Page 12

12

Alessio

The tie around my neck feels like a noose as I scan the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors where New York’s elite mingle with the city’s most notorious criminals. Tonight’s charity gala—one of the many pre-wedding events crowding these final days—serves as the perfect stage for what we’ve all become: wolves in designer clothing.

Five days until the wedding that will never happen. Five days until I reveal myself to Giancarlo Calvino as the son he tried to murder.

Five days until I unleash hell upon the empire he built on my mother’s grave.

“Another whiskey?” A server appears at my elbow, tray balanced perfectly.

“No.” I keep my voice low and controlled. “Thank you.”

My gaze finds Isadora across the room. She’s breathtaking in emerald silk that matches her eyes, her dark hair swept up to expose the elegant curve of her neck. I know exactly how that skin tastes, how it flushes under my touch. The memory of yesterday morning in my childhood bedroom sends heat coursing through my veins.

But tonight, she has to act as if she belongs to Luca. At least that’s what everyone needs to believe, and it makes me feel sick.

My half-brother stands beside her, one possessive hand at the small of her back as he speaks with the police commissioner. Luca’s smile never reaches his eyes—cold, calculating, much like our father’s. Luca and I may share blood, but that is where it ends. We look nothing alike. He was raised in privilege while I was raised in secret. He was given everything while I fought for scraps.

And now, he has Isadora.

Over my fucking dead body will he have her.

Our eyes meet across the room, hers and mine, just for a second. She gives nothing away—her expression remains politely interested in whatever Luca is saying—but I feel the connection like a physical touch. Only I know what she looks like when passion replaces that careful mask, when those green eyes darken with desire, when my name—my real name—falls from her lips.

Stefano. Not Alessio.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, capo .” Vittorio materializes beside me, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, not taking my eyes off the crowded ballroom.

He laughs softly. “I’ve known you too long. You think I can’t see how you look at her?”

My jaw tightens. “I’m doing my job, nothing more.”

“Your job is to guard the future Calvino bride, not fuck her.”

My hand moves before my brain registers the decision, grabbing Vittorio by the collar and pulling him into a shadowed alcove. “Watch your mouth,” I growl, keeping my voice low though every instinct screams for violence.

To his credit, Vittorio doesn’t flinch. “I’m on your side, remember? Always have been.” His eyes—sharp, assessing—search mine. “But I need to know if she’s compromised our operation.”

I release him, smoothing his lapel in a gesture that could be mistaken for friendly to any observers. “The plan remains unchanged.”

“Are you sure about that?” He straightens his tie. “Because the Alessio Gravano I know would never risk twenty years of work for a woman.”

“She’s not just—” I stop myself, realizing I’m proving his point. “The plan. Remains. Unchanged.”

But even as I say the words, I know they’re not entirely true. Something has shifted since Isadora entered my life—first as a nameless encounter in a club bathroom, then as the bride I was assigned to protect, and now as a willing accomplice in my revenge. The singular focus that has driven me for decades now shares space with something unexpected. Something I never allowed myself to want.

A future beyond vengeance.

“If you say so.” Vittorio doesn’t sound convinced. “Just remember what’s at stake. And who’s still suffering while we wait.”

Maria. He means Maria, wasting away in that nursing home, cancer consuming her body while I complete the mission she prepared me for. My hand reflexively touches the pocket where I keep her photograph, the talisman that reminds me why I became Alessio Gravano in the first place.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I tell him. “Five more days.”

Vittorio nods, slipping back into the crowd as smoothly as he appears. I resume my position along the wall, vigilant eyes tracking potential threats. It’s a role I’ve perfected—the silent sentinel, the dangerous shadow in Giancarlo’s organization. So good at my job that he trusts me with his son’s future bride.

The irony would be amusing if it weren’t so fraught with peril.

Across the room, I notice a shift in the dynamic between Isadora and Luca. His fingers dig into her waist, his smile growing strained as he leans to whisper something in her ear. Her posture stiffens, though her social mask remains firmly in place.

I move without conscious thought, weaving through the crowd with predatory grace. I would tear Luca apart with my bare hands before I allow him to cause any harm to my woman. As I draw closer, I catch fragments of their conversation.

“—embarrassing me in front of the commissioner,” Luca hisses, his grip visibly tightening on her arm.

“I simply asked about his charity work,” Isadora replies, her voice steady despite the pain she must be feeling. “It wasn’t a political statement.”

“Everything is political in our world.” Luca’s face contorts with barely controlled rage. “You know better than to question—”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Calvino?” I interrupt, my voice pitched low enough that only they can hear.

Luca’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “Nothing that concerns you, Gravano.”

“Miss De Angelis’s safety concerns me directly,” I counter smoothly. “That includes her well-being at all times.”

Isadora’s eyes find mine, gratitude flickering beneath her composed exterior. Luca notices the exchange, his grip on her arm tightening further.

