Page 17

17

Isadora

The chandelier above the rehearsal dinner glitters like a thousand watchful eyes. I sit at the head table beside Luca, my prison guard disguised as a fiancé, and force another smile as guests raise their glasses in yet another toast to our “blessed union.” My champagne tastes like ash in my mouth.

Tomorrow, I’m supposed to become Mrs. Luca Calvino. The thought makes my skin crawl.

“You look beautiful tonight,” my mother whispers, leaning close as she adjusts the strap of my burgundy gown. “The perfect bride.”

If only she knew. If only any of them knew what waits on the horizon. The storm Stefano and I have set in motion will shatter both our families by this time tomorrow. Their blessed union will end in blood.

I scan the room, finding Stefano instantly despite the crowd. He stands near the exit, ever the vigilant protector, his amber eyes occasionally meeting mine across the sea of black ties and evening gowns. To anyone else, he’s merely Alessio Gravano, the stoic enforcer assigned to guard the precious De Angelis bride. But I see beneath the mask to the man underneath—to Stefano Calvino, the rightful heir returned from the dead, the man whose touch sets my body aflame.

The man I’ve risked everything for.

“Smile, darling,” Luca hisses through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into my thigh beneath the table. “The governor’s watching.”

I plaster on my society smile, the one I’ve perfected over years of being the De Angelis princess. “Of course, my love.”

The endearment tastes sour on my tongue.

Giancarlo rises from his seat, commanding attention without raising his voice—a skill his son has inherited. I watch him closely, this man who ordered the murder of his wife and attempted to kill his own son. He looks distinguished in his custom tuxedo, with his silver hair perfectly styled, not a hint of the monster lurking beneath the polished exterior.

“Tomorrow,” he begins, raising his glass, “two great dynasties unite as one. The Calvino and De Angelis families, bound by more than business—bound by blood and marriage.”

Ironic, I think, that he speaks of blood when he so easily spilled his own.

My father stands beside him, pride evident in his posture. “To Luca and Isadora,” he says, lifting his glass higher. “May their union bring prosperity and peace to all.”

The room erupts in applause. Luca squeezes my hand too tightly as we stand, the picture-perfect couple. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“A few words from our groom?” Giancarlo suggests, gesturing to his son.

Luca steps forward, dragging me with him. “I’m a fortunate man,” he begins, the rehearsed speech flowing smoothly. “To have captured the heart of the most beautiful woman in New York.”

Captured. As if I were prey. The accuracy of his word choice makes me shiver.

“Though sometimes,” he continues, his tone shifting subtly, “I wonder if I truly have her heart at all.”

The room falls silent. This wasn’t part of the script.

“My bride seems... distracted lately,” Luca says, his fingers digging painfully into my waist. “Perhaps her thoughts are elsewhere? Or with someone else?”

My blood freezes in my veins. Does he know? Has he discovered our secret?

I force a laugh, trying to diffuse the tension. “The only distraction is planning such an elaborate wedding in so little time.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd—some amused, others uncomfortable at the public display.

“Is that so?” Luca’s smile is razor-sharp. “Then you won’t mind proving your devotion.”

Before I can react, he pulls me against him, his mouth crashing down on mine in a bruising kiss that’s more possession than affection. I remain rigid in his arms, fighting the urge to push him away, conscious of the hundreds of eyes watching us.

When he finally releases me, he turns to the crowd. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

The laughter that follows is uneasy, but the moment passes. Crisis averted, at least temporarily.

I risk a glance toward Stefano and immediately wish I hadn’t. The rage burning in his eyes is barely contained, his hand hovering near where I know he keeps his gun. For a terrifying moment, I fear he’ll blow his cover, rush across the room, and put a bullet through Luca’s skull right here in front of New York’s elite.

Our eyes lock, and I give an imperceptible shake of my head. Not now. Not yet. Tomorrow.

The dinner continues, course after excruciating course. Luca keeps his hand possessively on my knee, occasionally sliding it higher in a silent threat. I endure it all with practiced grace, counting the minutes until I can escape.

