Page 14

14

Alessio

I know the storm is coming before I hear the first thunderclap.

Vittorio’s text arrives at 3:17 AM: Done. No witnesses. East warehouse cleared.

The words glow in the darkness of my temporary quarters at the De Angelis estate, confirmation that I’m one step closer to destroying Giancarlo’s empire. The shipment—twenty million in pure cocaine—is now at the bottom of the harbor. A critical blow to the Calvino-De Angelis wedding alliance, and the first public move in my decades-long chess game.

I delete the message, then rest my head against the cool wall behind my bed. Sleep won’t come tonight. Not with my thoughts consumed by the knowledge that four hours from now, all hell will break loose.

And not with my mind constantly drifting to Isadora—to her emerald eyes filled with dangerous understanding, to her soft lips that whispered my real name yesterday. Stefano. The sound of it in her voice awakened something I’ve kept buried for twenty years.

She’s sleeping just down a few halls away, a temptation and a complication I never anticipated. Being stationed in her family home—assigned to protect her until the wedding—is its own special form of torture.

My phone buzzes again. Another message from Vittorio: De Angelis lieutenant asking questions at docks. Timeline moved up.

The storm isn’t arriving at dawn. It’s already here.

I dress quickly, checking my weapons out of habit. The Beretta slides into my shoulder holster, a comforting weight. The knife straps to my ankle. Tools of my trade—the trade that won me Giancarlo’s trust, that positioned me perfectly to witness his downfall.

I’ve barely finished dressing when my phone rings. Antonio De Angelis himself. At 3:30 in the morning, this can only mean one thing.

“Gravano,” I answer, keeping my voice professional despite knowing exactly why he’s calling.

“Come to my study immediately,” Antonio barks, then hangs up.

I exit my room, scanning the darkened hallway out of habit. As I make my way, my gaze lingers momentarily on Isadora’s door as I pass through her wing. So close, yet completely forbidden, especially now.

I’m halfway down the grand staircase when I hear the shouting. Luca’s voice, sharp and furious, echoes through the marble foyer. He’s at the De Angelis estate earlier than expected, which means he already knows about the shipment.

“Where is he?” he demands, barking at one of Antonio’s guards. “Get Gravano down here. Now!”

I adjust my tie, smooth my expression into neutral detachment, and descend the remaining stairs with measured steps. “Mr. Calvino,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I understand there’s a situation.”

Luca whips around, his face contorted with rage. In the harsh overhead lighting, I can see the same traits of Giancarlo—the same cruel mouth, the same cold calculation behind his eyes.

“You,” he snarls, advancing toward me. “Where were you tonight?”

I don’t flinch as he invades my personal space. “Here, at the De Angelis estate. My quarters are in the east wing.” A truth that serves my lie—I was indeed in the estate, though my absence for two crucial hours will never be documented thanks to the security system I temporarily disabled.

“Convenient,” Luca sneers.

“What’s happened?” I ask, though I know exactly what’s unfolding.

The door to Antonio’s study opens, and two of the most powerful men in New York’s underworld emerge. Antonio De Angelis leads, still in his evening suit, face ashen with fury. Behind him follows Giancarlo—silver hair immaculate despite the hour, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that suggests he came straight from a late business meeting.

“Someone hit the shipment,” Antonio says, his voice tight with controlled fury. “Twenty million, gone. My men found the trucks abandoned at the harbor. Cargo missing.”

I allow my expression to register appropriate shock. “When?”

“Approximately midnight,” Antonio continues. “My security detail was found unconscious—not dead, curiously.”

Not dead because I explicitly ordered Vittorio to avoid casualties. Dead men create investigations. Unconscious men create humiliation—and suspicion between allies.

Giancarlo’s eyes scan the foyer, taking in each face with predatory assessment. “Let’s continue this in your study,” he says to Antonio with the deadly calm that has made men tremble for decades. “The four of us.”

I follow them into the wood-paneled sanctuary of Antonio’s power, noting the way Luca glances over his shoulder at me, suspicion radiating from him in waves. The air smells of expensive bourbon and leather—the De Angelis signature scent, different from the cognac and cigar smoke that permeates Giancarlo’s office. I’ve been in both sanctums, and they don’t even know it.

