Chapter 103 Rocco
Morning slid in quietly, the kind of soft, gold light that dissolved everything it touched. It seeped across the curtains, extending out onto the tangled sheets around our legs, and for the first time in days, I didn't notice the pressure pressing down on my chest.
Fiorella had me wrapped around her, head on my shoulder, one hand splashed across my chest as if staking claim on me even as I slept. Her hair brushed against my skin, silky and untamed, and the fragrance of her perfume and our night together reminding us why we still mattered.
I did not want to move.
I simply lay there, tracing the line of her shoulder with my thumb, memorizing the slow lift and fall of her breathing. The space between us was warm, no longer knotted with tension, but serene in a way that was new.
As her eyelashes twitched, I pretended not to notice. She blinked, waking but half lost in the dream that had been going on in her head. Her lips opened, and that sweet smile, the one she didn't offer the world , appeared.
"Good morning," she breathed, her voice all husky and sleepy.
"Morning, bella," I said, pushing a strand of hair back from her face. "Did you sleep well?
She nodded, keeping her eyes closed. "Better than I have in days."
That tugged something within me. A mix of relief and guilt. "Me too."
We stayed for a moment longer, neither of us in any kind of hurry to break the silence. The outside world could wait. The family, the company, the insanity, all of it could rot for a little while longer if it meant that I could keep her this way.
At last, she got up, the sheet falling down her bare shoulders. "I'll make pancakes," she said softly, trying casual.
I caught her hand before she had gone more than a few steps. "Stay," I breathed. If I could just get five more minutes.
Her lips twisted, but she didn't fight when I pulled her back against me. She breathed softly into my neck, that sound doing things to my chest that I didn't know how to explain.
Five minutes turned to ten. Then fifteen.
When finally she escaped, she wore my shirt, the sleeves too long, collar slipping off one shoulder. I stood there and watched her tiptoe barefoot into the kitchen, humming under her breath as she went.
I floated in a while later, leaning against the counter as she cracked eggs into a pan. She caught me staring.
"What?" she asked, not even looking up.
"You look too good in my shirt," I said, smiling when she rolled her eyes.
"You say that like you're shocked."
"Aren't I?"
"Not shocked," I said, advancing, "just in a state of fatal distraction."
She'd laughed then, laughter I'd made a point to avoid more than I'd care to admit. I had my arms around her waist from behind and leaned against her shoulder. She nestled into me like she belonged, and maybe she did.
"You still mad at me?" she whispered after a moment.
I hesitated. "Mad? No. Not after last night."
She shifted a little to look at me, her eyes gentle but questioning. "I should've told you earlier."
"You should have," I replied truthfully, trailing my thumb over her jaw. "But we'll get through it. We just need to talk later on what you want to do."
Her lips parted as if to say something, but I kissed her instead. Not to silence her, only to remind her that whatever storm had passed through us, we stood in the same place.
When we did finally stop kissing, she made breakfast and we ate together , the sun shining bright across her face. She looked up at me — cautious, optimistic.
"Do you still want to marry me?" she asked, in a barely audible whisper.
I smiled, a slow, certain smile. "Fiorella, I'd marry you a thousand times over. Even when you drive me crazy."
Her laughter came back, low and warm. "Careful, you might regret that."
"Never," I told her. "Not with you."
I didn't tell her that I'd already decided before dawn, that no letter, no uncle, no term in some out-of-mind will could induce me to depart from her. She'd been my serenity in a world built on chaos, and I wasn't about to lose that now.
And so I kissed her again, slow and deliberate, with the taste of morning coffee and vows still lingering between us.
I let myself hope that maybe we could have both: the empire, and the love which was so visibly worth fighting for without anymore hiccups.
___________
By the time we had driven up to De Luca compound, the sun had dropped low in the day, and long amber rays of light streamed across the marble driveway. It was one of those days that appeared peaceful on the surface.
Fiorella walked beside me, my hand in hers. She appeared calm, too calm. The kind of calm that hides fire beneath. Her jaw was clenched high, her dark hair pouring down her shoulders, each step filled with that indefatigable D'Angelo pride she was renowned for.
When we walked in, Rosalia spotted us first. She lit up at once.
"At last!" she exclaimed, stepping forward with a burst of warmth and scent from the flowers. "We were starting to think you two wouldn't show."
Fiorella smiled faintly. "You know I couldn't miss your cooking."
Rosalia grinned, her blue eyes glinting. "You're saying that because you haven't tried tonight's recipe . I tried something new. I’m hoping it’s good.”