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I whisper to my mother after the dessert plates are cleared.

She nods, but Luca interjects. “Don’t be long, cara. Your public awaits.”

I weave through tables of well-wishers, accepting congratulations with a smile that never reaches my eyes. As I pass the exit, I deliberately drop my clutch near Stefano’s feet.

“Mr. Gravano,” I say, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “Would you mind bringing that to the powder room for me? I may need my lipstick.”

“Of course, Miss De Angelis.” His voice betrays nothing of the electricity crackling between us.

In the hallway outside the ballroom, away from prying eyes, I slow my pace just enough for him to catch up. “My room was searched today,” I murmur without turning around. “Someone’s suspicious.”

His step doesn’t falter. “Meet me after the party winds down in the east parking lot. My car.”

I continue to the powder room, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Every second we’re together is a risk, but I need to see him, I need to feel his touch one more time before tomorrow changes everything.

After touching up my makeup—a performance for the security cameras—I go back to the party and force myself to act normal.

As soon as the last guest says their goodbye, I yawn and declare myself tired and ready to retire for the night.

Immediately I walk into my room, I change into something simpler and put on a black jacket with a hoodie. I take the service corridor to the east exit, slipping past kitchen staff too busy with the after-dinner to notice me. The night air hits me, raising goosebumps along my skin. Or perhaps it’s anticipation that makes me shiver.

Stefano’s black Audi is parked in the shadows, away from most people’s line of vision. I slide into the passenger seat, immediately enveloped in his scent—sandalwood and something darker, uniquely him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning my face for signs of distress.

“Luca knows something,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper though we’re alone. “That display in there—he’s trying to provoke a reaction.”

“I nearly gave him one.” Stefano’s jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “When he put his hands on you like that, I almost—”

“I know.” I reach for him, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But we can’t afford mistakes. Not now. Tomorrow—”

“The timeline’s too compressed,” he interrupts, covering my hand with his. “After the shipment was hit, they moved everything up. My men aren’t all in position. It’s too risky.”

Fear coils in my stomach. “What are you saying?”

His eyes meet mine, amber depths reflecting the same turmoil I feel. “I’m saying we have another option. We leave. Tonight.”

“Leave?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “Just... walk away from everything?”

“I have money,” he says, his voice urgent. “Offshore accounts, properties in Europe, identities ready. We could disappear before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

The offer hangs between us—tantalizing, terrifying. Freedom. A life away from family obligations, away from the blood and violence that have defined us both.

“What about your revenge?” I ask, searching his face. “Twenty years of planning—you’d just abandon it?”

His hand slides to the nape of my neck, drawing me closer until our foreheads touch. “I never planned for you, Isadora. Never imagined wanting something more than vengeance.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “But I do. I want you more than I want Giancarlo’s blood.”

The confession steals my breath. This man who has lived for revenge now offers to give it all up—for me.

“My family would never forgive me,” I whisper, the truth of it burning my throat. “If I run away, if I abandon this wedding, my father would hunt us to the ends of the earth.”

“Let him try.” The dangerous edge in Stefano’s voice reminds me of the lethal weapon he’s become. “I’ve spent twenty years as a ghost. I can keep us both safe.”

I close my eyes, allowing myself to imagine it—a life beyond these gilded cages, beyond family legacies and blood debts. A life where I’m not the De Angelis princess or the Calvino bride, but simply Isadora. A woman who makes her own choices.

“We could go to the coast,” Stefano murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that leave fire in their wake. “I have a house in Amalfi that no one knows about. Wake up to the sound of waves instead of threats.”

The image is so beautiful it makes my chest ache. “I want that,” I admit, opening my eyes to meet his gaze. “I want you. But—”

“No buts,” he interrupts, his hand sliding to cup my cheek. “Just yes or no. Tonight. We leave everything behind and start new.”

His intensity is magnetic, his certainty contagious. For a moment, I allow myself to believe it could be that simple—that we could outrun our pasts, our families, the blood in our veins.

