Chapter 116 Fiorella
The mansion was too quiet.
It had been like that since I returned yesterday, the kind of silence that vibrates beneath the skin, pressing at the edges of thought until it takes on a life of its own. My men walked on eggshells around me, sensing the tension even when I said nothing. Every sound, the clink of a cup, the muted hum of the espresso machine, was magnified, as if the house itself was holding its breath to listen.
I was in the small office off the terrace, laptop open but the numbers fuzzing before my eyes. Contracts, shipments, pending deals, all needing my signature, my attention. But whenever I tried to focus, my mind pulled me back to Rocco and everything that had happened in the last few days: especially the retaliation attack Rocco carried on with Phillipe.
A sharp buzz from my phone jerked me back to life. Unknown number.
My stomach clenched at once. I knew that number pattern, the last four digits branded into my memory. Philippe.
I swiped at the screen, bringing the phone to my ear before I could reconsider.
His voice was lazy and venomous. "Cara nipote," he drawled, fake affection oozing from each syllable. "I heard your little lover boy caused quite the scene last night."
I didn't answer right away. I let him talk, because the one thing Philippe loved more than anything was the sound of his own voice.
“He took a risk," he continued, short of amusement. "Attacking my men like that? You think I'm not going to respond? You think your precious fiancé can just waltz into my territory and waltz out unharmed?”
I exhaled slowly, easing back in my chair, letting the cold in my chest rise up and meet his tone. "He wouldn't have had to, Philippe," I said to him, my voice even, unflustered. "If you hadn't tried to destroy what we built first."
He laughed, low, dark, cruel. "You're still naive, Fiorella. You think this is about your engagement? About some childish vendetta? No, no, tesoro. This is business. And your Rocco made it personal."
"I think you did that when you stole from us first," I said.
Silence. Then a sharp hiss of air. "Careful," he warned. "I merely took what I wanted and I’ll still be taking more."
"Then always expect to loose more," I said, my lips curving less than a smile. "What were you expecting after the stunt you pulled? A bed of roses."
That earned a laugh. "He’s such a bad influence on you and will just end up controlling you, he will be your downfall. You're betting your future, your reputation, on a man with enemies older than the D'Angelo line itself. You marry him, Fiorella, and you'll lose everything, including your life."
The click of his lighter, followed by a leisurely inhalation, was heard on the phone.
"I'll make you a deal," he said softly, almost warmly. "Stay away from him. I'll forgive the debt, the meddling. I'll even allow you to keep your estate."
I smiled, though he couldn't see me. "And if I don't?"
His voice dropped, silky and lethal. "Then I'll burn everything you hold dear, and I'll make you watch."
The line died.
I sat for a moment, phone still against my ear, my heart pounding in my throat. The room seemed to shrink around me, the air growing thick. But I didn't feel fear anymore, not now. I felt anger, sharp and clean, coiling low in my belly.
I turned to the window, meeting my own gaze in the glass, steady, unflinching. "You started this, Philippe," I murmured. "And I'll finish it."
The doorbell rang.
Again, more demandingly this time.
I rose, stuffing my phone into my pocket, already knowing who it would be.
Rocco stood there when I opened the door, shoulders tense beneath his black top, jaw tight, eyes darker than the night behind him. He hadn't slept, apparently.
"Fiorella," he said quietly. His eyes roved over me, looking for something. "You’re okay?"
I nodded, though the falsehood felt heavy on my tongue. "You didn't have to come."
"Yes, I did." There was no hesitation in his voice. He walked past me, shutting the door behind him. The wood, smoke, something darker scent of his cologne filled the air between us. "You shouldn't be alone here."
"I can look after myself," I said, following him into the sitting room.
"I know you can," he said, turning back. "But that doesn't mean you have to."
There was a quality in his voice, the concern underlying the gruffness, that tugged at me. I swallowed, crossing my arms as if it would hold me together. "He called me," I said to him.
Rocco froze. "Philippe?"
I nodded. "He knows what you've done. He's upset. Said this isn't about personal issues but business."
Rocco's face hardened further, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Business," he growled again. "He's hiding behind that word again."
"He threatened me," I went on softly. "Said if I don't back off, he'll destroy everything I care about."
Rocco's eyes lifted to mine. They were molten now, his control barely contained. "He'll never touch you," he swore, the promise low and definite. "Not as long as I'm breathing.".
The silence that ensued wasn't vacant. It vibrated with all that was left unsaid, the fear, the anger, the fatigue neither of us could confess.
I moved nearer, my hand touching his arm. "Rocco…"
He looked down at me then, all that anger still simmering just beneath his calm surface. But his hand came up to my cheek, calloused fingers drawing the curve of my jaw, the touch so gentle it undid me.
"You shouldn't have to keep hearing threats because of me," he said.
"It's not because of you," I whispered. "It's because of him. And I'm not afraid of him."
He let out a slow sigh, his forehead pressed against mine. "I hate that he drew you into this mess."
"I was born into this mess," I said to him, almost smiling. "You're just the only one who makes it feel worth fighting through."
Something in him eased then. His hand wandered to the back of my neck, his thumb drawing lazy circles at the base of my skull. For a while, we just stood , no plotting, no tension, no plans. Just quiet, shared stillness.
Then he kissed my forehead, slow, deliberate, and I felt the promise in it before he even spoke.
“We’ll end this,” he said against my skin. “I swear to you, Fiorella. Whatever it takes, we’ll end it.”
I nodded, eyes closing as the weight of his words settled into me.
For the first time in days, the air didn’t feel so heavy. The house didn’t seem so silent.
And as he pulled me into his chest, his heart pounding steadily under my ear, I knew that whatever Philippe had planned for us next, we weren't going to sit down idle and watch, we’re going to act.