Chapter 108 Fiorella
The laughter was dead. The music, too.
All that remained was chaos, voices roaring, the scrape of shoes on the marble, and somewhere within the chaos, Rosalia's soft gasp that sent my heart sinking.
I raced past my brain, my heels clicking on the smooth floor, the red of my dress flashing before horrified faces and spilled half-full champagne glasses. Then I saw her,on the floor, her white dress spread red, Rafael kneeling over her, shaking hands pressed against her wound.
"Rosalia!" I dropped to my knees, my voice harder than intended. "Get back, let me help—"
Rafael barely looked up. He was as pale as a ghost, jaw clenched in some kind of fear that didn't befit a man like him. "She's breathing.” he growled, his voice breaking as he pressed harder on her wound. "She needs a doctor—now!"
"I already called the medic!" someone shouted.
Rocco was with me in a second, his grip tight on my shoulder, holding me even as his eyes flared. "She'll be all right," he breathed, almost to himself rather than to me, his tone clipped but low, every syllable thrumming with repressed fury. "She has to be all right.".
“Move,” the medic ordered. He came in with a bag, blood already beading on the ground, and we all moved back.
“Will she be alright?” Aria asked looking worried and pale.
I looked around, people standing stockstill, one or two crying, some whispering. The chandeliers strobed back into their full light, and for a moment the room was merely a battlefield cloaked in silk and diamonds.
"Who was near her?" I snarled. No one answered. I spun, my gaze going over the shocked faces. "WHO was near her?"
No one could say anything.
Rocco stood up beside me, pulling out his phone, his face blank but deadly. "Nico.” he said when the connection was made. "Lock all doors. Nobody leaves. Search everybody,guests, staff, security. No exceptions."
His tone was ice. The sort of ice that would freeze arteries full of blood.
He stood in front of me, eyes black, jaw fixed. "The person who did this was very well-trained. They wanted chaos."
"Then they are going to pay," I said quietly. How dare they turn my engagement party into chaos?
We locked eyes. We didn't speak. This was war all over again.
The doctors took Rosalia out on a stretcher, Rafael following behind, clinging to her hand but not wanting to be left behind. His white shirt was soaked with her blood. He looked like nothing so much as the cool mafia boss he was, just a man watching the world spin out from under his feet.
"She's strong," I said as he passed. "She'll be all right, Rafael."
He didn't say anything, just nodded, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard before disappearing down the hallway with her.
The moment the doors snapped shut, Rocco turned to me. "You're going upstairs," he snarled.
"The hell I am," I snarled. "I'm staying here. If the son of a bitch responsible for this is still here, I'll be the one to put a bullet between his eyes."
His nostrils flared, but no time for argument. The security team had already begun to search the guests, surrounding and staff. Some were protesting; others appeared frozen with terror.
Riccardo was looking high and pissed. “We’re going to make them pay for hurting our princess.”
Leo came a second later, his usual composure ruffled by sharp urgency. "Exits are all blocked. We've started evacuating the west wing. Whoever committed this didn't plan to sneak out, we found a trail of blood down the service corridor."
"Follow it," Rocco ordered. "And have Rafael's men move in on the outskirts of the estate."
Leo nodded and took off with a small team.
Rocco took a deep breath and rubbed his face. For one moment, the mask faltered, for just one beat, and I saw the fear he was desperately trying to conceal. The same fear that was tearing me apart.
I stepped closer, softly speaking. "We'll find the person who did it, Rocco."
His eyes met mine, dark and heavy. "They stabbed my brother's wife in front of us, Fiorella. That is not an attack, this is a message."
"Then we react," I said to him.
He kissed me on the forehead, hard, not gentle, not soft, but grounding. "Stay close."
"I intend to."
The corridor was almost empty now, with nothing more than guards and the residual metallic odor of blood remaining. We walked with him as we scanned the corridor. The security cameras were intact, which was odd. The power had been cut by someone who had not destroyed the feed. Sneaky, deliberate.
Rocco placed his hand on the tiny earpiece he wore. "Pull ten minutes before the blackout," he instructed the security technician on the phone. "And find anyone moving in the direction of Rosalia before the lights go out."
I glanced up at him, my hand straddling his. He didn't catch it, but I felt the tremble of his fingers, a mute rope in the chaos.
The voice of the tech echoed down the line a minute later. "Sir… we've found something."
"What?"
"There's someone standing outside the doors of the terrace. They're wearing a mask. They came in seconds before the blackout."
