Chapter 11 Rocco
Rocco
The office still reeked of gunpowder and cologne.
The meeting was over. My brothers sat around the table, chairs shoved back, half-full glasses of whiskey, tension still hanging in the air.
But all I could think of was her.
Fiorella D'Angelo.
She hadn't just entered the room.
She'd commanded it.
My brothers were bad men, men who didn't bat an eye when bodies hit the ground or when deals turned bloody. But when she walked in here with her father tonight, they looked at her with something like respect.
Hell, even I did.
She wore black, close-fitting pants that hugged her hips, silk blouse loose enough to suggest softness, but nothing on her was soft. Her hair drawn back, face calm, eyes slicing through steel.
She didn't take a seat until her father did. But when she did, she leaned forward and spoke, not hesitantly, not obsequiously, but as an equal.
“We're not here to beg for protection," she stated.
"We're here to offer opportunity. Our resources. Our routes. Our men. We know what we have to offer. And we don't play games with uncertainty. Either you desire this alliance, or you don't."
I watched Rafael, the most calculating son of a bitch I've ever met, hesitate before answering.
"You're brave," he finally replied.
"I appreciate that.".
She simply tilted her chin. "I didn't come here to be respected, Don De Luca. I came here to be understood."
I could feel it then, down in my belly, that burning heat.
This wasn't another entitled mafia princess.
This was a woman who'd seen blood run and learned to make beauty out of it.
A woman who held power in the palm of her hand like it was second nature.
And I couldn't decide if I should spar with her or take her to the nearest dark alley and find out what other commands she was able to give.
The conference ended in a handshake, official, but tense. The coalition was formed, but everyone in the room knew: this was just the beginning.
I stayed behind as my brothers departed.
I wasn't done with her.
She stood by the sweeping mahogany doors, her dad conversing with Rafael.
I moved across the room. Silent feet. Controlled.
I don't rush for anyone.
"Fiorella."
She turned grudgingly, her eyes locking with mine with that same controlled hostility.
"Rocco."
I watched her once more, the way the edges of her mouth barely suggested a smile, as if smiling would have been a draining of energy.
"You impressed them."
She raised one brow. "I did not come to impress."
"Good," I told her. "Because I'm not easily impressed either."
Her eyes flashed hard and unreadable.
I got closer, close enough to pick up the very faint scent of her perfume, something dark and expensive.
"You're dangerous," I said.
"I like it."
"You don't know me," she spat.
"Not yet."
Her eyes didn't flicker. Didn't drop.
She looked right at me, eyes dark as flame.
"Careful, De Luca," she whispered.
"You play with wolves; you get bitten."
I smiled back at that, slow and cold.
"Good. I bite back."
She held my gaze for another second before she finally turned and left, her head held high and her father at her side.
I trailed behind her until she disappeared down the marble hall.
Only then did I exhale.
I was in trouble.
And I craved more of it.
I went to the upstairs family lounge where Riccardo lay on the leather couch, already pouring himself a refill.
"You're late to get in line," he growled without looking up.
I sat across from him, stirring whiskey in my glass.
"She's something," I said.
He snorted. "She's a handful. And a headache waiting to happen."
"I like headaches."
Riccardo glared at me. "Don't get dumb. She's trouble. That family, they attract trouble like sharks are attracted to blood."
"So do we."
He leaned forward, his eyes shining. "Yes, but at least we can keep our leash short. I don't think she can."
Before I could respond, Rafael entered, Rosalia following, her hand on his arm. They had a short, hushed conversation before she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and departed, leaving us alone.
Rafael sat, his face impassive.
"Thoughts?" he queried.
I paused.
"She's intelligent. Capable. Knows what she's doing."
Rafael nodded gravely. "And you believe she can bear the burden of this union?"
"Yes."
His eyes narrowed. "You're certain you're not simply fascinated?"
I did not respond.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Rocco. We don't need distractions. We need loyalty. Control. You start to get personal with her, it'll make things complicated."
I shrugged. "I haven't touched her."
"Yet."
I stared at him straight on. Neither of us blinked.
Finally, he leaned back. "I believe you. But don't let your head be turned."
Riccardo set down his glass and rose. "Mark my words, she's going to bring storms with her."
I smiled lazily.
"Good."
I drained my whiskey, reminding myself with the sting that I still had a hold.
For now.
But I knew in my heart…
Control was slipping away.
And Fiorella D'Angelo was to blame.
And I couldn't help but ask myself… what would it be like to spend one night with her?
Would she yield, or struggle against me every second?
Something reminded me she wouldn't beg.
No, Fiorella would demand.
I could already sense it – her hands pushing back into mine, her teeth biting into my shoulder just to let me know she didn't break. Her nails raking at my back, not to cling – but to scar.
I wondered how she liked it.
Rough?
Or rougher?
Would she try to wrestle control away from me, turn her body to knock me off balance — make me fight for every sound I drew from her lips?
Or would she whisper forbidden words in my ear, telling me exactly what she wanted, what she wanted, and daring me not to comply?
I shut my eyes, running a hand over my jaw.
It was risky, this train of thought.
But hell…
I needed to know.
I needed to pin her down and try that defiance.
See if that quick wit of hers mellowed when her body was pushed to its limit.
Or if she just got crazier, more impossible to tame.
I could already picture her under me, not giving in easily, refusing to be conquered, making me work for every shiver, every gasp.
God, I wanted to unravel her, but only if she unraveled on her own terms.
Only if she countered me blow for blow, order for order.
No begging.
No pleading.
Just flame.
Just rage.
And satisfaction so intense it would destroy us both.
I drank the whiskey and let the burn ride all the way to my core.
There was danger in desiring a woman like that.
A woman who wouldn't bend to anyone.
But I sensed something…
She and I spoke the same language.
I wanted to break her walls.
And she'd want to break mine.