Shattered Vows

Shadows of the past

The days after their conversation were filled with a heavy silence, a calm before a storm Isa could feel brewing.

Luca had become distant again, retreating into the fortress of his control, keeping her at arm’s length.

But she could see it—the cracks in his armor, the struggle in his eyes whenever they crossed paths.

He was fighting his emotions, trying to bury what had ignited between them.

And as much as Isa wanted to confront him, she knew this wasn’t something she could force.

Luca had to come to terms with it himself, and until then, she had no choice but to wait.

But the waiting didn’t bring peace. Instead, it brought memories—dark, painful reminders of the life she had left behind.

Shadows of her past seemed to stretch longer with each passing day, threatening to swallow her whole.

Isa found herself wandering the mansion more often, seeking out quiet places where she could think.

She spent hours in the library, where the smell of old books and the soft creak of wooden floors offered some comfort.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the nightmares that haunted her.

One night, after hours of tossing and turning, Isa slipped out of bed and quietly made her way to the library.

The house was still, the dim light of the hallway lamps casting eerie shadows across the walls.

She tiptoed down the grand staircase, her bare feet silent against the cold marble floors.

As she reached the library and pushed open the heavy wooden doors, Isa let out a small sigh of relief.

The quiet was comforting, the soft glow of the fireplace flickering in the corner.

She moved toward the shelves, running her fingers along the spines of the books, trying to distract herself from the storm brewing inside her.

But as she pulled a book from the shelf, her fingers brushed against something else.

A slip of paper, yellowed with age, fell to the floor. Frowning, Isa bent down and picked it up.

It was an old photograph, worn and faded with time. Two figures stood in the picture—one a young boy, no older than eight or nine, and the other a man with a face Isa didn’t recognize.

But it was the boy who caught her attention. His sharp eyes, dark hair, and the familiar intensity in his gaze—she knew that face.

It was Luca.

Isa stared at the photo, her mind racing. Luca had never spoken much about his past.

All she knew was that he had been raised in the world of organized crime, groomed to take over as the head of the De Santis family. But this photo...

this glimpse into his childhood... it raised more questions than it answered.

Who was the man standing beside him? And why had Luca hidden this photograph away?

She was still staring at the picture when a voice behind her broke the silence.

“Where did you find that?”

Isa gasped and turned around, clutching the photo to her chest.

Luca stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but there was a tension in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I... I’m sorry,” Isa stammered. “It fell out of one of the books. I didn’t mean to—”

Luca crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hand outstretched. “Give it to me.”

Isa hesitated for a moment before handing the photograph over.

Luca’s eyes flickered down to the picture, his jaw tightening as he stared at it.

His entire posture shifted, the usual calm and control he exuded slipping away as the weight of his past settled over him like a heavy cloak.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the room, filling the tense silence between them.

“That’s my father,” Luca said finally, his voice low and rough. “And that was the last picture taken of us before he was killed.”

Isa’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to share that with her, hadn’t expected him to let her in.

But here he was, standing before her, raw and exposed in a way she had never seen before.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her heart aching for the boy in the photograph, for the man he had become. “I didn’t know.”

Luca let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No one does. I don’t talk about him. Not to anyone.”

Isa took a step closer, her voice gentle. “Why now?”

Luca’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw the pain buried deep beneath the layers of control and power.

“Because you’re different. You make me feel things I thought I’d buried a long time ago.”

His confession hit Isa like a punch to the gut. She had always known there was more to Luca than the ruthless mafia don he presented to the world, but hearing him admit it

—hearing him admit that she had somehow broken through his walls—was almost too much to process.

But before she could respond, Luca turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“My father... he was killed because he let his guard down. He trusted the wrong people, and it got him killed.

I swore I’d never make the same mistake. I swore I’d never let anyone in.”

Isa’s heart ached for him, for the pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today.

She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but she knew Luca wasn’t the type to accept pity.

“Luca,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He turned to face her again, his expression torn between vulnerability and the need to maintain control.

“You don’t understand. I can’t afford to be weak, Isa. Not in this world. If I let my guard down, if I let anyone close...”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Isa understood. In his world, vulnerability was a death sentence.

But Isa wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She had faced her own demons, her own shadows of the past, and come out stronger on the other side.

And she believed Luca could too—if he would only let her in.

“You’re not weak,” she said firmly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them.

“You’re strong. But that doesn’t mean you have to do everything on your own.”

Luca’s eyes searched hers, his walls crumbling just a little more.

And in that moment, Isa saw the man behind the mask—the boy who had lost everything and built a fortress around his heart to survive.

“I don’t know how to let anyone in,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Isa reached up, her hand gently resting on his cheek. “You already have.”

For the first time, Luca didn’t pull away. He let her touch him, let her offer the comfort he had always denied himself.

And as the shadows of their pasts loomed large around them, they stood together, no longer alone in the darkness.