“You forget your place,” he says, venom dripping from each word. “You work for my father, not for her.”

“My assignment is clear,” I reply, keeping my expression neutral even as rage burns through my veins. “To ensure Miss De Angelis reaches the altar unharmed.”

The double meaning of my words isn’t lost on Isadora. Her lips twitch slightly, the ghost of a smile that only I can recognize.

“Then do your job from a distance,” Luca orders, turning his back dismissively.

I should walk away. The strategic move would be to retreat, to avoid drawing attention to the growing tension between us. But something in me refuses to yield—not when his fingers are on Isadora’s skin. Not when fear flickers beneath her carefully constructed facade.

“I need to speak with Miss De Angelis about security concerns,” I say, not backing down. “Privately.”

Luca turns back, disbelief written across features so similar to Giancarlo’s it makes my stomach turn. “Excuse me?”

“It’s standard protocol,” I lie smoothly. “A brief security update before the main event. We usually take five minutes to discuss exit plans just in case.”

I can see him calculating his options. Causing a scene would draw unwanted attention, but allowing his bride to step away with another man, even one he believes works for his father, bruises his ego.

Whether he says yes or not, I am going to fucking have a conversation with Isadora now.

“Fine.” He releases her arm, leaving behind angry red marks I commit to memory. “Five minutes. Then she returns to my side, where she belongs.”

Isadora manages a graceful nod. “Of course, darling.”

The endearment makes bile rise in my throat.

I guide her away with a hand hovering near but not touching the small of her back, the picture of professional detachment. We move through the ballroom toward a service corridor, nodding politely to guests who recognize us. Once we’re alone in the dimly lit side room, I stop and face her.

“Are you all right?” I ask, my fingers gently tracing the marks Luca left on her arm.

“I’m fine,” she says, though the slight tremor in her voice betrays her. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”

The casual admission makes my blood boil. “How long has he been hurting you?”

“He doesn’t consider it hurting,” she explains, her voice steady despite the pain I know she’s feeling. “Just... correction. Guidance.” She meets my gaze directly. “It’s how men like him show ownership.”

“Men like him,” I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. “Men like my father.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t soften the truth. It’s one of the things I’ve come to appreciate most about her—her unflinching honesty in a world built on lies.

I want to pull her into my arms, to kiss away the marks Luca’s fingers left on her skin. Instead, I take a step back, putting the necessary distance between us. These walls have eyes, and we’ve already risked too much.

“Five more days,” I remind her, and myself.

She nods, understanding everything I’m not saying. “Five days.”

Her fingers brush against mine—a fleeting touch that sends electricity racing up my arm. Desire coils tight in my belly, a constant companion whenever she’s near. I want to push her against the wall, hike up that silk dress, and remind us both who she really belongs to. I want to erase Luca’s touch with my own, mark her as mine in ways only we would know.

But I can’t. Not here. Not now.

“We should return,” she says, her voice slightly breathless as if she’s read my thoughts. “Before Luca comes looking.”

I clench my jaw, forcing myself back into the role I’ve played for so long. “Of course.”

Just before we leave the side room, she pauses, turning to face me fully. “Stefano?” She whispers in a way that only I can hear her.

My real name on her lips sends a shiver down my spine.

“When this is over,” she continues, her eyes holding mine, “when Giancarlo falls and Luca learns the truth—what happens to us?”

The question catches me off guard. Us. Such a simple word loaded with such dangerous potential.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I never planned for an after. Never planned for... you.”

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume—jasmine and something uniquely her that makes my heart race. “Perhaps it’s time to start planning.”

Before I can respond, she turns and walks back into the ballroom, spine straight, head high—every inch the mafia princess she was born to be. I follow a respectful distance behind, resuming my position as her watchful protector.

Across the room, Giancarlo Calvino enters with his wife on his arm. The man who ordered my mother’s murder, who thought he’d erased me from existence, greets guests with practiced charm. His eyes—a shade or two darker than mine—scan the crowd with the calculating assessment of a predator among prey.

When his gaze lands on me, he nods in approval, completely unaware that he’s looking at his firstborn son. Unaware that in five days, I will destroy everything he’s built.

Luca reclaims Isadora, his hand once again possessive at her waist. She plays her part perfectly—the dutiful fiancée, the obedient daughter, the perfect mafia bride. Only I see the fire behind her eyes, the determination that matches my own.

Five more days until we burn it all down.

Five more days until I become Stefano Calvino again.

Five more days until Isadora and I discover if there’s a future for us beyond the ashes of revenge.

I adjust my cufflinks, straighten my shoulders, and slip back into the role of Alessio Gravano. For now, I am still the enforcer, the loyal soldier, the ghost in Giancarlo’s organization.

But beneath that carefully constructed facade, Stefano Calvino waits patiently and with determination, ready to reclaim everything that was stolen from him—and perhaps to claim something new he never expected to find.