Page 31

Stefano

One year later.

The sea stretches before us, endless blue meeting the horizon where it kisses the sky. Waves crash against the shore in a rhythm that’s become as familiar to me as Isadora’s heartbeat against my chest at night. Our footprints trail behind us in the wet sand, evidence of our existence that the tide will soon erase—temporary, like all things except what we’ve built between us.

Isadora walks ahead of me, dark hair dancing in the coastal breeze. Even now, after a year of waking up to her face, I find myself struck by her beauty—not just the obvious kind that first caught my eye in that club, but the fierce grace that makes her formidable. My principessa. My salvation.

“You’re staring again, Stefano,” she calls over her shoulder, using my real name. She never calls me Alessio anymore—that ghost died on a marble floor in a hunting lodge upstate, bleeding out next to what remained of my vengeance.

“Can you blame me?” I catch up to her in three strides, my arm sliding around her waist. Her body fits against mine perfectly, curved in all the places I’m hard. “The view is exceptional.”

She laughs, the sound carrying across the private beach of our Amalfi Coast property. “Charmer. Is that how you infiltrated the Calvino organization? Smooth talk?”

“That, and a willingness to put bullets in people who deserved them.” I drop a kiss to her temple, breathing in the jasmine scent of her hair, and murmur. “Different lifetime.”

It is, in every way, that matters. Alessio Gravano, the enforcer who spent twenty years plotting revenge, now exists only in whispered legends.

Maria sits on the porch of our coastal home, watching our lives with eyes that have seen too much but now, finally, witness joy. The cancer is in remission—a miracle, the doctors called it. I call it justice. She deserves to see what she saved flourish.

“How is she today?” Isadora asks, following my gaze to the woman who raised me.

“Stubborn. Insisted on making breakfast herself.” I shake my head, fondness warming my voice. “Said she didn’t escape New York just to be treated like an invalid in paradise.”

Isadora’s laugh vibrates against my side. “I adore her.”

“She adores you too.” More than that, Maria sees in Isadora what I see—strength that doesn’t require cruelty, power that isn’t afraid of tenderness.

We walk in companionable silence until we reach a small cove, sheltered from view by jutting rocks. It’s our place, discovered during our honeymoon, and we returned to purchase it.

She turns to face me, expression suddenly serious. “I have something to tell you.”

Instinct makes my body tense, muscles coiling as I scan for threats. Old habits.

Isadora places her hand against my cheek, her touch instantly grounding me. “Not that kind of something, Stefano.”

I cover her hand with mine, pressing it harder against my skin. “Tell me.”

She takes a deep breath, emerald eyes holding mine with the directness I’ve always loved. “I’m pregnant.”

The world halts. Reorients. Begins anew, but is fundamentally altered.

“Pregnant,” I repeat, the word strange on my tongue. Foreign. Miraculous.

She nods, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Eight weeks. I confirmed it yesterday.”

A child. My child. Our child. The ghost who never thought he’d live long enough for revenge now stands on the precipice of fatherhood. The laugh that escapes me is raw, almost broken in its intensity.

“Are you happy?” Isadora asks, vulnerability flickering across her features.

In answer, I lift her off her feet, spinning her in a circle that sends sand flying. Her surprised laugh echoes off the rocks as I set her down carefully, suddenly aware of how precious the cargo she carries truly is.

“Happy doesn’t begin to cover it, principessa.” I drop to my knees before her, pressing my face against her still-flat stomach. Through the thin fabric of her sundress, I can feel her warmth—the same warmth that now nurtures our child. “I never thought I’d have this.”

Her fingers thread through my hair, nails scraping gently against my scalp in the way that makes me want to purr like a satisfied cat. “What? A family?”

“A future.” I look up at her, allowing her to see everything—the vulnerability I’ve only ever shown her, the love that sometimes terrifies me with its intensity. “For twenty years, I didn’t plan beyond vengeance. Then you happened.”

She tugs me to my feet, her hands framing my face. “We happened, Stefano. Both of us. Together.”

When her lips meet mine, I taste salt and sunshine and the faint sweetness of the gelato she had after lunch. My hands slide down her back, pulling her flushed skin against mine as the kiss deepens. Even now, after countless times making her mine, the hunger never abates. If anything, it grows stronger and more consuming with each passing day.

“Turn around.”

“Here?” she murmurs against my mouth as my hands find the hem of her dress. “What if someone sees?”

“Private beach.” I trail kisses down her throat, teeth grazing the spot that makes her gasp. “Private cove. And I need to taste you. Now.”

Her breath hitches as I drop to my knees again, pushing her dress up her thighs. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you.” I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh, inhaling her scent. “Always for you.”

She spreads her legs slightly, granting me access as I hook my fingers in the sides of her underwear and drag it down her legs. The sun-warmed sand cushions my knees as I worship her, my tongue finding the slick heat of her with practiced precision.

“Stefano,” she gasps, fingers tightening in my hair. “Damn, your mouth...”

I lose myself in her—in the taste of her arousal, the sound of her pleasure, the way her thighs tremble against my shoulders. When I slip two fingers inside her, curling them to find the spot that makes her see stars, she comes apart with my name on her lips—my real name, the only one I use now.

Before she can recover, I’m on my feet, unfastening my pants with urgent movements. Her eyes darken as she watches me free my cock, hard and aching for her.

“Turn around,” I growl, the command softened by the reverence in my touch as I help her brace against one of the larger rocks. “I need to be inside you.”

She complies, looking back over her shoulder with a smile that’s pure temptation. “Then take what’s yours.”

I enter her in one smooth thrust, both of us groaning at the perfect fit. Her body accepts me like it was made for this—for me—her muscles clenching around my length as I begin to move.

“Mine,” I murmur against her neck, one hand splayed protectively over her stomach while the other grips her hip. “Both of you.”

“Yours,” she agrees, pushing back to meet each thrust. “As you are ours.”

The thought of it—my child growing inside her, our future taking shape—sends me over the edge faster than I’d like. I reach around to circle her clit, determined to take her with me, and feel her shatter a second time as I spill myself deep inside her.

We stay joined as our breathing slows, my arms wrapped around her from behind, her head resting back against my shoulder. The waves continue their eternal rhythm, unconcerned with the small miracles occurring on their shores.

“We may still have enemies out there,” I say finally, voicing the shadow that occasionally darkens even my brightest moments. “Members of Suzette’s family, and others who may want to come for us once they know about the baby.”

Isadora turns in my arms, fierce despite her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. “Let them try. We’ve rebuilt both organizations into something stronger than even a fortress. We have allies now, not just enemies.”

“And we have each other,” I add, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Which makes us dangerous.”

She smiles, the expression holding all the fire that first drew me to her in that club bathroom, when she was just a desperate bride-to-be seeking one night of freedom.

“The most dangerous kind of dangerous,” she agrees, rising on her toes to press her lips to mine. “The kind with something to protect.”

As we walk back toward the house, toward Maria and the life we’ve built, I realize that for the first time since I was a boy, I’m not defined by what was taken from me. Not a ghost anymore. Not a weapon. Not even a son seeking his father’s destruction.

Just Stefano. Husband to Isadora. Soon-to-be father. Man who learned that vengeance might sustain you, but love—fierce, consuming, hard-won love—is what truly saves you.

And I intend to spend the rest of my life being worthy of that salvation.

The End.

Dear valued reader, I sincerely appreciate you for taking out time to read Shattered Engagement.