“If we leave,” I say slowly, “we never come back. We can never see Maria again. Or my parents. We’d live looking over our shoulders forever.”

He nods, understanding the weight of what he’s asking. “It’s not freedom from consequences, principessa . It’s the freedom to choose our own fate, rather than accept the one written for us.”

The way he says it—like it’s the most natural thing in the world to walk away from everything we’ve ever known—makes me wonder if I’m the crazy one for hesitating.

I lean closer, drawn to him like gravity, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly blazes into something more desperate, more consuming. His hands tangle in my hair, cradling my head as if I’m something precious, even as his mouth claims mine with the hunger of a man starving.

Right now, I cannot—will not—think about the answer. Right now, I only want him. Inside me.

I climb on him, straddling him, my dress pooling around my hips. His breath catches, and he mutters a curse that sounds suspiciously like an endearment.

“Wait,” he tries to protest. “Isadora—”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I cut him off, lifting my dress high enough to give him access.

The shock in his eyes only lasts a split second before lust wins out. His hand moves to the seat lever, reclining us both. Between my thighs, I feel him harden against me, straining against the confines of tailored slacks. He shifts just enough to unzip his fly, unleashing his impressive length. When his fingers brush against the already-damp lace of my panties, he groans, burying his face in my neck to muffle the sound.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me,” he hisses, fingers dipping below the fabric to stroke bare skin.

“Always.” It’s the only word I can form before his fingers find my clit, turning thought into sensation.

Pleasure builds as he presses against me, his thumb in constant motion, those cunning fingers relentlessly driving me higher. In seconds, I’m balanced on the knife’s edge, desperate to fall, barely restrained by the flimsy cloth separating us.

“Stefano, please...” I grind against his fingers, needing more friction, more pressure. “I need you inside me.”

He’s the only one who can answer my plea. The only one who can fill the emptiness inside me.

“Your wish is my command, princi—” The words die in his throat as I grip his erection, my hands shaking with desperation. “Fuck, principessa.”

“Now,” I beg, stroking the full length of him, my thumb finding the slick drop at his tip. “Fast and hard and urgent.”

“Gladly.”

With my dress bunched around my waist, he slides my panties to the side, placing himself at my entrance. He’s big and unyielding—everything I need, everything I crave, especially now, when anxiety has me coiled tighter than a spring.

His hands grip my hips, lifting me as his lips find the side of my neck. Slowly, agonizingly, he lowers me onto his cock, sheathing himself entirely inside me, groaning with pleasure at how perfectly we fit together. I bite back a gasp at his size, my pussy clenching instinctively around him.

“God, you feel incredible,” he mutters, teeth grazing my sensitive skin. “I’m crazy about you.”

The words steal my breath more effectively than his penetration. Before I can respond, he withdraws slightly, then snaps his hips upward, driving his full length back inside me in a thrust that leaves me lightheaded with pleasure.

I moan, shifting to adjust to him inside me, but he’s done letting me lead. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, marking me, holding me captive as he claims me. But unlike the bruises Luca’s left, Stefano’s are a testament to passion rather than possession. A record of the pleasure we bring each other, the fire we kindle in each other’s veins.

“Stefano,” I pant, needing something—pleasure, pain, ecstasy. All of it. “More.”

He gives me more. More strength, more depth, more of his beautifully perfect length, deeper, harder, deeper, harder, chasing the release we both need. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, keeping me in place for him to pound into again and again and again, deeper, harder, faster, sending sparks through me, building the pleasure too fast, too dangerous, too inevitable.

Before I can catch my breath, my orgasm crashes through me. Wave after wave of pure physical bliss, coming undone around his cock, shuddering, shattering, clinging to him like a life raft as I float to the surface once more.

“Holy fuck, Isadora,” he groans, tension radiating through him as he holds off his own release. “Watching you come like that... so goddamn hot.”

Words seem trivial. We communicate in other ways—his calloused fingers in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat for his teeth; my nails leaving half-moon crescents in his chest as his cock drives deep again and again; the crackling air between us as emotion flows from skin to skin.

