Chapter 110 Fiorella
Morning came quickly, the morning light dawned in a pale mist, flooding over the curtains to spill onto the rich rug, the glasses of champagne still filled and untouched on the dresser, the garments tossed over the chair the previous night. Everything felt so abnormally normal, except for the grip in my chest that had refused to loosen since the party.
I opened my eyes, the room slowly focusing. His scent was the first I registered, Rocco's aftershave, soap and cologne. He was dressed half-way, shirt halfway buttoned, shoulders tensed, back to me as he messed with his cufflinks.
I rolled up onto my elbow, clutching the sheets to me. "You didn't sleep," I breathed.
He turned slightly, his eyes finding mine in the mirror. “Didn’t want to.”
His voice was low, rough from exhaustion, but steady.
He came closer, his hands bracing on either side of me on the bed. The faint shadow of a beard grazed my cheek as he leaned down and kissed me, slow and grounding, the kind of kiss that says I’m still here, we’re still alive.
"Go back to sleep," he breathed against my lips.
"Not on your life," I said, running my thumb against the square of his jaw. "You've got interrogations today."
He smiled croakily. "You're becoming like Rafael."
"Someone has to feed you and not kill everyone with frustration."
He stood up, grabbing his jacket from the chair. "You'd be surprised at how hard that is."
I stood there observing him, the fabric straining across his broad shoulders, the tattoos on his wrist visible beneath the cuff. Something about mornings with Rocco, they were always my best time. Even now, with the house still heavy with the smell of last night's blood, I wanted to cling to this instant, this stillness, before the world took us again.
As he reached for his gun holster, I mouthed, "Have they found anything yet?"
"Not yet. But we will." His jaw was set. "Someone wanted chaos. They'll get it double back."
I hadn't even had a chance to respond before my phone hummed on the nightstand.
I checked it, hoping it was Leo or maybe Aria calling to report in. But the flashing name made me suck in my breath.
Phillipe.
My stomach twisted.
I paused for a second before reading the message.
Beautiful engagement, Fiorella.
Too bad it became a bloodbath.
Perhaps that is what your wedding will be like too, if it ever takes place.
A surge of heat traveled up my neck. The phone threatened to fall from my fingers.
Rocco noticed the shift in my face at once. "What is it?"
I showed him the screen.
His eyes scanned the message, and his whole demeanor shifte, his relaxed manner tensing into something lethal. "That shithead."
He tore the phone out of my hand, scanning it again, more slowly this time. His jaw muscle clenched.
"He's mocking you," Rocco snarled. "At a time like this."
I swallowed hard, trying to hold my voice steady. "He knows how to twist a knife. He always has."
Rocco's eyes came up to mine, dark, guarded, threatening. "You're not replying to that."
"I wasn't going to."
He breathed hard, ruffling his hair. "He'll be sorry he sent it. I promise that to you."
"Don't." I grabbed at his wrist before he could move away. "That's precisely what he wants, to get you riled up."
"He already has."
“I mean it, Rocco.” My fingers tightened around his hand. “He’s not worth it. Let’s deal with one threat at a time.”
He stared at me for a moment, his breathing heavy, his pulse beating fast beneath my fingertips. Then he nodded once, sharp and controlled, the way he did when he was forcing himself to obey logic over instinct.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m not letting it slide.”
" Wouldn't think you would," I panted.
He bent to kiss my forehead this time, gentle enough that my throat closed. "Don't move around the estate until I say it's safe. Stay here. With the guards."
"Where are you going?"
"To deal with the people who did what they did last night."
His voice was hard, the one no one ever disobeyed. He left before I could say anything, the door closing quietly behind him.
I sat for a second, phone gripped in hand, reading Phillipe's words. I heard his sneering voice in my head, dripping with self-assurance.
And then the anger came, bubbling slow, winding deep in my gut. He wasn't sneering at the devastation. He was sneering at Rocco. At me.
I got up, put on a silk robe, and stood before the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, hair disheveled, lips slightly swollen from the kiss of Rocco, eyes wide with something else besides fear today.
The red dress that I wore last night hung draped over the armchair, softly radiating in the light of the morning sun. It looked almost innocent once more. But I remember how it clung to me as the room was filled with screams.
Phillipe wished to shake me. He wanted me small, delicate, frightened.
He was going to get none of that.
When Rocco returned hours after the sun reached its peak, I remained in the same room. I'd barely moved except to receive my breakfast . His face was expressionless, but his knuckles were bruised.
"You found out something," I said.
He didn't answer right away. He strode directly to the table, poured himself a glass, and drank it down in one swift motion before turning to me. "Two of the staff tried to escape the mansion before dawn. They're being questioned presently."
My heart skipped a beat. "You think they're involved?"
"Someone bribed them." He looked at the window, the light cutting across his face. "This wasn't random, Fiorella. This was planned."
I walked over to him, placing my hand on his chest. His heart pounded against my hand. "Then we'll know who planned it. Together."
He looked down at me, his eyes relaxing a bit. "You don't have to do this."
"I'm a part of your world now," I said quietly. "That means I handle it too."
Something flickered in his eyes, pride, maybe, or admiration. He leaned close, kissing me once, hard and deep.
When he broke away, he pressed his forehead to mine. "I won't let them touch you," he whispered.
"I know."