Let Her Go

Let Her Go
Giovanni’s POV

I woke in the deepest part of the night, when the house was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

Moonlight spilled through the half-open curtains, silver and cool, painting everything in soft grays. My eyes adjusted slowly, and then they found her.

Isabella.

She lay on her side, facing me, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly on the sheet between us. Her hair had come loose from its pins hours ago, spilling across the pillow in golden waves that caught the light like threads of starlight. Her lips were slightly parted, breath slow and even. Lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks.

She looked ethereal. Untouchable. Like something too beautiful for the darkness I carried.

I couldn’t look away.

Isabella had confessed she loved me.

Me.

Me.

The word echoed in my head, over and over, like a prayer I didn’t deserve.

How? After everything I’d done—every cold word, every time I’d pushed her away, every night I’d left her alone in this bed—how could love still roll off her tongue so honestly?

I had hurt her. Again and again. Deliberately. Cruelly.

I’d called her an arranged bride. Told her to know her place. Run from the room when her name slipped out in place of Monalisa’s. Fought in front of her like an animal. Lied with every touch, every kiss, because the entire foundation of our marriage was rotten.

And still, she said it.

I love you.

I was sure she would be my undoing.

I felt it in my bones—the slow unraveling of every wall I’d built. She saw too much. Saw through the mask, straight into the exhaustion I hid from the world. She’d named it tonight: tired. Sick of this life. Wanting out.

Did she really see me that way?

Did my eyes truly betray what my mouth refused to say?

I’d spent years perfecting control—face blank in meetings, voice steady when giving orders that ended lives. But with her, when we were skin to skin, when the world narrowed to just her body under mine, her breath in my ear—I let go. Just a little. And she’d caught every glimpse.

It terrified me.

Because it wasn’t that easy to let go.

If I walked away—if I tried to leave this life—who would protect her?

The real reason for our marriage was a lie. A cruel, hollow lie.

I couldn’t give her an heir.

The tests confirmed it. Irreversible. Sterile. The Donatelli line ended with me.

I’d married her for a child that would never come. Dragged her into this world, taken her freedom, her choices, her body—all for nothing.

Would she still love me if she knew?

If she discovered I’d fooled her from the beginning—that every night I’d lost myself in her had been built on deception—would she look at me with anything but hate?

And my father.

Vincenzo would never accept weakness. No heir meant no legacy. He’d strip me of everything. Andriano would circle like a vulture, ready to take the throne he believed was his.

Without power, I’d be nothing.

Without power, I couldn’t protect her.

She would end up like my mother—used, discarded, broken by this life. Or worse—like Monalisa. Dead because I couldn’t shield her from the bullets meant for me.

I’d rather die than watch that happen.

Isabella was mine.

No matter what she said to the contrary—no matter how strong she claimed to be—she was mine to protect.

No one else could do it. Not Rizz. Not Carlo. Not some distant future husband in a safe, normal life.

Only me.

I had to hold on to power, even if it poisoned me. Even if it meant keeping her at arm’s length sometimes. Pushing her away to keep her safe.

When the truth came out—that there would be no child, no heir—questions would come. Accusations. Blame would fall on her. The familia would whisper. Vincenzo would rage. Andriano would pounce.

I couldn’t let them touch her.

So I’d stay. Fight. Rule.

And when the time came—when the danger was too great—I’d end it.

Divorce her. Send her away. To another country. Somewhere safe. With enough money to start over. With her family, hidden and protected.

The thought alone cracked something deep in my chest.

Letting her go.

Living without her.

Her laughter in the mornings. Her hand in mine. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching—like I was worth something.

Could I really do it?

Could I wake up every day knowing she was out there, living a life I couldn’t share?

I doubted it.

I really, truly doubted it.

A soft sound pulled me from the spiral.

Isabella stirred, lashes fluttering. Her eyes opened slowly—hazel, warm even in the moonlight.

She found me staring.

“Giovanni?” Her voice was husky with sleep. “You’re not sleeping.”

I hadn’t realized how long I’d been watching her.

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. My thumb lingered on her cheek.

“I’m about to,” I said quietly.

She shifted closer, tucking herself against my chest without hesitation. Her head fit perfectly beneath my chin. Her hand rested over my heart.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding tight.

She sighed softly, already drifting again.

I pressed my lips to her hair, breathing her in—jasmine and warmth and everything good I didn’t deserve.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

But with her in my arms, the darkness felt a little less absolute.

Even if I knew, deep down, that I’d have to let her go one day.

For her sake.

Even if it destroyed me.