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15

Isadora

I pace the confines of my bedroom like a caged animal, unable to sit still as the late morning light filters through the curtains. The mansion is in chaos—servants rush about, security is doubled at every entrance, and hushed conversations cut off abruptly when I enter a room. The stolen shipment has sent shockwaves through both families, exactly as Stefano intended.

Stefano. I still struggle to think of him by his true name rather than as Alessio. The man the world knows is a carefully constructed weapon, forged in secrecy and honed by vengeance. But the man who touches me in darkness, who whispers truth against my skin—he is Stefano.

And I am playing a very dangerous game with him.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. Three quick taps—our signal. My heart leaps into my throat as I open the door just enough to see him standing there, perfectly composed in his enforcer suit, nothing in his expression betraying the storm between us.

“Miss De Angelis,” he says formally, “I need to discuss updated security protocols with you.”

For the benefit of anyone listening, of course. Always careful, always calculating. The perfect soldier.

“Come in,” I say, stepping aside.

The moment the door closes, his demeanor shifts, the mask slipping just enough for me to glimpse the tension radiating from him. He moves to the window, scanning the grounds with practiced precision, checking for surveillance like breathing.

“The shipment,” I say without preamble. “That was you.”

It’s not a question. I know the answer before his eyes meet mine, dark amber and unapologetic.

“Yes.”

“Twenty million dollars. My father’s security team roughed up. Luca on the warpath.” I list the consequences, watching his face for any hint of regret. There is none. “This is how you start a war, Alessio.”

“Stefano,” he corrects quietly. “And yes, this is exactly how I start a war.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that I’m momentarily stunned by his calm. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I couldn’t risk it. The fewer people who knew, the better.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. “Even you.”

“I’m your accomplice in this,” I remind him, anger flaring. “I deserved to know.”

“You’re not my accomplice.” His voice roughens. “You’re the one thing in this plan I’m trying to protect.”

The declaration hits me with physical force. For so long, I’ve been a commodity to be protected for my value, not for myself. Yet in Stefano’s eyes, I see something different—concern not for the De Angelis heiress, but for me. Isadora.

“Luca suspects you,” I tell him, recalling my fiancé’s thinly veiled accusations at breakfast. “He’s convinced you’re behind the theft.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Let him suspect. He has no proof.”

“And if he finds some?” I move closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us. “If he convinces my father or Giancarlo? What then?”

“Then I accelerate the timeline.” His hand reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. “Four more days, Isadora. That’s all we need.”

Four days. The wedding date looms like an execution. I turn my face into his palm, seeking the warmth of his touch even as anxiety claws at my throat.

“Luca was furious this morning,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen him like this. He was asking questions about you—how often we’re alone together, whether you’ve ever been inappropriate.”

Stefano’s expression hardens. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth.” I meet his gaze steadily. “That you’ve been nothing but professional. That the enforcer assigned to protect me has kept the appropriate distance at all times.”

The lies come so easily now. Just more deception piled atop the mountain of falsehoods our lives are built upon.

“Good.” He nods, but I see the shadow of something darker cross his features. “Keep playing the dutiful fiancée. The perfect bride.”

“While you bring down their empire?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

“While I get justice,” he corrects. “For my mother. For the life that was stolen from me.”

For the briefest moment, I see him—not Alessio the enforcer, not even Stefano the vengeful son, but the lost boy who watched his world burn. The wound that never healed, only festered beneath the surface for decades.

I step into his space, drawn by a need I can’t explain or resist. “And after? When Giancarlo falls and Luca discovers the truth—what happens to us?”

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “That depends on you, principessa.”

“On me?”

“On whether you still want there to be an ‘us’ when the dust settles.” His voice drops lower, a rumble that vibrates through my body. “On whether you can love a ghost with blood on his hands.”

Love. The word hangs between us, unspoken yet deafening. Is that what this is? This desperate, consuming need that makes me risk everything for moments with him? This fire that burns away reason and caution? This ache that only his touch can soothe?

“I want you,” I admit, the words dragged from somewhere deep and honest. “I’ve wanted you since that night in the club. Before I knew who you were. Before I understood what we were risking.”

His pupils dilate, darkening those amber eyes. “Careful, Isadora. I’m not a safe man to want.”

“I don’t want safe.” My hands find his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heartbeat beneath expensive fabric. “I’ve had safe my entire life. Safe and suffocating.”

The control he maintains—that iron discipline that makes him so lethal—fractures visibly. His mouth claims mine with bruising intensity, hands gripping my waist to pull me flush against him. I meet his hunger with my own, fingers tangling in his hair as I pour everything I can’t say into the kiss.

He tastes of coffee and danger and forbidden promises. My body remembers his with startling clarity—the hard planes of muscle, the scars that map his history, the way he moves with deadly precision, even in passion.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs against my lips, even as his hands slide beneath my blouse, tracing fire along my spine. “Not here. Not now.”

But neither of us stops. We’re beyond caution, beyond reason—two people balanced on the knife’s edge of destruction, stealing whatever pleasure we can before the fall.

His teeth graze my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me that he swallows with another searing kiss. I arch into him, desperate for more contact, more friction. Anything to ease the ache building between my thighs.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls, his hand finding the curve of my breast, thumb brushing over the nipple until it pebbles beneath the thin fabric.

