Chapter 27
Vito's POV
The IV drip fell in steady rhythms, each drop echoing in the silence of the medical suite I'd hastily arranged in the east wing of my estate. Dr. Reeves worked with quiet efficiency, checking Maria's vitals and adjusting the flow of fluids that would help flush the toxins from her ravaged system.
I sat beside the hospital bed, my wheelchair positioned close enough that I could reach her if needed, but far enough to maintain the analytical distance that had kept me alive in a world where emotional decisions meant death.
Something doesn't add up.
The thought had been nagging at me since the moment I'd first laid eyes on Maria Castellano. Twenty years of searching, countless resources expended, and she surfaces now—just days before my wedding, broken and desperate, with a story that aligned perfectly with my memories but felt... rehearsed.
Maria's fingers tightened around mine with surprising strength, and I studied her face with the same cold assessment I'd use on a business rival. The timeline was right. The location matched. She knew details about the tunnels that only someone who'd been there could know.
But the feeling was wrong.
The little girl who'd saved my life had possessed a quiet strength, an innate courage that had shone through even in her terror. This woman... she was fragile, certainly. Damaged beyond repair by whatever hell she'd endured. But there was something calculated in her desperation, something that whispered of performance rather than genuine emotion.
Does it matter?
The question crystallized with brutal clarity as I watched her sleep. Whether Maria Castellano was truly my childhood savior or simply another casualty of this city's cruelty, she was here now. Broken. Alone. In need of protection.
"Don't let go," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of medical equipment.
"I won't," I promised, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. The skin was marked with old track marks and fresh bruises—evidence of the hard years that had carved away the innocent child I remembered.
Twenty years of suffering while I lived in luxury.
The guilt ate at me like acid. I should have found her sooner. Should have kept my promise to protect her instead of getting caught up in business and revenge and the endless machinations of family power. She had saved my life, and I had failed her when she needed saving in return.
"Tony," I called softly to my lieutenant, who stood near the door like a sentinel. "Have the blue guest suite prepared immediately. Maria will be staying here during her recovery."
"Of course, boss. Should I inform the staff to prepare for a long-term guest?"
"Yes. She'll have whatever she needs—medical care, clothing, anything that might help her heal." I looked down at Maria's sleeping face, so pale against the white pillow. "She's been through hell. It's time someone took care of her properly."
"Sir," Tony said carefully, stepping closer to the bed. "But you're getting married in three days. Miss Cohen will be moving in then."
Isabella. The arrangement. The wedding that had been planned down to every detail while I'd been distracted by the past.
I looked at Maria's fragile form, remembering the brave little girl who had risked everything to save a stranger. Then I thought of Isabella Cohen in my office just hours ago—her defiant eyes, her trembling courage, the way she'd submitted to my demands while maintaining her dignity somehow intact.
Two women. Two debts. Two completely different kinds of obligation.
But duty comes first.
"Cancel the engagement."
"What?"
"I said cancel the engagement." I kept my voice low, not wanting to disturb Maria, but there was steel beneath the quiet tone. "Send word to the Cohen family. The marriage arrangement is terminated."
"Boss, you can't be serious—"
"I am completely serious." I turned to meet his gaze directly, letting him see the resolve in my expression. "I once made her a promise," I said, gesturing to Maria's still form. "I told her I would find her again, that I would protect her. I said I would marry her when we were both old enough."
At the time, it had seemed like a fairy tale promise, the kind of thing children said without understanding the weight of words. But promises made in desperation, in gratitude for life itself, carried a different kind of power.
"I cannot break my word," I continued firmly. "Not to her. Not after everything she's endured."
Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Your grandfather won't agree to this. The Cohen alliance—"
"I will convince him."
Even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be easy. Grandfather had spent months negotiating this arrangement, seeing it as the perfect solution to multiple family needs. The Cohen family's old connections, Isabella's bloodline, the financial leverage it would provide—he'd viewed it as a masterpiece of strategic planning.
But surely he would understand about honor. About keeping promises made in blood and desperation.
"What do you want to convince me of?"
The voice that cut through our whispered conversation was strong and commanding despite its age—the voice that had once held the entire Romano empire together through sheer force of will. I turned to see my grandfather standing in the doorway, his weathered hands gripping his carved walking cane, his silver hair immaculately styled despite the late hour.
How does he always know?
