Chapter 156 Fiorella
It smells of metal, oil, and old secrets in this warehouse, my place.
Leo walks two steps ahead of me, clipboard tucked under his arm, eyes scanning everything as if expecting trouble to crawl out of the shadows. He's been with me since I was fifteen; he knows when I'm quiet for the wrong reasons.
He turns again, peering into my face.
"Boss, you didn't sleep."
The man has the observation skills of a sniper.
I walk past him toward the armed crates. “Sleep's a luxury.”
He doesn't push. He never does. That's why he's the only one I trust without reservation.
We stop in front of the newest shipment: thick black crates lined up in rows, stamped with my family's crest. Our export to the Eastern syndicates needs to leave tonight, and any mistake becomes a war I don't feel like handling.
Leo points to the crates. "The new rifles arrived last night. Want to do the inspection yourself?"
Of course I do.
I snap on gloves and open the first crate. Rifles gleam under the overhead lights, perfectly oiled, their weight balanced. Reliable enough to kill a man before he blinks.
I check the mechanism. Smooth.
Sight alignment. Precise.
Barrel integrity. Clean.
Good.
I nod. "Quality's consistent. What about the silencers?"
Leo opens another crate beside me, revealing the attachments that are neatly arranged. “Tested. All functional.”
We work our way through each shipment-counting, checking, logging. It's the kind of work that keeps my mind occupied, but not enough. Every now and then, Rocco's face flashes into my head-furious, hurt, betrayed.
My throat tightens, but I bury it under professionalism.
Mafia life doesn't pause for heartbreak-real or imagined.
About an hour later, Leo closes the last crate and locks it. “I’ll coordinate loading.”
"Good," I say, heading for the office upstairs.
Halfway through, my phone starts buzzing.
Phillipe.
I feel irritation spike in my chest.
I silence the call and continue walking.
Two seconds later it rings again.
Leo looks up from across the warehouse: “You want me to handle that?
“No.” I let my breath out sharply. “I’ll handle him.”
I step into the upstairs office, close the door, and answer the call with half a growl.
“What do you want, Phillipe?”
His voice is pouring through the phone-smooth, smug, poisonous.
"Figlia mia, so tense so early in the morning."
“I’m not your daughter,” I snap.
He laughs softly, a laugh of the kind that crawls under your skin. "Not officially. Though Alessandro raised you in my shadow. Close enough, no?"
"Say what you have to say, I'm busy."
“Oh, I know,” he purrs. “Playing queen-pin while your little lover boy sulks alone in his mansion…”
My stomach knots, but I force my voice flat. “Don’t talk about Rocco.”
That only encourages him.
“You think I don’t hear things? You think I don’t have men watching? The whole city knows the De Lucas are cracking around the edges.”
A beat.
“And it's because of you.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the desk, whitening at the knuckles.
“This conversation is over,” I hiss, reaching for the button to hang up.
“Your relationship will crumble, Fiorella. It’s inevitable.”
My jaw locks.
"Mafia lords don't fall in love," Phillipe continues, tone almost pitying. "Your father tried. Look where that got them."
A pulse of heat flashes behind my ribs-anger mixing with old wounds.
He continues, relishing every moment.
"Your father and mother were a disaster. Doomed from the start. Just like you and Rocco. Love doesn't survive in families like ours. Power does. Strategy does. Legacy does."
"I'm warning you-" I growl.
“You cannot build a dynasty on romance, and you especially cannot with a De Luca.”
I don't breathe, I don't move.
Phillipe's voice lowers, oozing with smug certainty.
“You and Rocco? You'll destroy each other. If not today, then next month. Next year. It's in your bloodlines.”
My voice is ice when I speak. "You think you know me?
“I raised you from a distance,” he replies. “And I know your type. Strong, proud, stubborn. But still a D’Angelo … and D’Angelo don’t get happy endings.”
The world inside of me goes very still.
Leo calls my name faintly from the warehouse below, but I barely hear him.
Phillipe drops the real reason he called.
“So I’ll make the offer one last time… marry Victor.”
I close my eyes.
“Absolutely not.”
“Think, Fiorella. You marry my son, and the family fortune stays where it belongs. Your father’s blood stays in the right lineage. You secure your power. You secure our alliance. And you avoid the inevitable heartbreak that De Luca boy will bring you.”
“Stop.”
“You could have the life your mother never got,” he presses. “A safe one. A predictable one. A powerful one.”
I clench my jaw so tightly it hurts.
He speaks in a whisper now.
“You give your heart to Rocco, and you’ll lose it, just like she did with your father.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
He knows where to hit. He always has.
My voice drops to a quiet lethal calm.
"If you ever mention my mother again, I will burn everything you own to ash."
Silence.
Then that scornful, teasing laugh.
“There she is. My little lioness.”
My vision sparks white-hot with fury.
I slam the phone forward and hang up.
I go completely still for a moment, breathing hard, resisting the urge to throw the phone through the window.
Downstairs, Leo calls up again.
"Boss? Everything okay?"
I swallow hard, force steel back into my voice.
"Load the shipments," I call back. "We're leaving in twenty minutes."
But inside, my pulse still pounds-fast, uneven.
Phillipe's words burrow deep, scratching at old wounds.
Me and Rocco.
Cracked foundations.
Love-dooming bloodlines.
History repeating itself.
I support my hands against the desktop and lower my head, letting the weight settle for just a second.
Then I straighten.
Nobody, not Phillipe, Nek, my past, even destiny, gets to define how my story ends.
Not even Rocco. Not even my own blood.
I walk out of the office, my chin high, my rage folded neatly into something sharp and controlled. Leo notices my expression and falls into step beside me without asking a question.
My heart aches, my pulse burns, but my spine stays straight. If my world is going to shatter, I’ll make sure I’m the one holding the hammer.