Chapter 104 Fiorella
The dining hall laughter hung like a dwindling tune as the house grew still. Rosalia made me stay on, saying she required "girl time," which was actually a euphemism for the fact that she wanted to interrogate me about my engagement in the kindest possible manner.
Rocco had left with Rafael and Riccardo to take a call from one of their men, and I was sitting in Rosalia's sitting room, all ivory curtains, soft lights, and understated vanilla scents. She moved through the room like a breath, gold-haired and serene, the kind of woman who made softness look like armor.
She handed me a glass of white wine from the bottle on the side table before curling up beside me on the velvet couch. "I can't believe it," she whispered with a sighing smile. "Rocco and Fiorella. I always knew it would happen, but I didn't think it'd feel so real until now."
I weakly smiled, tracing a finger around the rim of the glass. "You always knew?"
She smiled, eyes glinting. "Sure. He's been softer since you've been here,though he'd never admit to it. But the way he looks at you? It's not the same way he looks at everyone else."
Her words tugged at something in me. I wanted it to be possible to believe that softness would be enough to repair everything, the blood, the loyalty, the world we both came from. But beneath it all was still the echo of his voice from earlier, slicing with disappointment.
Rosalia must've noticed I spaced out. "Hey," she said softly, putting a hand on my arm. "You're thinking too much."
"I'm just… tired," I whispered.
She tilted her head. "It's more than that. I know that look, I see it every time Rafael leaves for a business trip. It's the face of a woman in love with a man who carries too much weight."
A soft laugh escaped. "You read me too easily."
"It's a gift." She leaned back, sipping her wine. "You and Rocco are both intense. That's what makes you lethal together, and strong. But you're going to have to trust each other completely if you're going to make it."
Her words stung, simple, but true. I'd been so busy protecting what my father built that I'd neglected what it felt like to have somebody to share that power.
"I know," I whispered. "And I will."
Rosalia smiled, reaching out to take my hand in a squeeze. "Good. Because if anyone can bring peace to both of your families, it's you two."
The passion of her words lingered even after she stood to examine the dessert she'd spent all night preparing. I sat a little longer, watching the faint flame of the candle flicker between us, the way its light played off my ring.
It was beautiful, thick and golden, its diamond catching every suggestion of light. But beauty in our world was never free.
When Rocco came back to us, he stepped in behind me, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back as though in silent claim. He smelled vaguely of smoke and leather, his voice low in my ear.
"You ready to go, amore mio?"
I looked up at him. His face was impassive, calm, controlled, but something beneath, something he wasn't saying to me. Forgiveness, maybe. Caution, maybe. Maybe both. My fiancé was a hard man to read.
Rosalia hugged me before we left, whispering, "Don't think so much. He loves you. That's enough."
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The afternoon sun flowed like honey through the tall windows of the De Luca mansion, softening the edges of everything it touched, the marble floors, the crystal decanters, even Rosalia's easy smile as she leaned across the sofa toward me.
It had been a while since I'd laughed this way.
We sat among teacups that were half full and a spill of fabric swatches she'd insisted on showing m, ivory, cream, a pale blush that shone when it caught the light.
"This one's my favorite," she said, holding a sample against my cheek. "It makes your skin look like porcelain."
I laughed softly. "You'd be a dangerous stylist, Rosalia. You could talk anyone into wearing anything.".
“Because I'm always right.” She smiled. "Aria is coming soon so we’ll all go shopping for dresses, get our nails done, spa and the likes.”
Her words wrapped around me warmly, sisterly affection with no pretension. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed such companionship until that moment. We talked about everything: flowers, music, how Rocco still wore black suits in the middle of summer. For the first time in days, I could put aside the tension that had overshadowed our engagement.
Occasionally, she sighed softly, tracing the rim of her teacup. "You know," she said, "I've never seen him like this before."
I lifted my head. "Like this?"
Her smile turned knowing. "Vulnerable. He tries to hide it, but it's there, in the way he looks at you. You make him less… stone."
My cheeks grew warm. "I don't think I do much of anything."
Rosalia tilted her head to one side, the afternoon sun catching in her hair. "You don't have to. Being in someone's world half the time changes the whole rhythm of it."
I attempted to say something but words tangled in my chest.
She bent down, squeezed my hand once, then stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. "Come on. If I stay here too long, Rafael will think I'm up to something."
I smiled, standing also. "You probably are."
She winked. "Always."
After she had left, her perfume lingered, a trace of white gardenia and something sweetly subtle. I let the silence stand for a moment, then headed in the direction of the hall, intending to go find Rocco. The sound of low voices halted my feet just before I turned the corner.
I froze.
Rocco's voice first, low, deep, threaded with something cutting. Followed by Rafael's, softer but strained.
".another message," Rafael was saying. "Same encryption as before."
"Show me."
A pause, a soft rustle of paper or maybe the scrape of a phone across a table. I held my breath shallow against the wall.
Rocco cursed under his breath. "They're getting bolder."
"Or closer," Rafael said.
Silence hung between them, tense and weighted.
“Do we know who it's from?" Rocco finally asked.
Rafael's tone dropped. "No. Still nothing.”
I heard Rocco's chair move against the floor, a sound edged with frustration. "They will fail."
"However," Rocco continued, "you need to be cautious. Especially with Rosalia. She's—"
"Mine to protect," Rafael cut in, the words absolute, final.
The fervor in his voice sent shivers down my spine. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but there was something about the way he spok, low, gravelly, like a vow, that rooted me to the spot.
Quietly, then, he said, “ I won’t let anyone hurt her. I’d take another bullet for her if I have to.”
Rocco sighed wearily. "Hopefully it won’t get to that."
“Yes, we’d find them before any damage is done.”
The sound of movement, a chair pushed back, steps, made me jump. I retreated before either of them appeared, easing back toward the main hall, my heart thudding against my ribs.
By the time Rocco returned for me an hour later, his face was carved from stone. We didn't speak much on the way out of the mansion. He had a hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the door, but his touch was tense, controlled.