Page 73 of Shattered Engagement

"Stefano," she whispers, and I hear the tremor in her voice.

I squeeze her hand weakly. It's all I can manage, but it’s enough. Her body shakes with a quiet, broken sob as she presses my hand to her cheek.

"You came back to me," she breathes, her tears wetting my skin. "You fought."

I want to tell her I fought for her. That I would tear apart heaven and hell if it meant one more second by her side. But the words won’t come. So I let my eyes say it for me.

She leans closer, her forehead resting against the back of my hand, whispering promises I can’t quite make out. But I feel the love in them, the hope, the desperate, furious faith that has kept her tethered to me.

I slip back into sleep with her touch grounding me, knowing that whatever battles still lie ahead, I’m not facing them alone.

26

Alessio

The days pass in a haze of pain, medication, and whispered conversations. I drift in and out, each time waking to find Isadora there, a constant, unyielding presence.

She reads to me sometimes, her voice soft and steady. Stories of things she wants us to do together—trips we’ll take, places we’ll see, a life beyond the blood and betrayal we were both born into.

Vittorio visits, too, grim and quiet, providing brief updates. The old regime is crumbling. Without Giancarlo and Luca, loyalty fractures by the hour. Our men and allies grow stronger, and our enemies scramble.

But it’s Isadora who brings me back, again and again.

One evening, as twilight spills purple shadows across the hospital room, she crawls carefully into bed beside me. She fits herself against my good side, mindful of the bandages, and lays her head on my shoulder.

For a long time, we just lie there, breathing together, saying nothing.

Then, her voice, so small I almost miss it.

"I was so scared I’d lose you," she says.

"Never," I rasp.

She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes shining. "Promise me you’ll never leave me again. No matter what."

I brush my knuckles along her jaw, my strength returning slowly but surely. "Nothing could drag me away from you. Not even death."

She smiles, a real one this time, and presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart.

In that moment, with her curled against me, I know the war is already won. Whatever battles remain, whatever ghosts linger, they are nothing compared to this, compared to us.

A week later, when I’m finally strong enough to walk out of the hospital, the world feels different. Brighter. Sharper. As if everything dull and broken inside me has been reforged in the fire of what we survived.

Isadora is waiting for me at the doors, radiant and fierce in a simple white dress that dances around her legs in the breeze.

She holds out her hand without a word, and I take it, lacing our fingers together.

We don't speak as Vittorio drives us back to the estate. Words aren’t necessary. Every glance, every breath between us hums with promises spoken without sound.

Back at my house, Vittorio briefs us on the final power shifts. Those who were once loyal to Giancarlo have either been absorbed or eliminated. Stefano Calviño, long thought dead, is now the undeniable ruler of a fractured empire that will heal under my terms—or fall under my hand.

Later that night, Isadora finds me in the garden, standing beneath the same stars that once felt so distant. She slips her arms around my waist, resting her head against my back.

"You’re home," she whispers.

I turn in her arms, cupping her face, and press my forehead to hers.

"Yes, angel," I murmur. "And you are, too."

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