Chapter Two Hundred and Seventeen

Chapter Two Hundred and Seventeen
Leonardo

“He said what??”

My mother, President of Italy and international expert in losing her mind at the dinner table, nearly dropped her wine glass.

“Karl?” she demanded, eyes wide. “The Karl? The guard? The one who always looks like he’s five seconds from committing an assassination?”

“That’s the one,” I said, casually reaching for a grape like I hadn’t just shattered royal history over antipasto. “Turns out he’s not just a professional death stare. He’s Alexander’s biological father.”

There was a silence. One of those perfect, stunned, what-the-actual-fuck silences.

Then my dad leaned back in his chair and said, “Holy shit. This beats the most dysfunctional Italian soap opera of the century.”

I grinned. “Right? You should’ve seen the motherfucker’s face. He was livid. Like a full-blown, aristocratic meltdown. Face red, fists clenched, nostrils flaring... the whole medieval king package.”

“What did he do?” my mother asked, hands already flailing.

“Oh, the usual,” I said, waving it off like I wasn’t still shaking inside. “Smashed some royal furniture, tried to have me arrested for trespassing, called Karl a traitor. Very classy. Ten out of ten.”

My father just muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and poured himself more wine.

I should’ve felt relieved. I’d told them everything—finally. No more hiding, no more secrets. But instead, all I felt was tired. Running on fumes. Even though everything was quiet now... it was too quiet.

That night, I went to my room and lay on my back in the dark, scrolling through my phone like an addict, refreshing news sites, checking for any updates from Sweden. No messages. No leaks. I sent him one, not knowing if—after the big reveal—he’d finally demanded his phone back. His social life probably consisted of just me at this point anyway...

No answer.

He’d gone radio silent again.

And somehow, the silence hurt more than the distance.

I was halfway into a spiral of unhealthy, borderline-obsessive thoughts when my phone chimed.

Charming.

My Charming!

I opened the message like it might disappear if I blinked.

"Baby, I’m here. I demanded my phone back.”

Holy shit! Did I call it??

“I’m so proud, love!! Oh, I could kiss you right now! I miss you so fucking much!” 

“I miss you more! Tomorrow morning. We're doing it. No press has been notified yet—the king insists 'the later the scandal, the better.' Only the absolutely necessary people will be there. But Sofía and I… we’re speaking our truth."

I grinned.

"Don’t worry, love. As you said—I got this covered. But I’m gonna need your help, and Karl’s, with one thing….”

“What do we need to do?”

I explained my plan to him—involving the only reporter I truly knew, and made sure he understood it had to be done for us. 

He sent a little heart. I sent three followed by three I-love-yous. We exchanged good lucks, sweet kisses in text form, and a promise to call after.

Then I just sat there, holding the phone to my chest like a complete idiot.

And for the first time since I left him, I smiled.

Ok, enough with the puppy-eyes and grinning like a teenager… There’s work to do!

I wasn’t ready to sleep, not with the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. So I did the one thing I always say I won’t do again.

I called Mario.

He answered on the second ring, voice dripping with mischief.

“Francesco, amore… three times in a month?” he purred. “Are we becoming besties?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. “God, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

He laughed. “Don’t tease me, darling. It’s not my fault the sound of my voice brings you such strong emotions.”

“Trust me,” I muttered, “if I wanted flirty delusion, I’d call Dante.”

“But instead, you called me. I’m touched.”

I sighed and dropped the sarcasm for just a second. “I have a story for you.”

That got his attention.

“Go on.”

“There’s going to be a press conference tomorrow morning,” I said, lowering my voice even though no one was around. “Alexander and Sofía. Ending the engagement. In person. Together.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Santa Madonna.”

“I want you to have the exclusive,” I said. “On this. And the next one.”

He caught the implication immediately. “Who do I need to kill?”

“The king. But only metaphorically. If you make sure this goes viral,” I added, “and I mean entire country watching, Mario—they’re both yours. Go through the service door half an hour before the conference, and the gorilla you told me about, Karl, will be there to get you in.”

He practically purred. “Sweetheart… for you—and my career, of course—I’ll make sure all of Europe is watching.”

I hung up with Mario and stared at the screen for a moment, smirking.

One more call.

I tapped Dante’s name. He answered like I knew he would—loud, dramatic, and already mid-crisis.

“Holy shit!” he barked. “I heard where you were and I was this close to calling the Italian terrorist militia and marching straight into the Swedish dungeons to break you out myself.”

I burst out laughing. “Wow. Love the faith in my ability to get arrested within 48 hours.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t show up with explosives and a priest.”

“I would’ve preferred snacks,” I deadpanned. “Maybe a bottle of wine and some legal counsel.”

He groaned. “You’re alive, thank God. Now spill.”

“Dude. Almost got arrested. Again. But more importantly…” I paused for dramatic effect. “You want royal gossip?”

“I live for royal gossip.”

“The juiciest of all, I’ll tell you in person, but there’s more… Tomorrow morning, Alexander and Sofía are ending the engagement. Publicly. Together.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then: “Shut up. And that’s not the juicy one??”

I grinned into the dark. “Come over in the morning for mind-blowing news. Then, we can watch the announcement from the presidential estate. Bring chaos.”

He laughed. “I’ll bring champagne.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Bring two bottles. I might cry.”



The next morning, we were all gathered in the living room of the presidential estate—me, my parents, and Dante, who had already made himself at home with a cup of espresso and a blanket he definitely stole from the guest room.

The screen was on. The official stream hadn’t started yet, but the palace’s logo was already glowing like a warning sign.

“Dante, my boy,” my father asked as he adjusted the volume, “are you staying for lunch?”

Dante leaned back with a grin. “Uncle, what kind of question is that? I’m staying for lunch, dinner, and possibly moving in.”

My mother smirked. “Not if you keep leaving coffee rings on my glass table.”

He winked. “No promises.”

Then he clapped his hands once. “Alright, let’s get the popcorn ready!”

I stared at him. “Dante… we are not going to the movies.”

My father muttered under his breath, “More like to a circus.”

I exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the screen. My heart was beating a little too fast.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “But this time... it’s our circus act.”