Page 59 of Shattered Engagement

“Welcome home, brother.”

Luca’s voice cuts through the shadows, and lights flicker on overhead—not the full industrial fluorescents, but strategic spotlights creating pools of visibility in the vast space. He stands twenty feet away on a raised platform, looking every inch the mafia prince in his tailored suit despite our surroundings.

And beside him, bound to a metal chair, is Isadora.

The sight of her hits me with physical force—dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, emerald eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury, a bruise darkening her cheekbone. The need to kill surges through me, primal and unrelenting.

“Let her go,” I say, voice dangerously soft. “This is between us.”

Luca smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Is it? Because her diary suggests otherwise.” He strokes the leather-bound book in his hand. “Quite the storyteller, our Isadora. Especially about your... encounters.”

Isadora’s eyes lock with mine, communicating something urgent beyond words. Be careful. He knows everything.

“I’m here now,” I say, moving closer, cataloging every detail—two visible guards by the far exit, the slight bulge under Luca’s jacket indicating a shoulder holster, the way Isadora’s fingers work subtly at her restraints. “Release her, and we can discuss whatever you want.”

Luca laughs, the sound echoing off metal and concrete. “Ever the negotiator, Alessio. Or should I call you Stefano?” He descends the metal steps with theatrical casualness. “My long-lost brother, back from the dead to destroy our father. Poetic, really.”

“You’ve known,” I realize, studying the lack of genuine surprise in his expression. “How long?”

“Years.” He shrugs, circling toward me like a predator. “Mother told me on my fifteenth birthday.”

Understanding dawns, sharp and unexpected. “You’ve been planning your own move against Giancarlo.”

“Smart boy,” Luca mocks. “While you built your ghost identity, I built my power base from within. Waiting for the perfect moment to take everything.” His smile turns cold. “Your revenge provides excellent cover for my coup.”

I let him talk, using the distraction to move incrementally closer to Isadora, whose fingers continue their subtle work on her bonds. Every nerve in my body screams to rush to her, to touch her, to verify with my hands that she’s whole. Instead, I focus on Luca, keeping his attention fixed on me.

“Why tell me this?” I ask. “Why not just kill me and be done with it?”

“Because I’m offering you a choice, brother.” Luca stops circling, his expression serious for the first time. “Join me. Together, we dismantle Giancarlo’s empire and rebuild it stronger, smarter. Two Calviño sons united rather than divided.”

The proposal hangs between us, unexpected enough to make me hesitate. “You tortured your own fiancée to propose a partnership?”

“Hardly torture,” Luca scoffs, glancing at Isadora with dismissive contempt. “Just ensuring her cooperation. Besides, she was never really mine, was she?” His gaze returns to me, sharper now. “You made sure of that.”

Heat flares in my chest—possessiveness, pride, something deeper I’m still afraid to name. The memory of Isadora’s body against mine, her whispered confessions, the way she says my real name like a prayer—mine in ways Luca could never understand.

“She makes her own choices,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

“Does she?” Luca raises an eyebrow. “Or did you manipulate her into betraying her family, her future, everything she was raised to be—just to further your revenge?”

The accusation cuts deeper than it should, finding the doubt I’ve tried to bury. Did I use her? Did I allow my need for vengeance to put her in danger?

“Don’t listen to him.” Isadora’s voice rings out, clear and strong despite her position. “He’s trying to get in your head.”

She’s right. I can see Luca measuring my reaction, looking for weaknesses to exploit. I’ve spent twenty years crafting Alessio Gravano, learning to hide every vulnerability. But Isadora herself has become my greatest vulnerability—and my greatest strength.

“No deal,” I tell Luca, taking another step forward. “Release her, walk away, and you might live to see morning.”

Disappointment flashes across his features, genuine enough to surprise me. “I did hope we might find common ground, brother. We’re more alike than you realize.” His hand moves toward his jacket. “Both sons were discarded by the same cruel father. Both seeking power through different means.”

“We’re nothing alike,” I snarl, tensing for what comes next.

“We’re exactly alike,” Luca counters, drawing his gun with practiced smoothness. “Just playing different sides of the same game.”

I dive for cover as the first shot rings out, rolling behind a massive rusted machine press. In the same motion, I draw my Beretta, returning fire strategically—not to kill, but to keep him pinned while I close the distance to Isadora.

“You could’ve had everything!” Luca shouts, his voice echoing across the warehouse floor. “We could’ve ruled together! Built something greater than Giancarlo ever dreamed!”

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