When he finally tenses, spilling himself deep inside me with a strangled groan, his name spills past my lips. And for a moment, the world is completely silent, all fear and dread gone in a sea of shared ecstasy.

For a moment, we’re simply two people finding each other in an endless and lonesome universe.

He presses a kiss to my collarbone, a sweet gesture at odds with the way his fingers still grip my hips like a conquering Viking claiming his war prize.

“We’re making a mess of your seats,” I murmur, coming down from the high.

“Worth it.” He presses another kiss to my neck, sending aftershocks skittering across my skin.

I tilt his head up, my lips seeking his. There are so many things left unsaid, and I need him to know, as clearly as I possibly can. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance I gladly give. We consume each other, passion flowing freely, desire burning away doubt.

“No regrets?” he asks, my lips caressing the shape of the question.

“None.”

Tomorrow will bring whatever comes, but tonight I’m his, and he is mine. No more hiding, no more secrets, no more risks.

A sharp rap on the window shatters the moment. We break apart, instinctively reaching for weapons—his gun, my concealed blade—before recognizing Carmela’s face peering through the glass.

My family’s maid, loyal since childhood, looks terrified. Stefano gives me a moment to climb off him, then rolls down the window, his body partially shielding mine.

“Miss Isadora,” she gasps, voice trembling. “You need to come quickly. Someone broke into my room—they found your diary.”

The blood drains from my face. My diary. The one I gave Carmela for safekeeping. The small leather-bound book where I’ve recorded everything—my meeting with Stefano at the club, discovering his true identity, our plans for tomorrow. Every secret, every risk, written in my own hand.

“Who?” Stefano demands, already shifting into tactical mode. “Who found it?”

Carmela shakes her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “I don’t know, sir. I went to turn down the bed and saw the lock broken, my things scattered. The diary was gone.”

My world tilts sickeningly. If that diary reaches Luca or Giancarlo before tomorrow—

“We need to go,” Stefano says, reaching for the ignition. “Now. No more waiting.”

“Wait,” I grab his wrist, mind racing. “If we run now, they’ll know it was us. My father, Giancarlo—they’ll put everything together.”

“They already know,” he counters, urgency in every line of his body. “The diary—”

“We don’t know who found it,” I interrupt. “It could be a maid, a security guard—someone who doesn’t understand what they have.”

Carmela shifts nervously. “They’re looking for you inside, Miss. Your father sent men to find you after you didn’t return from the powder room.”

Time is running out. I look at Stefano, at the man who has offered me escape, who has shown me a glimpse of what freedom might taste like. Then I think of our plan—of justice for his mother, of breaking free from Luca’s cruel grasp through truth rather than flight.

“If we run,” I say slowly, “we’re running forever. But if we stay—if we follow through with tomorrow—we might actually have a chance at a real life afterward. One where we’re not always looking over our shoulders.”

I see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between the vengeance that has driven him for decades and the desperate need to protect me now.

“I need to go back,” I decide, squeezing his hand. “I need to find that diary before anyone else does. If I disappear now, they’ll lock down everything. But if I return, play my part for a few more hours—”

“It’s too dangerous,” he growls, but I can see he knows I’m right.

“More dangerous than running?” I counter. “Than having both families hunting us for the rest of our lives?”

Stefano’s jaw tightens, but he nods once, a sharp movement that conveys both agreement and frustration. “If anything seems wrong—anything at all—you get out. Use the signal we discussed. I’ll be watching.”

I press one last desperate kiss to his lips, memorizing the feel of him in case everything falls apart. “Tomorrow,” I promise. “One way or another, this ends tomorrow.”

As Carmela leads me back toward the mansion, toward the family that would chain me to a man I loathe, toward a diary that could destroy everything, I feel Stefano’s eyes on me—burning with possession and protection that makes my heart race even as fear claws at my throat.

Tonight is the last night of the life I was born into. By this time tomorrow, I’ll either be truly free for the first time—or I’ll have lost everything I never knew I wanted.

Either way, there’s no going back.