Chapter 109 Rocco
The De Luca house was quiet, too quiet for a home that had, hours before, resounded with music, laughter, and champagne. The smell of blood lingered underneath the expensive cologne and spilled wine. Every noise, the echoing of feet down the hallway, the creaking of aging wood, was louder, more acute, more oppressive.
I confronted one of my men. "Bring me all files we've got. I want his file, his handler, who he reported to, which shifts he worked. Everything."
"Yes, sir."
"And check if any of the others knew he was breached. I don't care how loyal they've been, nobody's clean until I say so."
He nodded and left.
I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. The night was supposed to be hers, ours. The engagement party, the laughter, the family. Instead, we left with blood on silk and betrayal on the floor.
Fiorella's voice snapped the quiet. "You think he was honest when he said it wasn’t Phillipe?"
Her tone was even, too even. The kind of even that came before fire.
“It's possible," I said, locking eyes with her. "But something tells me if he was involved , he didn't do it alone. This kind of act, it's deliberate. He wouldn't dare strike within my home without company. And I don’t think Phillipe will target Rosalia. This is Rafael’s shooter.”
She nodded once, her lips pursed into a thin line. "Then he has backup."
"Inside and out," I snarled.
She glanced over at the door from which they'd taken the body and, for a moment, I saw what lay beneath her control , anger, guilt, maybe even horror. But it was swiftly repressed. That was what I loved about her and hated too. She never let anyone see her cracking.
And yet, I could feel it, the easing in her hand as I wrapped mine around it.
I'd spent the last hour giving orders, sending guests home, and watching staff clean the bloody mess from the shot. Rosalia was fine. Rafael was with her upstairs, refusing to leave her. I understood. I would've done the same if she were Fiorella.
And now it was long past midnight, and the function hall where our engagement party had been celebrated felt like a quickly cleaned crime scene. My body ached with strain, my head with rage, but above all, I was empty, like all the fire had burned itself out.
By the time I got to my room, Fiorella was already there. She'd refused to leave, standing by the window, arms folded over her chest, the moonlight cutting across the hems of her red gown. That gown, God, that gown, had been made to celebrate something beautiful. And yet all I could think of when I saw the red gown was blood.
Her eyes rose when I shut the door behind me. "How are you?" she whispered.
"I’ll be okay," I whispered. "Are you okay?”
Fiorella nodded, letting a breath she'd probably been holding for an hour. But I also saw it in her, too, she was furious.
I took off my suit and threw it over a chair. "They tried to kill someone in my house," I said. "At our engagement party. While I was there."
"I had expected something bad to happen but not to Rosalia, she doesn’t deserve it.” she replied, her voice softer now.
I looked at her then, really looked, and the calmness in her voice softened something inside me. "You're right," I whispered.
She glided across the room, slow and deliberate, her heels ringing on marble floor like shots. When she was in front of me, she stood just close enough that our breath commingled.
"They wanted chaos," she said. "They are trying to scare us. We can't let them."
"I'm not afraid," I said.
"No," she breathed, never looking away. "But you're angry. And you should be."
I leaned over and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You need to sleep."
"So do you."
"I can't."
She didn't argue. She simply pulled my hand into hers and sat down, drawing me down with her. We sat there in the dim light, quiet spreading between us. Far out, the sound of the guards' footsteps on gravel, and the night wind whirling against the panes.
"I see it over and over again," I complained. "Rosalia on the floor, Rafael screaming… It won't stop ."
Fiorella inched closer to me, her hand tracing my jaw, holding me in place. "She’s alive. That's what matters."
I held her wrist back before she could move away, my thumb tracing the beat beneath her skin. "You say that like it's enough."
"Because it is, Rocco. They didn’t succeed and they won’t ever succeed.”
My gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. “And you’re mine?”
Her breath hitched, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You still need to put a ring on my finger officially.”
“That’s not a no.”
“No,” she whispered, “it’s not.”
The distance between us was gone. The kiss wasn't premeditated, it never was with her. It began slowly, near tentative, then grew deeper and more powerful until all thoughts that were not of her left my mind.
Her hands moved along my chest, fingers clutching at my shirt, as mine rested at the back of her neck, tracing the warmth there. It wasn't lust, though. Not tonight. Tonight, it was relief. about proving to us that we were still alive, still breathing after everything that had gone wrong.
When we finally separated, her forehead was against mine. "We'll find whoever did this," she whispered, gasping.
"Oh, we will," I promised. "And when we do, they'll regret the day they were born."
Her eyes flashed in the dim light, strikingly beautiful. "I'll take care of it."
I laughed brutally. "We're a dangerous couple."
"That's why we thrive."
She touched her lips to my jaw lightly and then pulled back, running her thumb across my lip as if to memorize it. "Sleep, amore mio. Your head must be clear for tomorrow."
I said nothing but knew sleep was impossible.
"Whatever did this," I said at last, "we'll catch them. I swear to you that."
She nodded, setting her glass aside. "I know you will."
I stepped in closer, tilting her chin upward so she'd look into my eyes. "But I need you to make me a promise too."
"What?"
"No more going in on this alone. If you get a threat, a call, a letter, whatever — you call me. You don't act alone."
Her eyes softened, but only slightly. "That goes both ways , Rocco."
I nodded, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Deal."
We stood there for an incredibly long moment, two people tangled up in too much power, too much love, and too much danger.
Then my phone buzzed.
Private phone. No name. Just a message.
You De Luca’s aren’t all that.
Fiorella caught the change in my face at once. "What is it?"
I rotated the screen for her to see. She read it, her breath stopping.
The message had an accompanying photo. A sketchy picture, taken from afar Rosalia lying on the ground.