Chapter 52 Fiorella
I needed him to stay.
The words had slipped out before I could think them through, before I could weigh the consequences. But now that they hung in the air, unspoken but heavy, I couldn't take them back.
And more surprising than me asking—was that Rocco hadn't turned me down.
He just sat there, looking at me, his sharp eyes unreadable. He wasn't the type of man to hesitate, not when it came to making decisions, but now I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was considering it.
I swallowed, shifting slightly against the couch, acutely conscious of how close we were. The heat of him, the slow rise and fall of his breath. It was earthy, somehow, something I hadn't been expecting. I had been bearing everything on my own for so long, bearing the weight of my family's legacy, that it felt strange—almost dangerous—to let someone else bear some of it.
And yet, there he was. Still there. Still waiting.
"I… I’m sure you have things to do—"
I know he has things to take care of and it’s selfish of me to want his time like this.
Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just to remind myself that I wasn't as alone as I had grown to feel.
"You don't have to," I lied, instead.
Rocco leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. "You think I'd still be here if I didn't want to be?" His voice was flat, even.
I let out a small breath, torn between relief and something far too close to hope.
I should have pulled it back. Should have teased it off, made some excuse, shoved him away before this moment could grow into something I couldn't ignore.
But I didn't.
Instead, I simply nodded, my fingers tightening by the merest fraction in my lap.
And when he picked up the bottle of wine he had brought and poured us each a glass, as if he had already made up his mind— like staying was never really a question at all—my heart pounded just a little harder.
The weight of the night settled over us in a heavy, quiet fog. The house itself was still, Rocco, in the quiet glow of the room, sat beside me, his presence solid, steady—something I hadn’t realized I’d been craving until now.
I sat watching him, my eyes tracing the edges of his sharp-jawed face, the unyielding quiet in how he held his stance. He was not just here —he was with me. Through all of it. The deceptions, the fractured loyalties, the overwhelming weight of my father's loss upon me.
For so long, I'd held everything propped up on nothing more than sheer willpower. Fighting. Plotting. Waiting for my enemies to attack. But with Rocco in the picture, the tension that I'd borne at all times had started to slide, uncoiling between his silence and his constant presence.
I breathed slowly, resting against him, my face against his shoulder. I felt him stiffen for a second before he relaxed, his arm rising up to settle on the back of the couch behind me. His warmth seeped into my flesh, holding me in a manner I'd not expected.
"You have no idea how much this means to me," I whispered, my voice quieter than I intended.
Rocco moved, his gaze flicking down to me. "What does?"
"You being here."
The words were bare, raw, but I didn't take it back. I needed him to know. Wanted him to know.
His expression softened—barely—but he didn't speak. Didn't need to. The look in his eyes, like I was someone he wanted to stand beside, someone he needed to defend, was enough.
I swallowed, my hands clenching on the fabric of my dress as I fought to keep going. "Everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to shatter. And maybe I would have already, if you hadn't—" I hesitated, searching for the right words, but none of them felt quite right. "You make it easier. Even when everything else is impossible."
Rocco's jaw clamped just a little, and for a moment, I feared he'd brush it aside. But then he faced me, me, his fingers reaching out, barely grazing my chin as he tilted my face up toward him.
"You're not going to break, Fiorella." His voice was low, unshakeable. "You're tougher than them."
Something within my chest tightened at his words, at the unshakable conviction in them.
I don't know what had come over me then. Maybe it was exhaustion, or the wine, or the fact that for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than rage and grief ripping at my inside.
But I didn't think.
I just acted.
My hand crept up, fingertips tracing the line along his jaw line, stroking the roughness of his stubble. Rocco stiffened under me, breathing suspended as I inched closer. His eyes darkened, still observing, waiting, but not pulling back.
I kissed him.
It was tentative, soft initially. But when our lips met, a shiver ran down my spine, and tension between us leapt like a taut wire.
Rocco gasped heavily into my mouth, his fingers tightening at my waist before he finally surrendered. He drew me closer, his hand cradling the back of my neck as he deepened the kiss.
It wasn't desperate.
It wasn't frantic.
It was slow and hard, heavy with the kind of heat that smouldered just beneath the surface before bursting into flame.
I melted into him, my body against his, my hands grasping his shirt like I needed to hold on to something. He tasted like wine and something uniquely him, something that was familiar but completely new.
By the time we broke apart, my heart was racing, my breathing rough.
Rocco rested his forehead against mine, his hands still in my hair.
"Fiorella—" he started, his voice rough, as if he wasn't sure what came next.
I breathed slowly out, shutting my eyes. "Don't say anything."
Because if he spoke, if he asked her if it was right, I would start to think. And I didn't want to think.
I just wanted this.
Even if only for one night.
Rocco didn't move, didn't retreat, didn't speak. His forehead remained against mine, his breathing entwined with mine, hot and steady. My heart pounded, the reality of what had just happened creeping into me, but I didn't regret it.
Not when every single nerve in my entire body still hummed from his touch.
I slowly opened my eyes, meeting his. His dark eyes held something unreadable, something reserved—like he was holding himself back.
"You surprised me," he said finally, his voice rough.
I let out a small breath, half-laugh, half-exhale. "I surprised myself."
His fingers brushed my jaw for the second time, this one nearly forgetful, as if he was discovering the feel of my skin. He looked at me with an intensity I couldn't place.
"Do you regret it?" he whispered.
I swallowed hard, fists still in his shirt. I could have lied. Could have said it was a mistake, the stress and lack of sleep finally caught up with me.
But I didn't.
"No."
His face altered, something flashing in his eyes, something deep and impenetrable.
"Then why do you look like you're going to overthink it?"
I exhaled a breath, shaking my head. "Because I don't know what comes next."
Rocco didn't say anything for a moment, then he leaned back a little, creating just enough space between us for me to see him clearly.
“You don’t have to know,” he said simply. “Not right now.”
I just wanted to remain in this moment for a few more minutes, with him, without the suffocating weight of the world.
So I exhaled, tilting my head. "Okay."
Rocco stared at me for another moment before finally, uncertainly, stepping back. He draped his arm over the top of the couch, his gaze still on me as if he was ensuring I wouldn't disappear.
"You need to rest," he breathed.
I laughed thinly. "Easier said than done."
His eyes flashed with something understanding, and then, without hesitation, he shifted, lying back and spreading his arm a little in invitation.
"Then stay here. Just for a little while."
I paused.
Not because I didn't want to.
But because I did.
But this time, I didn't think about it too much. I stepped closer, allowing myself to lean against him, my head on his chest. His heat enveloped me, his smell—leather, musk, something so very Rocco—soothing the tempest that had been raging within me for days.
His arm went around me, solid, unshakeable. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there.
My eyelids fluttered shut. "I could get used to this."
I hadn't even known I'd said it aloud until I felt Rocco stiffen underneath me.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, his grip just tightened a little bit, his voice low and teasing.
"I could too.”
A smile of satisfaction appeared on my face instantly. I want more moments like this with him.