“This was a calculated move,” Giancarlo says once the door closes behind us. “Timed perfectly to disrupt our alliance before the wedding.”

Antonio paces near the fireplace. “The Bianchi family, perhaps? They’ve been looking to expand into our territory for years.”

“Possibly,” Giancarlo agrees. “Or the Russians. They’ve been unhappy with our new distribution channels cutting into their profit margins.”

Luca slams his fist on Antonio’s mahogany desk. “This isn’t random! This is sabotage from within.”

The room falls silent. Giancarlo raises an eyebrow at his son. “Explain.”

“It’s too convenient,” Luca says, his gaze sliding to me. “The shipment route was known to only seven people. Four of them were at the casino with me until two hours ago. One is you, Father, and one is Antonio.”

I can feel his accusation building like a pressure system before a tornado. I keep my face impassive, my posture relaxed, though every muscle in my body is coiled tight.

“That leaves Gravano,” Luca finishes, pointing at me. “Who conveniently can’t account for his whereabouts except for being ‘in his quarters’ here at the De Angelis estate—where he has direct access to Isadora and all the family’s security protocols.”

“I’ve been here all night,” I say calmly, meeting Luca’s furious glare. “Ask any of the security detail.”

“Security detail that reports to you!” Luca’s voice rises. “He’s been acting strange for days. Ever since he was assigned to Isadora.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through me that I carefully conceal. Does he suspect something about us? Has he seen the way I look at her when I think no one is watching?

“You allowed him into your home,” Luca continues, addressing Antonio now, though his words are meant for Giancarlo, too. “A Calvino enforcer given full access to your daughter and your security protocols. And now, coincidentally, our most important shipment disappears.”

Antonio’s gaze fixes on me, measuring, calculating. I’ve gained his trust over the past days through careful professionalism, but suspicion comes easily to men in his position.

“My daughter’s safety is paramount. We all know her worth.” Antonio says carefully. “Giancarlo vouched for his loyalty.”

“Isadora is not an asset to be protected,” I say before I can stop myself, the words coming out sharper than intended. “She’s a person deserving of respect.”

Luca’s head snaps toward me, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

I recover quickly. “Miss De Angelis is a person. Your future wife. Not cargo to be assigned a value.”

“You see?” Luca turns triumphantly to his father. “He’s forgetting his place. He’s been different since meeting her.”

Antonio, who has been silently watching this exchange, tilts his head. “What are you suggesting, Luca?”

“I’m suggesting that perhaps Gravano has developed inappropriate feelings for my bride,” Luca says, the words dripping venom. “And that perhaps he’s attempting to sabotage our union by hitting this shipment.”

My hand instinctively moves toward my weapon, a motion I halt before it becomes obvious. One word from me and twenty years of planning collapse like a house of cards. One slip of control, and I lose everything.

“That’s quite an accusation,” Giancarlo says, his voice dangerously soft. “Especially against a man who has served our family with absolute loyalty for the past two decades.”

To my surprise, he moves to stand beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. The unexpected contact sends a cold shock through my system.

“Alessio Gravano has eliminated our enemies without question,” Giancarlo continues. “He has protected our interests across three continents. He has earned his place at this table.” His grip tightens. “And you, my son, are out of line.”

The defense—from the man who ordered my mother’s murder, who tried to have me killed as a boy—is so unexpected that for a moment, I feel disoriented. There’s approval in his touch, pride in his voice. Like a father defending his son.

Except I’m not his son. I’m Alessio Gravano, a loyal soldier. The irony burns like acid in my throat.

“You cannot be serious,” Luca splutters. “Father, you—”

“Enough.” Giancarlo’s voice cracks like a whip. “Antonio and I will handle this investigation. You will focus on the wedding. Four days, Luca. Four days until the De Angelis and Calvino families unite permanently.” He glances at Antonio. “Nothing will disrupt that. Correct?”

Antonio nods grimly. “Nothing.”

