Chapter 88 Rocco
Morning came too quickly. Pale light streamed through the curtains, highlighting Fiorella's hair where it spilled across my chest. I lay for a while, fingers stroking through the silky tresses, not wishing to move, not wishing for the world outside our room to start spinning again. The night before had been laughter, kisses, promises whispered over popcorn and champagne. I wanted more of that. I wanted a lifetime of that.
Then the shrill ring of my phone destroyed the peace.
I pulled it from the nightstand, not wanting to wake her, but she moved anyway, burrowing closer to me with a gentle sigh. My eyes fell to the message on the screen, and the seriousness of it landed in my stomach like a stone.
Rafael: Get home. Now. Something's happened.
No explanation. No detail. Only urgency. My brother wasn't one to waste words, but this, this was different.
I stared at the message longer than I should've, my jaw tight. Something in me screamed that whatever was at the family estate wasn't trivial. Trouble didn't reduce Rafael to brusque commands unless it was serious.
Fiorella's lashes fluttered as she blinked awake, her voice husky with sleep. "What is it?"
I forced a calm smile, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Rafael needs me. Something’s come up. I’ll have to head back home for a bit.”
Her eyes sharpened instantly, that intuitive steel she carried never dulled by softness. She sat up, hair falling loose around her shoulders, and studied me like she was reading between my words. “Is it bad?”
"I don't know yet." I sat up, leaning to kiss her shoulder, then her lips, slow and lingering. "But I'll find out. You don't have to worry."
She had that look on her face, half defiance, half trust. The look of a woman who had seen too much to ever take half-truths, but who loved me enough not to fight with me this time. "Fine. But don't be long. I'll go back to my estate for the time being. It's time I put it in order anyway."
My chest tightened. I'd only just managed to get her to say yes to marrying me, and here we already were being pulled apart for separate duties. That was our life, though. Lovers in a world that never let love be without a fight.
I held her face, kissed her as though I'd never get a chance to again, poured everything into the pressure of my mouth against hers. She kissed me back with that fire of hers, untamed and uncompromising, and when we parted, her eyes shone with something softer than I deserved.
"I'll come back to you," I promised, forehead to forehead. "Always."
She nodded once, resolute. "Then go. Do what you must."
By the time I'd left the penthouse, the city already felt heavier. As I drove , I stared out the tinted windows, the world streaking by, head spinning with questions Rafael's message wouldn't give.
What was wrong? Who'd made a move against us now?
The De Luca property loomed closer with each curve, and my chest constricted. This wasn't just family business. Something made me sense it was going to change everything.
The drive home took longer than necessary. Every block stretched, every light stayed red a second longer than the last, as if the city itself was attempting to drag out what I was going to have to face. My stomach had clenched the moment Rafael's message had reached me, and it hadn't eased up since.
When the iron gates of the De Luca compound finally opened, the air itself was heavier. Guards moved differently, stiffer, sharper , eyes darting restlessly as they scoured the grounds. Tension seeped through the courtyard, into the walls, into the bones of the house I'd grown up in.
I stepped inside, and silence pressed down upon me, broken only by the muted clink of glass somewhere deeper in the hall. My boots growled low across the marble floor, each step I made followed by the hum of fear.
And then I saw him.
Rafael was standing in the centre of the study, his back to me, his hands set on the edge of the mahogany desk. His shoulders were tight, his stance made of steel. Rosalia was on the couch behind him, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her hands tightly folded in her lap. She looked delicate in the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows, her blue eyes lifting to me with subdued relief, though I could see worry shining in them too. She never belonged to this life. Rafael had always shielded her from its claws, but she was a De Luca by marriage; worry was a part of the fabric of her existence.
"Rafael," I whispered.
He turned then. His face was carved with the kind of restraint that resulted from shouldering the burden of too many people, too many secrets. He didn't smile. He didn't rush. He regarded me as though he was weighing how much truth to lay on my shoulders.
"You came quickly," he said.
"You didn't give me a choice." I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "What happened?"
There was a silence. The space between us thickened, and within it I saw a shadow in his eyes that I had not seen in years. A ghost.
Riccardo entered then, his customary sharpness dulled, lips set in a tight line. "He has to tell you," he stated, his head bobbing toward Rafael.
I shifted my weight. "Tell me what?
Rosalia rose from the couch, her elegance breaking the silence. "Rocco… you might want to sit down."
My heart pounded. I didn't sit down. I stepped closer to my brother, my jaw tight. "Tell me."
Rafael tensed, arms folding across his chest, his eyes fastening onto mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. For a second, I didn't look at just my big brother, but at the man who'd bled for us, borne this family on his back, taken a bullet not meant for him. The bullet that had come close to ending everything.
His voice was serene, but it carried the echo of an old wound when he finally replied.
"He's back."
I stilled. "Who?"
The answer cut across an old wound like a knife.
"The man who shot me a year ago." His jaw clenched, eyes glacial. "The one we never apprehended. The ghost we chased for months."
Why now? I remembered the chaos of that night, the blood on Rafael's shirt, Rosalia's shrieks, my hands pressed to the wound as he fought for air. We'd hunted the shooter until the trail ran cold. I'd thought him gone. Dead. Forgotten.
Rafael's words shattered that illusion.
"He's alive. And he's taunting us." Rafael's lips curled into a grim smile, and when he spoke again, it was a vow carved in stone. "This time, we finish it. No more shadows. No more running. We end this, once and for all."