giancarlo’s control, we became liabilities. Especially since he already had his mistress pregnant with Luca.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. “Luca is your half-brother.”

“Yes.” The admission hangs between us. “Born to Giancarlo’s mistress Suzette, who became his wife after my mother’s ‘tragic death’ in a house fire. A fire that supposedly claimed my life as well.”

Maria’s grip tightens on Isadora’s hand. “For thirty-three years, I raised him in secret. Taught him to survive. To wait. To plan.” Pride and sorrow mingle in her voice. “Perhaps I should have taught him to forgive instead.”

“No,” I say sharply. “He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

The room falls silent save for the soft beeping of the monitors beside Maria’s bed. I watch Isadora process everything, her quick mind connecting dots, filling gaps.

“The flash drive,” she says finally. “It’s evidence against Giancarlo.”

I nod. “Financial records, murder orders, every crime I’ve documented over the last decade while working my way into his inner circle. Enough to destroy him legally if that was my goal.”

“But it’s not.”

---