Page 26 of Shattered Engagement

26

Alessio

The days pass in a haze of pain, medication, and whispered conversations. I drift in and out, each time waking to find Isadora there, a constant, unyielding presence.

She reads to me sometimes, her voice soft and steady. Stories of things she wants us to do together—trips we’ll take, places we’ll see, a life beyond the blood and betrayal we were both born into.

Vittorio visits, too, grim and quiet, providing brief updates. The old regime is crumbling. Without Giancarlo and Luca, loyalty fractures by the hour. Our men and allies grow stronger, and our enemies scramble.

But it’s Isadora who brings me back, again and again.

One evening, as twilight spills purple shadows across the hospital room, she crawls carefully into bed beside me. She fits herself against my good side, mindful of the bandages, and lays her head on my shoulder.

For a long time, we just lie there, breathing together, saying nothing.

Then, her voice, so small I almost miss it.

"I was so scared I’d lose you," she says.

"Never," I rasp.

She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes shining. "Promise me you’ll never leave me again. No matter what."

I brush my knuckles along her jaw, my strength returning slowly but surely. "Nothing could drag me away from you. Not even death."

She smiles, a real one this time, and presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart.

In that moment, with her curled against me, I know the war is already won. Whatever battles remain, whatever ghosts linger, they are nothing compared to this, compared to us.

A week later, when I’m finally strong enough to walk out of the hospital, the world feels different. Brighter. Sharper. As if everything dull and broken inside me has been reforged in the fire of what we survived.

Isadora is waiting for me at the doors, radiant and fierce in a simple white dress that dances around her legs in the breeze.

She holds out her hand without a word, and I take it, lacing our fingers together.

We don't speak as Vittorio drives us back to the estate. Words aren’t necessary. Every glance, every breath between us hums with promises spoken without sound.

Back at my house, Vittorio briefs us on the final power shifts. Those who were once loyal to Giancarlo have either been absorbed or eliminated. Stefano Calvino, long thought dead, is now the undeniable ruler of a fractured empire that will heal under my terms—or fall under my hand.

Later that night, Isadora finds me in the garden, standing beneath the same stars that once felt so distant. She slips her arms around my waist, resting her head against my back.

"You’re home," she whispers.

I turn in her arms, cupping her face, and press my forehead to hers.

"Yes, angel," I murmur. "And you are, too."

When I kiss her, it is not a claiming or a conquest. It’s a beginning.

Our beginning.

Three weeks after that bloody night when I was shot, the Giancarlo estate buzzes with new energy. Not the tight, strained vigilance that followed his death, but something sharper and more focused.

Rebirth.

I move a little slower than I used to, the healing wound on my back tugging with every step, but it doesn't matter. Pain reminds me I'm alive. It reminds everyone in this room that I survived what should have killed me.

As I take my place at the head of the long table in the estate’s conference room. My men—Vittorio, Matteo, Rocco, and others—rise to their feet as I enter, a show of respect that is no longer just about tradition. It’s about loyalty. It's about the fact that they believe in me.

I lower myself carefully into the chair, waving them to sit. Vittorio remains standing at my right, a silent, immovable force.

"Status," I say, my voice low but steady.

Matteo leans forward first. "The remaining loyalists have pledged fealty. We had to make examples of a few... but the message is clear."

"And the territories?" I ask.

"Secured," Rocco says. "We've absorbed Giancarlo’s strongholds. The few who thought they could challenge us have been... corrected."

I nod, absorbing the information. It’s everything we fought for, everything we bled for. And now it’s ours. No shadows of Giancarlo. No threats clawing at our foundation.

"Good," I say, letting the approval color my tone. "We rebuild stronger. Smarter. No greed. No weakness."

Around the table, heads nod in agreement.

My gaze sweeps the room, settling on each man in turn. "We do not forget the cost. We do not forget who we are."

When the meeting finally adjourns, I rise carefully, Vittorio hovering just in case. I wave him off with a faint smirk.

"I’m fine," I mutter.

He grunts, unconvinced, but leaves me be.

As the others filter out, Isadora slips in, her presence like a balm against the lingering weight of leadership. She crosses the room with quiet confidence, her bright eyes and smile just for me.

"You’re pushing yourself," she says, stopping in front of me.