"Grandfather." I immediately maneuvered my wheelchair toward him, reaching out to offer support. Despite his stubborn independence, I could see the fatigue in the slight tremor of his hands, the way he leaned more heavily on his cane than usual. "You shouldn't have made the trip here so late."
"Nonsense," he said briskly, though he allowed me to steady him. "When my grandson starts canceling arranged marriages without consultation, I make time to investigate."
Of course he'd already heard. In the Romano family, news traveled faster than wildfire, especially news that threatened carefully laid plans.
"Grandfather, I want to cancel the engagement with Miss Cohen."
His dark eyes—still sharp as obsidian despite his eighty-three years—fixed on mine with unwavering intensity. "I disagree."
"I found her, Grandfather." I gestured toward the bed where Maria lay sleeping. "The girl who once saved my life. I cannot abandon her now when she needs me most."
Grandfather's gaze followed my gesture, taking in Maria's frail form with the calculating assessment that had made him one of the most feared men of his generation. He studied her for a long moment, then moved closer to the bed, his cane tapping softly against the marble floor.
His expression remained impassive, giving nothing away.
After what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked back toward the door, gesturing for me to follow.
"That," he said once we were out of Maria's hearing, "is not the girl from your childhood."
"I believe it's possible," I said carefully. "The timeline fits, the details align, the circumstances could explain her current condition. But more importantly, I believe our family has a responsibility to protect those who've suffered, regardless of their connection to our past."
"You're not making this decision based on guilt or sentiment."
"I'm making it based on principle. The same principles you taught me." I wheeled closer, letting him see the steel in my expression. "We honor our debts. We protect the vulnerable. We keep our word—even when it's inconvenient."
"And Miss Cohen?"
"Miss Cohen deserves a husband who can offer her his full attention and commitment," I said, "If my obligations lie elsewhere, then she deserves better than being second choice in her own marriage."
It was the right thing to say—noble, selfless, politically expedient. It was also a complete lie.
The truth was that I wanted Isabella Cohen with an intensity that defied logic or convenience. The truth was that canceling our engagement felt like tearing away a piece of myself I hadn't known existed. The truth was that choosing duty over desire was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
But wanting something didn't make it right. And being right didn't make it easy.
Grandfather studied my face for a long moment, reading the thoughts I'd tried to hide. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute authority.
"She's been placed here deliberately. Someone wants to disrupt the Cohen alliance, and they've found the perfect weapon—your guilt over a childhood debt."
"You think I can't recognize the girl who saved my life?"
"I think you want to recognize her," he replied with brutal honesty. "I think you're looking for an excuse to escape an arrangement that makes you uncomfortable, and this woman—whoever she really is—provides that excuse."
"The Cohen family is drowning in debt. This marriage arrangement was never particularly advantageous for us."
"When the Cohen family was prosperous, they had excellent relationships with our family," Grandfather said firmly. "Abraham Cohen's father was instrumental in establishing our foothold in real estate development. Their connections run deep in both legitimate business and our more... specialized operations."
"That was forty years ago—"
"Relationships transcend generations, Vito. And right now, the Cohen family's desperation makes them malleable, grateful, completely dependent on our goodwill. Isabella Cohen will be an ideal wife—beautiful, educated, and with absolutely no power to challenge your authority."
The clinical way he described Isabella made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. She was more than just a strategic acquisition—she was a woman who had knelt beside my wheelchair and called me beautiful, who had trembled with fear and defiance in equal measure.
"What if Maria truly is—"
"Then we will verify her identity thoroughly," Grandfather interrupted. "But until that verification is complete, you will honor your commitment to the Cohen family."
The finality in his tone was unmistakable, but I wasn't ready to surrender. "I gave Maria my word twenty years ago."
"You gave your word to a child who may or may not be the woman lying in that bed. But you gave your word to me—your blood, your family, your don—that you would marry Isabella Cohen in three days."
In the Romano family, promises to blood trumped all other obligations. It was the foundation that had kept our organization strong through decades of warfare and betrayal.
But looking back toward Maria's room, remembering the desperate trust in her eyes, I felt torn between two equally binding oaths.
"The matter of Maria Castellano will be investigated thoroughly," Grandfather continued, his voice softening slightly with what might have been compassion. "Out of humanitarian concern, she may remain here during her recovery. We are not monsters, Vito—we help those in need when we can."
"But?"
"But you will marry Isabella Cohen as planned. I will arrange for you to meet with her tomorrow to finalize the wedding details." His eyes met mine with unwavering authority. "This is not a request."