Page 16

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 Calvino 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?

“She understands what’s at stake,” I tell him, with more confidence than I feel.

“Does she? Or does she understand only what you’ve chosen to tell her?” Vittorio shakes his head. “Women like her don’t walk away from family empires, Stefano. Not even for love.”

The use of my real name—something Vittorio rarely does—emphasizes the gravity of his warning. But before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an unknown number. I shouldn’t answer it. Protocol demands that I let it go to voicemail, and then check it from a secure location.

But something—intuition or perhaps the accelerated timeline making me reckless—compels me to accept the call.

“Gravano,” I answer, voice neutral.

“Enjoying your time with the bride, Stefano?” The voice is digitally altered, impossible to identify. But the name—my real name—sends ice through my veins.

Vittorio’s eyes widen at my expression. I put the call on speaker, signaling for him to trace it if possible.

“Who is this?” I keep my tone controlled despite the adrenaline surging through my system.

“Someone who knows exactly who you are and what you’re planning.” The mechanical voice continues, devoid of human inflection. “The son who returned from the dead. The ghost seeking vengeance.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “What do you want?”

“To offer friendly advice: walk away. The Calvino empire is more protected than you realize. There are players on the board you haven’t accounted for.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, though I know the answer.

“A warning. For old times’ sake.” The voice pauses, then adds: “Your mother would want you alive, Stefano. Not buried in a real grave this time.”

The call ends. Vittorio looks up from his laptop, shaking his head. “Untraceable. Bounced through too many servers.”

I stand frozen, mind racing through possibilities. Who knows my true identity? Who would warn me rather than expose me to Giancarlo? The mention of my mother feels like a violation—personal, intimate, designed to unbalance me.

“We have a leak,” Vittorio states the obvious. “Someone close knows everything.”

“Not everything,” I correct, though uncertainty gnaws at me. “They don’t know about Isadora. If they did, they would’ve used her against me more directly.”

Vittorio nods slowly. “So what now?”

“We proceed.” I pocket my phone, decision made. “But we tighten security, change meeting locations, switch to our backup communications protocol. And I want extra protection on Maria.”

At the mention of her name, guilt tightens my chest. I need to see her—my surrogate mother, the woman who saved me, who’s now fading from cancer while I play out my decades-long revenge plot. With the timeline accelerated, this might be my last chance.

“I’ll handle the security changes,” Vittorio assures me. “You go see Maria. If someone knows who you are, she could be in danger.”

I leave Vittorio with final instructions, then drive to Meadow Haven Nursing Home, my mind heavy with the mysterious caller’s warning. Players on the board you haven’t accounted for. Who? I’ve spent twenty years mapping every connection, every ally, every enemy in Giancarlo’s world. What am I missing?

The familiar antiseptic smell hits me as I enter Maria’s room. She looks smaller than the last time I visited, her once-robust body now bird-like beneath hospital blankets. But her eyes—those dark, sharp eyes that have seen through every lie I’ve ever told—remain alert.

“Stefano,” she says, using my real name like a gift. “You look troubled.”

I lean to kiss her papery cheek, inhaling the lavender scent she’s worn since my childhood. “Timeline’s been accelerated. The wedding is in two days.”

Maria nods slowly. “So it begins sooner than expected.” She studies me with that penetrating gaze that has always seen straight to my soul. “But that’s not all that’s bothering you.”

I tell her about the phone call, the mysterious warning, the mention of my mother. Throughout my explanation, her expression remains thoughtful rather than surprised.

“You’ve been expecting this,” I realize, recognizing the lack of shock in her eyes. “You knew someone else was aware of my identity.”

She sighs, reaching for my hand with fingers that seem more fragile each time I visit. “I’ve always known this day would come, Stefano. Secrets this big rarely stay buried forever.” Her thumb traces circles on my palm, a comforting gesture from my childhood. “But I didn’t know who might have discovered the truth. There are possibilities...”

“Tell me,” I demand, then soften my tone. “Please, Maria. I need to know.”

She shakes her head. “Speculation won’t help you now. Trust your instincts. They’ve kept you alive this long.”

Before I can press further, she reaches beneath her pillow, retrieving a small velvet pouch. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment. With everything moving faster now, I can’t risk waiting any longer.”