Rafael arrived a minute later, Riccardo following behind him with his usual smirk. "Look who finally emerged from his hole," Riccardo teased, clapping me on the back. "The man of the hour."
"Keep running your trap," I warned, grinning. "I'll make sure you're next to be strapped down."
He spread his hands in mock surrender. "God forbid. I like being independent."
The room burst into laughter. It was easy for a while, like everything had been all right, like there hadn't been any darkness seeping under our lives. Rosalia took us all to the dining room, the long table spread with crystal, candle flames, and enough food to feed an army.
Fiorella took a seat beside me, fingers brushing against mine beneath the tablecloth. That brief touch, soft, deliberate, soothed me more than I wanted to acknowledge.
Rafael leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine. "So, Fiorella," he began, his tone relaxed but curious, "Rosalia's been buzzing about the engagement party all morning. We're thinking on Saturday. What do you think?"
Fiorella smiled, the cool, diplomatic smile she reserved for meetings with men twenty years older than she. "Saturday would be wonderful. You know I trust Rosalia's taste."
Rosalia glowed. "It's going to be beautiful," she said softly. "Gold and white, maybe some dark red roses. A union of elegance and danger just like you two."
"Danger is our game," Fiorella breathed, giving me a glance. A glint in her eye brought my heart to a stop.
Dinner went on with easy conversation. Riccardo bachelor-jabbing, Rafael asking about news from the club, Rosalia complaining about how the security personnel were harassing her gardening staff. It was loud, messy, at home. And for a fleeting instant, I remembered what normal felt like.
Until Fiorella spoke in that low octave when we were taking a walk around the garden outside after dinner.
"Phillipe visited me today."
My hand went numb around the fork. "He what?"
Her tone remained steady. "Arrived at the estate uninvited. Presented his reason for desiring… 'to introduce a win-win situation.'"
Rafael frowned. "What kind of situation?"
"The kind where he offered me to marry one of his sons," she answered brusquely.
My jaw tightened. "The audacity of that bastard! He's lucky he left with his head."
Her lips twisted weakly. "I considered changing that."
“He deserves a nice visit from me don’t you think?”
Fiorella chuckled. "Let him lurk in his daydreams. He still begrudges the fact that my father favored me over him. He thinks he can bully me into keeping the D'Angelo name alive through his sons."
My jaw ground with anger, burning hot. "Did he threaten you?"
Her gaze darted to mine, dark and unwavering. "He did try. I made it very clear he won't be given another opportunity."
"He's pushing you, Fiorella. He's not finished. Stay alert."
"I always am," she said quietly.
Her calm pleased me, and made me nervous. There was something in the tone of speech, gentle but deadly, that reminded me why others were intimidated by her.
When we got back to the house, Rosalia took Fiorella down the hall to gush over fabric and flower options, while Riccardo smoked. Rafael asked me to accompany him to his office.
I followed him , closing them behind us. He poured two glasses full of whiskey, handed me one, and leaned against the desk.
"So," he said, low, "you said you didn't know what to do. Guess you already decided."
I stared at the glass, then at the faint light glinting off its surface. "Yeah," I admitted. "I did."
Rafael looked at me. "You love her."
Not a question.
"I do," I replied bluntly. "Even when she drives me crazy. Even when she makes choices I don't understand."
He nodded slowly, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. "Sounds like marriage."
I let out a breath. "She should've told me, Raf. The letter, the clause, it's not what was said, it's that she didn't trust me enough to tell me."
And yet you came with her, he said quietly. "You still chose her."
"yeah"
"That's your answer, then." He set down his glass and slapped a hand over my shoulder. "You two are as stubborn as hell, Rocco. But if anyone can ever succeed in this world, it's two people who won't give way to anyone but each other.".
I glared at him for a moment, then nodded. "You think I did the right thing?"
Rafael's lips tipped upward. "I think you made the only decision that really matters. Love her. Keep her safe. The rest will sort itself out."
I released a breath, tension uncoiling from my chest. "Thanks, brother."
He squeezed my shoulder again. "Now go help Rosalia with those inane flower arrangements before she enlists me in it."
I smiled and made for the door. But before I stepped out of it, Rafael said again, deep, certain.
"You did the right thing, Rocco. Don't let anyone, not even her uncle, ever make you question that."
As I turned back into the corridor, I noticed Fiorella smile softly with Rosalia, her smile enhanced by light. For the first time in days, I breathed.
Maybe we were still walking through fire, but at least this time we were doing it together.