Page 28

28

Alessio

For the past few days, sleep has not come easily, and it is due to the glimpses of sadness I have seen cross Isadora’s face.

She sits across from me at the breakfast table, the morning sun spilling golden light across her hair. She talks softly about plans for the day, her voice a balm I don't deserve but cling to anyway.

I watch her, memorizing every curve of her face, every flicker of emotion she doesn't bother to hide from me anymore.

When there's a slight pause, I set my coffee cup down, "I have some business to take care of today," I say.

She tilts her head, studying me. "What kind of business?"

"The final step to consolidate our new power," I answer, keeping my tone even.

She nods, trusting me as she always does, even when she lacks all the details. After breakfast, I leave the estate alone. No guards. No display of force. Just me. This is a mission I must complete alone.

The De Angelis estate looms ahead, cold and familiar. I drive through the gates and walk through the halls with measured steps. My mind remains clear even as memories from months ago, when I used to protect Isadora within these very walls, come crashing in.

Antonio De Angelis waits inside his study, the same room where alliances once born of convenience and greed now seem like ghosts.

He doesn't rise when I enter. He leans back in his chair, eyes sharp and guarded.

"Gravano, or should I say Calvino?" he questions in a low voice. "Didn't expect you’d ever show your face here again."

"I'm here for something important."

His brows lift slightly, but he says nothing.

"I want your blessing to marry your daughter."

The words fall between us, heavy and irrevocable.

Antonio stiffens, the faintest crack in his stoic mask. “You think you need it?”

"She gave up everything for me," I continue, my voice steady. "She stood by me when she had every reason not to. But no matter what she lost, she never stopped loving you."

I step closer, letting him see the truth in my eyes.

"It would mean everything to her—and to me—if you could put aside any doubts and give us your blessing."

The silence that follows is thick, stretched taut. Finally, Antonio exhales slowly and deliberately.

"I gave Giancarlo and Luca my loyalty blindly," he says. "Believed they would build something lasting."

Bitterness colors his voice.

"I see now they used everyone around them. Loyalty meant nothing but leverage."

“I am nothing like them,” I say, holding his gaze. “My actions against them were to avenge my mother and myself. I am sure the same fate would have befallen your daughter if she had ended up in their clutches.”

“You should have come to me instead of roping my daughter into your plans.”

“Would you have believed me?”

The look in his eyes tells me he wouldn’t have.

“Besides, I did not rope your daughter in. She found out the truth about me and made her choice. Not even I could make her do otherwise.”

He rises from his chair, coming to stand in front of me, eye to eye.

"You," he says, voice dropping lower, "are truly different from Giancarlo."

He rests a hand briefly on my shoulder, a weight of acceptance and trust.

"You have my blessing," he says. "And my full support."

Relief cuts through me, sharp and clean.

"Thank you," I say.

"Build her a life better than the one we failed to give her," Antonio says.

"I will," I vow.

Leaving the estate, I feel lighter and freer now that the final piece has fallen into place.

When I return home later that afternoon, Isadora greets me at the door, her eyes searching mine.

"How did your meeting go?" she asks.

"Fine," I say, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "Exactly as it needed to."

I don't tell her where I went because some things are better revealed at the right time.

And the right time is coming soon.

The morning of my first major meeting as the new leader arrives, crisp and clear, with the air carrying a sense of promise I haven't felt in years.

In the conference room, the Ricci family and several other key allies gather around the polished table, murmuring among themselves. Vittorio stands silently behind me, his eyes not missing anything in the room. Matteo and Rocco are her too.

I take my seat at the head of the table and begin outlining the future we are building together—a future where loyalty is earned, not bought, and power is shared among those strong enough to carry it.

The men listen intently, nodding in agreement, but a subtle tension hangs in the air. They need reassurance. They need to see that the past is truly behind us.

“While I do not doubt you have the ability to lead this organization, we would like to know why De Angelis is not here,” Ricci states his concern.

There is a ripple of murmured agreement across the table.

“This is true. We do not want to build a new legacy where there is strife already.”

Just as I am about to address their concern, the doors open, and all conversation dies.

Antonio De Angelis strides into the room.

A wave of shock moves through the assembled families. His name still carries weight, his presence still demands respect.

Antonio walks in with the kind of calm that comes from knowing exactly who he is. He meets my gaze, nods once, and takes an empty seat. His posture is proud and unyielding.

I don't need to say a word. His presence says everything.

"I stand with Stefano Calvino," he says, his voice ringing out across the room. "My loyalty, my support, and the De Angelis legacy are his to command."

The effect is immediate.

The Riccis exchange glances, nodding. The tension eases from the room like air escaping a balloon. My position, already strong, solidifies into something unshakable.

The meeting continues smoothly after that, the final agreements falling into place with no resistance.

After the final point is settled and hands are shaken, I stand. "If you'll excuse us, Antonio and I have a few matters to discuss."

He follows me into my office without hesitation, and I close the door behind us.

He takes a seat opposite my desk, one leg crossed, eyes assessing. Not hostile. Just sharp.

"You surprised me," I say, pouring two glasses of whiskey.

"That was the point," he replies with a smirk.

I hand him a glass, then take my seat. "You said I had your blessing when I visited. But that—what you did out there—that was more than having your blessing. That was passing your legacy down to me."

He lifts the whiskey in a small salute before taking a long sip. "It was needed. After all, Isadora is my only child; hence, all I have has to go to her."

We talk about structure, legacy, and the possibility of merging his remaining holdings with mine. It's a conversation that would have been impossible months ago, but now trust has begun to root. The possibility of merging his remaining holdings with mine is no longer an idea, but an intention forming in real time.

Antonio leans back. "I always thought legacy was about blood. About keeping the family name alive. But maybe it's about who you trust to carry it."

I nod, absorbing the weight of that truth.

Then the door bursts open with a force that startles even me.

Isadora.

She rushes in, breathless, eyes wide and brimming. The moment she sees her father, she stops, caught between disbelief and relief.

"Papa?"

Antonio rises instantly. No hesitation. No pride. Just the instinct of a father seeing his daughter.

She crosses the room in three strides and throws herself into his arms. His hands curl around her like they used to when she was a little girl, holding her tightly, anchoring her. She kisses both his cheeks, and I catch the glint of tears on her lashes.

"I didn’t know you were here," she whispers, emotion clogging her throat.

"Vittorio told me you were in the building," she adds, looking between the two of us, piecing it together.

Antonio cups her face in both hands, gently. "I was here to see the man you chose."

Her gaze swings to me, startled. Then back to her father, eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait... you what?"

He smiles at her, warmth replacing the stern edge in his face. "And you chose well. You were right, Isadora. You picked the right brother."

A soft, tearful laugh escapes her lips as she hugs him again, tighter this time, burying her face in his neck.

He strokes her hair. "He came to see me. Asked for your hand the way a man should."

She pulls back quickly, blinking at him. "He did?"

Her eyes shoot to me, stunned. "You did that?"

I nod once, quiet.

She looks from me to her father again, emotions cycling too fast to name. Her voice comes out softer, reverent. "You gave him your blessing?"

He nods. "My full blessing. And my loyalty."

She turns to me, her eyes full, shining, and I rise, walking toward her.

In that moment, there is no tension, no war, no blood-soaked legacy clinging to our shadows.

There is only peace.

There is only her.

And the two men who would burn the world before letting it touch her again.

It’s time.