I accept the pouch, opening it to find a delicate gold ring with a small, perfect diamond mounted in an antique setting. Recognition hits me like a physical blow.

“My mother’s wedding ring,” I whisper, memories flooding back of a slender hand stroking my hair, this same ring catching the light.

“The only thing I managed to get of hers,” Maria confirms, tears gathering in her eyes. “I paid the man at the funeral home to take it off before they closed the casket.”

I close my fingers around the ring, the metal warming in my palm. A piece of my mother—of the woman who loved me before I became a ghost, before vengeance consumed me.

“I thought you might want to have it,” Maria continues, her voice softening. “For after.”

“After.” The word catches in my throat.

“Yes, after.” Her hand squeezes mine with surprising strength. “There will be an after, Stefano. I’ve watched you build this revenge for twenty years, becoming harder, colder, more like the man you’re trying to destroy.” Pain flashes across her face. “But then you met her. Isadora. And for the first time, I see you thinking about what comes after vengeance.”

Heat rises in my face. Even dying, Maria sees everything.

“I love her,” I admit, the first time I’ve spoken the words aloud. They hang in the air between us, terrifying in their vulnerability, liberating in their truth.

Maria smiles, a genuine smile that transforms her pain-lined face. “I know. I saw it the moment you brought her here.” She glances at the ring still clutched in my palm. “Perhaps that ring will find its way to another finger someday. A new beginning built on your mother’s love, not just her death.”

The thought steals my breath—Isadora wearing my mother’s ring, a symbol of something built rather than destroyed. A future I’ve never allowed myself to imagine in detail.

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” I confess. “What I’m about to do will upend her world, too. Her father’s alliance with Giancarlo, her family’s business interests...”

“Love survives worse,” Maria says with the certainty of someone who’s seen a lifetime of tragedy and triumph. “But only if you let it matter more than vengeance.”

I pocket the ring, the weight of it nothing compared to the weight of her words. “I don’t know if I can let it go—this revenge I’ve built my life around.”

“That’s the choice before you, my son.” Maria’s eyes begin to drift closed, fatigue claiming her. “Vengeance or love. You cannot serve both masters forever.”

I stay until she falls asleep, watching over her as she’s watched over me for thirty years. When I finally leave, night has fallen, rain still pattering against the windows like nature’s lullaby.

Back in my temporary quarters at the De Angelis estate, I pace the confines of my room like a caged predator. Sleep eludes me. The mysterious call, Maria’s warning, the accelerated timeline, the weight of my mother’s ring in my pocket—all circle my thoughts in an endless loop.

But dominating everything is Isadora.

Two doors down, she sleeps—or more likely lies awake with the same turbulent thoughts that plague me. I can almost feel her presence through the walls that separate us, a magnetic pull I’ve been fighting since that first night in the club.

I remove the ring from my pocket, studying it in the dim light. A symbol of my past, perhaps a hope for my future. For twenty years, I’ve lived for one purpose: destroying the family Giancarlo built on my mother’s blood. I’ve sacrificed everything—identity, relationships, any chance at normalcy—on the altar of vengeance.

Now, with that vengeance finally within reach, I find myself torn. The path I’ve chosen will bring Giancarlo to his knees, but the collateral damage could include Isadora’s world too. Her father. Her family legacy. Everything she’s known.

Will she still want me when the smoke clears? Or will she look at me and see only the destruction I’ve wrought?

The soft buzz of my phone interrupts my spiral of doubt. A text from Isadora: Can’t sleep. Thinking of you.

Three simple words that set my blood on fire. Before I can overthink, I respond: Same. My bed is empty without you.

I want to tell her to come, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous with Luca in the house, with security heightened, with unknown enemies aware of my true identity. But the need to see her, to touch her, to reassure myself that what exists between us is real and not just another tactical move in my vengeance plan. I fight against every fiber of my being for the caution to win.

I slip the ring back into my pocket. Two days until everything changes. Two days until I reveal myself as the son returned from the dead to reclaim his birthright and destroy his father.

Two days to decide which matters more: the vengeance I’ve lived for, or the woman I can’t live without.

As I toss and turn on the bed, I know the decision before me is impossible. Complete my revenge and risk losing Isadora, or abandon twenty years of planning to protect her from the fallout.

Either way, blood will flow. The only question is whose blood it will be, and whether what Isadora and I have built can survive the crimson tide.