“And you,” Giancarlo turns to me, his amber eyes—the same shade as mine—assessing, calculating. “Continue your protection of Isadora. Double your efforts now. Whoever hit this shipment might target her next.”

I incline my head in acknowledgment, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Of course.”

Luca looks between his father and me, disbelief and rage warring on his face. “This is a mistake,” he seethes. “Mark my words.”

“The only mistake,” Giancarlo says coldly, “would be allowing emotions to cloud judgment. Something I’ve taught you to avoid since childhood.”

The rebuke lands with precision, and I watch Luca flinch.

“We should increase security at all properties,” I suggest, slipping back into my professional role. “If this was the Bianchi family or the Russians, they may be planning additional strikes.”

Giancarlo nods approvingly. “Already thinking three steps ahead. This is why I value you, Alessio.”

The praise shouldn’t affect me. This man murdered my mother. Tried to murder me. Destroyed my rightful legacy and built a new one on my family’s graves. Yet some small, broken part of me—the child who never knew a father’s approval—responds to his words with a warmth I despise.

“I’ll coordinate with both security teams immediately,” I say, pushing the feeling away.

“Good.” Giancarlo gestures to the door. “Antonio, let’s discuss our next shipment route in private.”

The dismissal is clear. As I turn to leave, Luca steps into my path, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me.

“I’m watching you, Gravano. One wrong move toward Isadora, one hint of betrayal, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes myself.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “Your concern for your fiancée is admirable,” I say, maintaining the pretense of respect. “But unnecessary where I’m concerned.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Every time I’m near Isadora, all I can think about is touching her, tasting her, making her mine in ways that go beyond the bedroom. Her scent lingers in my consciousness like a drug I can’t shake. The way she whispered my real name—Stefano—haunts my dreams. The memory of her body pressed against mine makes my blood burn even now.

Luca steps aside, a sneer twisting his lips. “We’ll see.”

As I exit the study, I walk directly into the person dominating my thoughts. Isadora stands in the hallway, her dark hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, wearing a silk robe hastily thrown over her nightgown. The sight of her—clearly woken from sleep, vulnerable and disheveled—hits me with physical force.

“What’s happening?” she asks, her voice hushed. “I heard shouting.”

Her scent—jasmine and something uniquely her—fills my senses. Being here in her family home, has been its own form of exquisite torture. Every night, knowing she’s so close, remembering how her body felt against mine.

Before I can answer, the study door opens again, and Luca emerges. He sees Isadora, and his expression transforms, softening into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Nothing for you to worry about, cara ,” he says, moving to her side and slipping a possessive arm around her waist. The gesture is deliberate, a clear message to me. “Business matters. Go back to bed.”

I watch her stiffen slightly at his touch, though she masks it quickly. Her eyes find mine over Luca’s shoulder, questioning, searching.

“Mr. Gravano will update the security protocols in the morning,” Luca continues, his fingers digging visibly into her hip. “For now, let me escort you back to your room.”

I maintain my professional mask, though rage simmers beneath the surface at the way he handles her—like property, like something to be controlled.

“Of course,” Isadora says smoothly, her social mask sliding into place. But as Luca guides her away, she glances back at me, a silent communication passing between us.

Later, her eyes promise.

I nod imperceptibly, ignoring the dangerous heat that flares in my chest. The advantage of being stationed in her home is that “later” is much easier to arrange than it would be otherwise. Four days until the wedding. Four days until I reveal myself to Giancarlo Calvino as the son he thought he’d murdered. Four days until I destroy everything he’s built.

And somewhere in those four days, I need to decide what to do about Isadora De Angelis—the complication I never anticipated, the woman I can’t stay away from, the vulnerability in my perfect plan for revenge.

As I watch Luca lead her away, his hand proprietarily at the small of her back, I make a decision. Giancarlo will fall. Luca will learn the truth. The Calvino empire will crumble.

And Isadora will have a choice.

Because despite twenty years of planning, despite the single-minded focus on vengeance that has defined my existence, I’ve come to realize a truth I can no longer deny: I want her more than I want revenge.

And that makes me more dangerous than anyone in this house realizes.