“Don’t you dare,” I breathe, nails digging into his shoulders.

The sound that escapes him is primal, possessive. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the nearest wall. My back hits it with controlled force, his body pinning me in place.

I’m trapped between cold plaster and hot male, and I’ve never felt more alive. His mouth leaves mine to trail fire down my neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin before soothing with his tongue. My head falls back, giving him better access as pleasure spirals through me.

“Someone could come looking for you,” he warns, voice rough with desire. “Your father. Luca.”

The names are like ice water, a stark reminder of our precarious situation. But instead of cooling my desire, the danger only intensifies it. I want him more fiercely for being forbidden. Need him more desperately for being temporary.

“I don’t care,” I whisper, dragging his mouth back to mine. “Make me forget them all.”

His hand slides between us, deftly unfastening my jeans. When his fingers slip beneath the lace to find me already wet for him, his groan vibrates against my throat.

“So ready,” he murmurs, circling my clit with maddening precision. “Always so ready for me.”

I bite my lip to stifle a moan as he slides one finger inside me, then two, stretching me deliciously. My hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything he can give me.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb pressing perfectly against my clit. “Take what you need, principessa.”

The endearment—once irritating, now precious—sends another rush of heat through me. I cling to his shoulders, riding his hand with shameless abandon as tension coils tighter in my core.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze. What I see there—hunger, possessiveness, and something deeper, more vulnerable—pushes me over the edge. I shatter around his fingers, my cry muffled against his shoulder as waves of pleasure crash through me.

He works me through it, relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure, until I’m trembling and oversensitive. Only then does he withdraw his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste me with deliberate provocation.

“I need you inside me,” I tell him, reaching for his belt. “Now.”

A sharp knock at the door freezes us both.

“Isadora?” Luca’s voice calls through the wood, sending ice down my spine. “Are you in there?”

Stefano’s expression darkens, but his movements are swift and silent as he helps me straighten my clothing. In seconds, there’s a respectable distance between us, all evidence of our encounter erased save for my flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“Just a moment,” I call, forcing steadiness into my voice.

Stefano moves to the window, assuming the position of a security check as I smooth my hair and take a deep breath. When I open the door, Luca stands there with suspicious eyes and a tight smile.

“Darling,” he greets, gaze immediately moving past me to Stefano. “I wasn’t aware you had company.”

“Mr. Gravano was updating me on the new security protocols,” I explain, the lie flowing smoothly. “After what happened with the shipment last night.”

Luca’s eyes narrow, but he plasters on a smile that doesn’t reach them. “Of course. Safety first.” He turns to Stefano. “I’m sure you have other duties to attend to, Gravano. I’ll take it from here.”

It’s a dismissal, one that Stefano can’t reasonably refuse without raising more suspicion. He nods, the perfect professional. “Of course, Mr. Calvino. Miss De Angelis, we’ll continue our discussion later.”

As he passes Luca, something electric and dangerous crackles between them—two predators assessing each other, one unaware they share the same blood.

Once Stefano is gone, Luca enters my room and closes the door behind him. His presence feels invasive in a way Stefano’s never does, despite their similar builds and commanding presences. Where Stefano radiates controlled power, Luca exudes entitled dominance.

“I have news,” he says, reaching for my hand.

I allow him to take it, suppressing a shudder at his touch. “About the shipment?”

“About the wedding.” His smile turns genuine, which worries me more than his anger. “We’re moving it up. Day after tomorrow.”

The floor seems to drop from beneath me. “What? But the preparations—”

“Are being accelerated.” He squeezes my hand too tightly. “In light of recent events, both our fathers agree that solidifying our alliance quickly is imperative.”

Two days. Not four. The timeline Stefano has so carefully constructed is collapsing.

“Why the rush?” I ask, struggling to maintain my composure. “Surely after the theft, we should be focusing on security, not wedding plans.”

“That’s exactly why we need to proceed.” Luca’s thumb rubs possessive circles on my wrist. “To show strength. To demonstrate that nothing can disrupt what our families have built.”

I force a smile, though panic claws at my throat. “Of course. Whatever you think is best.”

His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of resistance. “You seem distracted lately, Isadora. Is there something you want to tell me?”

The question carries a threat beneath its surface. I meet his gaze steadily, years of practice keeping my expression neutral.

“I’m just anxious about the wedding,” I lie. “Everything’s happening so quickly.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” His hand rises to cup my cheek, the gesture possessive rather than affectionate. “You wouldn’t be keeping secrets from your future husband, would you?”

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I don’t flinch. “What secrets could I possibly have, Luca? My life’s an open book.”

The perfect daughter. The obedient fiancée. The lies come so easily now.

“Good.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips that I force myself not to recoil from. “Because if I found out otherwise, the consequences would be... severe.”

The threat hangs between us, unmistakable. I nod, maintaining my mask of compliance while my mind races with implications. Two days. We have two days to execute a plan meant for four. And Luca suspects something—maybe not the full truth, but enough to be dangerous.

“I should tell my mother about the change,” I say, needing distance from him. “There’s so much to reorganize.”

“She already knows. Everyone does.” He releases me, stepping back. “I just wanted to tell you personally. To see your reaction.”

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 Calvino. Two days until Stefano reveals himself to Giancarlo Calvino.

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.