Mag-log inVictor’s POV I knew this day would come. A day when Alessandro Vitale would finally grow tired of Don Francesco’s demands… tired of carrying the weight of an alliance he never wanted. I just didn’t expect it to take him this long to realize it. But late or not, the timing doesn’t matter. What matters is that Alessandro has finally done the one thing I’ve been waiting for— he opened a crack in the foundation of his world. And all I have to do now is widen it. Because I know Don Francesco. He does not forget humiliation. He does not forgive disrespect. And he damn sure will not sit quietly after being insulted in his own home. He will retaliate—he always does. And I will be there to help him do it. Not out of loyalty. Not out of respect. But because I have been waiting—aching—for a chance to destroy Alessandro for a long, long time. A man who never tries, yet somehow always wins. A man who walks into a room and commands attention without lifting a finger.
Ginevra’s POV The taxi ride home felt like a humiliation tattooed into my skin. I replayed Alessandro’s voice again and again—cold, flat, dismissive. Find your own way home. I don’t care how you do it. He had never spoken to me like that. Not even in our worst fights. Not even when I pushed him too far, today, he hadn’t raised his voice; he had simply… cut me off. When I reached the villa, still fuming and shaken, I barely made it through the door before Matilde cornered me. “Signorina,” she whispered urgently, eyes wide, “it's Amara. She tried to hurt herslef—and then she left.” My heart stuttered. “What?” “And Signor Alessandro… he went after her.” Of course he did. Of course, he would throw everything aside for Amara. He always did. But I was never stupid. I'd prepared for a moment like this months ago. While my hands trembled, my mind sharpened. I grabbed my phone and opened the private tracking app I’d installed myself—the one linked to the small tracker tu
Amara’s POV The night air felt warmer than it should have. Maybe it was the way Alessandro’s words lingered around me—like a blanket I wasn’t sure I was allowed to wrap around myself. Maybe it was the way his hands still rested lightly on my knees, grounding me, steadying me in a world that had been spinning too fast for too long. Or maybe it was something else. Something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to name. He pulled back just enough to study my face, his eyes searching mine as if he was trying to understand what I was thinking. And I wished I could tell him. I wished I had a single, simple emotion to offer him. But all I had were contradictions. Fear tangled with hope. Hope tangled with confusion. And beneath all of it, a quiet, aching longing I had buried too many times. “I meant everything I said,” he murmured, still kneeling in front of me. “Every word.” I swallowed. My voice betrayed me before I could steady it. “I know.” But knowing didn’t make it
Amara’s POV The first thing I felt was warmth. Not my own—his. The faint trace of Alessandro’s cologne clung to the sheets near my pillow, and a soft imprint lingered on my forehead as if a kiss had been placed there not too long ago. I remembered it faintly, like a dream filtered through heavy sleep. His whisper—something low, warm, regretful—had brushed the edge of my consciousness. But the sedative the nurse gave me had pinned my body down like sandbags. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t reach him. Now I was awake. And he was gone. I pushed myself upright slowly, every bone in my body feeling too light, too weak. The room felt wrong without him—too wide, too quiet, too cold. My feet touched the floor. Pain pulsed, but I kept going. I opened the door. Damian was sitting right outside, elbows resting on his knees, head down like he’d been thinking too hard. The moment he heard the door, he shot up. “You’re awake,” he said gently. I nodded. I didn’t
Alessandro’s POV Amara was still asleep when I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—one, then another, then a third that lingered longer than it should have. Her breathing was steady, finally calm after the hell she'd just been dragged through. Chest tightened. She looked so small against the white hospital sheets. Too pale. Too fragile. Too breakable. I brushed a loose curl away from her cheek and lowered and lowered my mouth to her ear, whispering even though she couldn't hear a thing. “I need to do something important, amore. Something I should have done a long time ago.” She didn't stir. But I still waited—like a part of me feared she'd wake up and stop me. She didn’t. So I forced myself to step back, every muscle in my body screaming at me to stay. Outside the room, Damian shot up from the chair like he'd been waiting all night. “You’re leaving?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. His tone was casual; his posture wasn’t. “I won’t be long,” I said.
Alessandro’s POV The hallway was too white. Too bright. Too loud. Every second felt like a blade carving through my ribs as I paced in front of the operating doors, my hands still stained with Amara’s blood. Damian stood beside me, whispering something about breathing, but I couldn't hear him. My pulse was a hammer in my ears. All I could see… Was her lying there on the concrete. Her blood on my hands. Her eyes closed. I did this. The doors burst open, and two nurses hurried out, pushing a cart of instruments. I lunged forward. “Is she alive?” The question tore out of me like a raw scream. A doctor in light scrubs approached. He had the expression of someone who’d delivered too many near-tragedies. He removed his gloves slowly, meeting my eyes with an unreadable calm. “Signore Vitale,” he began. The world stopped. “You can relax,” he finally said. “She is stable.” My knees almost buckled. “The cut on her wrist was deep but clean,” he continued. “We closed it.







