جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 228

The world tilted. Isabella gasped, the sound sharp and involuntary. For a terrifying second, she thought she might faint. Her knees weakened, her vision blurred, and instinctively she reached for the vanity, gripping it tightly to keep herself upright. It couldn’t be real. Her mind raced to protect her: hallucination, stress, wishful thinking — but her heart knew better. The man standing in her doorway was flesh and blood. He was unmistakably real. Luca noticed her reaction immediately. His body moved on instinct, stepping forward as if to catch her, to hold her — “Don’t,” she whispered, raising her hand. Luca stopped. The space between them filled with silence so thick it felt suffocating. They simply stared at each other, months of history pressing in on the moment. He was immaculately dressed as always, his face lined with weariness, but his

“Hello?” Clarissa repeated. Giovanni’s heart was slamming against his ribs. Say something. Say something! “Hello?” she said again. “Clarissa…” His voice was barely more than a whisper. Silence followed. Then — “Giovanni?” The way she said his name. Soft. Uncertain. As if confirming a ghost. “Yes,” he managed. “It’s me.” Silence again. Heavy. Loaded. He could hear her breathing faintly on the other end. Then Clarissa spoke. “I… I’m sorry.” He blinked. What? “I’ve been meaning to call you, but then I realised that I never got your number,” Clarissa continued quietly. “I owe you an apology

The celebration lingered long after the music softened. Hours later, when the last of the guests had been escorted to their suites or chauffeured away, the Martinelli mansion felt different. The glitter and laughter had faded, replaced by something quieter, heavier, and far more dangerous. The War Room waited. Lorenzo stood outside its double doors, his hand resting briefly on the polished wood. For a moment, he closed his eyes.  Peace, he reminded himself. Yo

Moments later, while Andrea slept in his nursery under the watchful gaze of his nanny, Lorenzo and Ivy walked hand in hand toward the east wing where Nonno Salvatore was waiting for them. They had both freshened up. Ivy wore a soft floral dress that skimmed her body gently, a quiet celebration of the life she had brought into the world. Lorenzo had abandoned his usual armour of suits. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tucked into tailored pants, and he looked younger, lighter. Fatherhood had softened the hard edges that once defined him. As they walked, Ivy tightened her hold on his hand. “I still can’t believe this is real,” she murmured. Lorenzo glanced at her. “What part? The sleepless nights or the tiny dictator who already controls this entire family?” Ivy laughed softly. “All of it. Andrea. Us. This life. Sometimes I