Chapter 132 Fiorella
The scent of fresh paint still lingered in the east wing, sweet and subtle, victory's aftertaste. Sunlight streamed through the new glass panels, catching the subtle glow of the marble floors as workers packed up their tools and left.
I stood in the center of the hall, arms crossed, staring at what weeks of planning, sleepless nights, and sheer determination had brought back to life. Each part of the rebuild was perfect, stronger, more secure than it had ever been before. The last trace of the estate that was a testament to Phillipe's destruction was gone, erased, replaced by my determination.
Leo greeted me at the other end, clipboard in hand. "All sealed and reinforced. Security's tightened around the new wing. No blind spots, no openings. Even a fly would be scanned coming in."
I smiled faintly. "Good. Let's keep it that way."
He nodded, his tone softening. "You sure you don't need to rest, boss? You've been at this since morning."
"I'm fine." I exhaled, staring down the shining hall a final time. "At least this looks right again."
Leo hesitated, his gaze sliding toward the windows. "He hasn't reacted yet."
"Phillipe?"
He nodded. "No retaliation. No messages. No whispers from the streets. It's too quiet."
It was the same unease that had been plaguing me for days. Phillipe was many things, arrogant, cruel, reckless, but quiet was not one of them. That he had not retaliated was one thing: he was crippled or plotting.
I looked at Leo, voice low. "He's recovering or scheming. Either way, quiet is never a good sign in our world."
Leo met my gaze, and for a moment, the soldier in him wavered, yielding to something more protective. "Then maybe it's time you called a day off before the next storm moves in."
I didn't argue. Maybe he was correct.
⸻
Rocco's hand brushed against mine as we stepped into the penthouse later that evening. The same city view stretched out before us, endless lights glinting beneath a dark heaven, the hum of the world far below. It wasn't the estate, but it was home.
He dropped our bags beside the sofa and turned to me, that slow smile spreading across his face and causing my heart rate to slacken. "No meetings. No plans. No enemies. Just us tonight."
I lifted an eyebrow, amused. "You think you can deal with that much boredom?"
He leaned in closer, his hand skating down my arm to come to rest at my waist. "If it's with you? I'll manage."
His voice was low, rough around the edges in a way that saw warmth unfurling through me. I melted into him easily, my head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear , strong, reassuring, alive.
We were silent for a long time. We didn't need to say anything. The city below us glowed like a thousand restless spirits, but here it was quiet, the kind of quiet that had been gone for far too long.
He sat back a little, moving a strand of hair from my face. "You look tired."
"I'm fine."
He smiled a little, unconvinced. "You always say that."
"Because it's true."
"Fiorella." His voice softened. "You've been holding everything together. The rebuilding, the supply chains, the retaliation against Phillipe , you've been doing it all without stopping to breathe."
I shrugged a little. "Breathing's overrated."
He sighed, then leaned down to kiss my forehead. "You scare me sometimes, you know that?"
"Why?"
"Because you never stop to think. You move like the weight of this whole world's on your shoulders."
"It is," I breathed. "At least my portion of it."
His grip on my waist tightened, and for a moment I saw the barest flicker of concern in his eyes, something human and unguarded beneath the customary iron composure. "Then let me carry some of it with you."
That gentle utterance disarmed me more surely than any sword.
I raised my hand, cradling his face, my thumb brushing the soft stubble on his jaw. "You already do," I whispered. "Whenever you look at me like that."
He didn't say a word. He just kissed me. Slow. Lazy. The kind of kiss that was about peace, not desperation , two people stealing a quiet moment in a life that had lost its sense of stillness.
When we eventually broke apart from one another, I rested my head on his shoulder, smiling faintly. "You know… I think I'm forgetting what normal feels like."
Rocco smiled gently. "This is as close as we get."
"Then I'll take it."
We spent the rest of the evening doing everything and nothing: cooking together, laughing over half-burned spaghetti, sharing a bottle of red that tasted sweeter for being ordinary. No business, no blood. Just us.
I was on the couch , legs crossed under me, watching him as he leaned over the balcony railing, a faintly lit cigarette between his fingers. The city lights painted him in gold and shadow, my chaos and my calm in one man.
He saw that I was watching him and smiled. "What?"
"Nothing." I shrugged my head. "Just thinking about how much I love you."
He flicked the cigarette away, came back inside, and fell to his knees in front of me. "Say it again."
I smiled gentle. "You heard me."
"Say it again," he repeated, his voice lower now, almost a growl.
I walked over to where he stood, leaned forward, my lips brushing against his. "I love you, Rocco De Luca."
He kissed me passionately, like the words had unleashed something in him he couldn't keep contained. When we eventually parted, his forehead rested against mine. "Good," he breathed. "Because I don't ever want to know a world where you don't exist."
We stood there for a while, breathing, touching, not speaking, the night stretching out infinitely around us.
The silence was reassuring. Almost too reassuring.
When I finally reached for my phone later, combing through missed messages, I saw it.
A new message.
No name. No recognizable number. Just initials.
"N."
That was it. Nothing else.
No threat. No note. Just a letter, one that for some reason carried more weight than a full sentence.
I felt a shiver run down my back as I stared at it. Whoever "N" was, they knew where to reach me.
Rocco materialized behind me, his arms circling my waist, his breath warm against my neck. "You’re alright?"
I screensavered before he could see. "Yeah," I lied softly, leaning back into him. "Everything's fine."
But my head was already reeling.
Who the hell is this N and what does he want?