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A test, then. One, I hope I’ve passed.

“I’ll be ready,” I promise, the words bitter on my tongue.

After he leaves, I sink onto the edge of my bed, trembling with a combination of thwarted desire and rising panic. Two days until I’m supposed to marry Luca Calviño. Two days until Stefano reveals himself to Giancarlo Calviño.

Two days until our world burns.

I need to warn him. Need to tell him the timeline has shifted. But I know I’m being watched more closely than ever—the bruised mark of Luca’s fingers on my wrist is a reminder of what’s at stake.

For the first time, real fear grips me. Not just for myself, but for Stefano. For what we’ve started together. For the fragile possibility of “after” we’ve allowed ourselves to imagine.

Because in our world, happy endings aren’t guaranteed. They’re paid for in blood.

And I’m terrified of whose blood it might be.

16

Alessio

The wedding timeline has been cut in half: two days, not four. The knowledge sits like a stone in my gut as I drive through rain-slick streets toward my meeting with Vittorio. Isadora’s desperate whisper as we passed in the hallway—”It’s been moved up”—still echoes in my ears. She risked everything to warn me, those emerald eyes wide with fear not for herself, but for our plan. For me.

The clock is ticking faster than we anticipated.

I park two blocks from the abandoned warehouse that serves as one of our secure meeting locations, checking my surroundings with practiced precision before exiting the car. The rain feels appropriate—cold droplets washing down my face like the universe’s attempt to cleanse me of twenty years of plotting. It doesn’t work. Nothing can wash away what I’ve become.

Vittorio waits inside, silhouetted against the grimy windows. His shoulders stiffen when I tell him the news.

“Two days?” He runs a hand through his graying hair. “They’re rushing the wedding to stabilize the alliance. Smart move.”

“We need to accelerate everything,” I say, pacing the concrete floor. Water drips from a dozen places in the ceiling, creating a chaotic percussion that matches my racing thoughts. “The evidence against Giancarlo, the transfer of assets, the men positioned at key locations—everything moves up to the wedding day.”

Vittorio studies me with eyes that see too much. “Can we be ready?”

“We have to be.” I stop pacing, meeting his gaze directly. “Twenty years, Vittorio. Twenty years of planning for this moment. I won’t let a change in scheduling derail us.”

“It’s not the scheduling that concerns me.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “It’s your focus. You’ve changed since meeting her.”

Isadora. He doesn’t need to say her name. The mere thought of her sends heat coursing through my veins—the memory of her body pressed against mine, her whispered confessions, the taste of her still lingering on my tongue. Hours ago, I had her against her bedroom wall, my fingers buried inside her, her pleasure muffled against my shoulder just moments before Luca’s unwelcome interruption.

“My focus is exactly where it needs to be,” I insist, turning away to hide whatever might show on my face. Vittorio knows me too well.

“Is it?” He circles to stand before me again. “Because I’ve spent two decades watching you build this revenge plan with cold precision. Now, suddenly, there’s fire in your eyes. Passion. Hesitation.”

“I’m not hesitating.”

“You’ve developed feelings for the De Angelis girl.” Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with the bluntness of a longtime friend and fellow soldier. “The bride of your half-brother, the cornerstone of a union you’re planning to destroy.”

My jaw tightens. “Isadora is...” How do I define what she is to me? An unexpected complication. A desperate need. A woman who saw past Alessio Gravano to the ghost of Stefano Calviño beneath. “...not an obstacle to our plan.”

“But she is a liability,” Vittorio counters. “One that could get you killed if you’re not careful.”

I want to argue, but he’s not wrong. Loving Isadora—and yes, it’s love, though I haven’t admitted it aloud—is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. More dangerous than infiltrating Giancarlo’s organization. More dangerous than spending twenty years as a ghost.

“I’ve arranged for her protection,” I say instead. “When everything falls apart, she’ll be protected from the worst of it.”

Vittorio raises an eyebrow. “And if she chooses her family over you? The De Angelis empire will suffer significant collateral damage when Giancarlo falls.”

The question lands like a physical blow. I’ve been so caught up in my feelings for Isadora, in our stolen moments and whispered promises, that I’ve allowed myself to believe in a future beyond vengeance. But Vittorio’s practical skepticism forces me to confront the reality: destroying Giancarlo means damaging Antonio De Angelis, too. Would Isadora forgive me for bringing her father down alongside my own?