Rocco's jaw set. "Track them. Now."
"Yes, sir."
He slammed down the line and turned to me. "Inside help. They knew the timing of the system."
"I'll deal with the inside," Riccardo said.
“I know my people, Rocco. If there’s a rat, I’ll find it.”
He studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Get to it.”
Riccardo left, walking like a man on a mission because he was.
We walked the length of the corridor again, the echo of our footsteps mixing with the hum of voices in the distance. The night that had started with music and champagne now smelled of blood and vengeance.
Rafael returned an hour later, his skin pale but him looking better now. “She’s going to be alright.
Relief washed over all of us like a rush of air.
But it didn't change the way we felt.
This wasn't over yet.
“You should go be with her Rafael, I’ll handle things.”
Rafael nodded though I knew he wanted to do something, it’s best he stays with her in case the person wanted to finish what they started.
And I recalled something I'd learned too many times —
Peace was in our world only the quiet before the next bullet.
Rocco moved forward beside me, his form unchanged, his breath on my neck. "They made a mistake this evening," he whispered.
"What is it?" I whispered to him.
"They missed."
But as I looked out over the estate, I couldn't shake the feeling this was more than one attack.
This was the start of something worse.
Something deep within, and personal.
And it didn't take long before it was revealed.
A shout then pierced the thick air.
"Boss! We've got movement!"
Rocco's head snapped around toward the sound, reflexes sharp. He was already on his way before the words had even left the man's mouth, and I was following him, the sound of my heels on marble as we ran down the hallway after them.
Down the curved corridor, past the curved staircase, the guards had pinned a figure against the staff wing. The man was in black, his half-ripped mask, his gun trembling in his hand. A tiny trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, probably where one of our men had grazed him. He was young, too young, but his eyes were hard.
"Drop it!" one of Rocco's men yelled.
The attacker's hand shaking, but eyes flicking back and forth, calculating, anxious.
Rocco stepped forward, voice low and threatening. "Who hired you?"
The man spat bloody saliva onto the ground and crooked his mouth in a sour smile. "You already know."
My features hardened, I suspected my uncle Phillipe. "You're working for Phillipe?"
A sneer distorted the man's face. "Not him, though." His hold on the gun tightened. "You think you can protect what is yours, De Luca? You can't stop what is coming."
"Put it down!" Rocco yelled again, moving another step forward. His voice cut through the air like a knife.
Raw, uncontrolled laughter burst from the man. "You'll never—"
The gun went off.
The sound boomed down the corridor like thunder. I clapped my hands over my ears, the ringing bouncing off the marble walls.
And then silence.
Rocco made the first move. He pushed his men aside, still clutching his gun, and knelt next to the young boy who had collapsed. But the bullet had not been meant for us, it had been meant for himself. The attacker's dead eyes stared up at the ceiling, a thin trickle of blood running out of the corner of his mouth.
Rocco swore under his breath, anger in his eyes. He stood up, ruffling his hair in annoyance "Damn it!"
One of his guys stepped forward hesitantly. "He's dead, boss. No pulse."
"No," I whispered, taking a cautious step closer. My voice was soft and incredulous. "He killed himself just like that?”
Rocco glanced over at me, his expression a mixture of frustration and worry. "He wouldn't talk."
The words were hollow. This was not accidental. This was orchestrated, every step, every threat, every moment of terror scripted in advance.
He came for me next, his arm around my waist pulling me into him. I hadn't even realized I was trembling until his heat kept me grounded. His scent, cedar, smoke, something distinctly him, rooted the chaos spinning within me.
"Don't look," he breathed, turning my face away from the body.
"It's over."
It wasn't. I knew it. The tension still hummed in the air, something still yet to be resolved.
He looked at the man on the floor one last time before turning to leave to his guards. "Find out who he is. Now. Get me a name, get me a face, and get me all of his contacts to Phillipe or anyone else who'd be dumb enough to attempt this."
"Yes, boss."
I stayed silent as they moved the body away. My hand found his, and he squeezed it, hard enough for me to feel his pulse, wild and angry under his skin.
Whoever had planned this wasn't finished.
They'd only just played their opening hand.
By the time we reached the doors, one of Rocco's guys came running up, his face white and his breathing erratic.
"Boss," he said, trembling.
"We ran his prints," he said.
Rocco stopped in his tracks. "And?"
The guard swallowed. "He was one of ours."