Chapter 117 Rocco
Morning came late for me.
I'd barely slept, and sunlight still managed to seep in through the curtains, spreading pale gold across Fiorella's room marble flooring. She slept beside me, hair spilling across her face, peaceful breathing. I just sat and stared at her for a few minutes.
Peace suited her, even if it was temporary these days.
By the time I snuck out, the house was already stirring. The gate guards straightened a little more when they saw me. I didn't say anything , just nodded slightly and got into the car.
The drive back to the De Luca estate was quiet, but my mind wasn't. Every piece of this war, Philippe, the disappeared shipment of arms, the Valenti name that seemed to rise up like a ghost, continued to run through my head. The pieces were starting to fit together, but not neatly enough. Not yet.
Rafael was already in the west wing office, the one he didn't want anyone listening in, when I got there. There were papers scattered on the desk, a half-drunk coffee growing cold with them. Riccardo sat on the edge of the desk, reading texts on his phone.
"Finally," Riccardo said when he saw me. "You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too," I growled, closing the door behind me.
Rafael raised his eyes, tired but alert. "Any developments on Fiorella's front?"
"Her uncle called her again," I told him. "Threatened her. Same story."
Rafael's jaw snapped shut. "He's testing boundaries."
"He'll find out soon enough that we don't have any left to test."
Riccardo snorted. "I'll drink to that.".
But Rafael did not smile. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We can't hit Philippe without knowing how deep it goes," he said. "There is something more to this, I can feel it. The Valenti are not a family who descend upon us out of nowhere. They're vultures. Someone opened the door for them.".
His words cut through the room like a blade. I crossed my arms. "You don't suspect Philippe's acting on his own?"
Rafael slowly nodded. "No. I think someone within the circle has been feeding him information. Our logistics, our contracts, that lost shipment don't go pooped into thin air. Someone hijacked it."
Riccardo looked up from his phone. "You're not thinking…."
"I am," Rafael said quietly. "Rosalia's father."
Silence held for a long, heavy beat.
"Antonio?" I asked finally.
Rafael's eyes met mine. "He's the only one who had reason to negotiate with the Valenti before. When he lost control of his holdings years ago, they began spreading rumors of a debt, a huge one. It would explain why he sold off those arms intended for our family. He was paying for what he owed."
I settled back in the chair opposite him. "That deal was what led you to marry Rosalia."
He gave a single nod. "Yes."
It all made sense now. The missing shipments, the old contracts Philippe now knew existed, the way Antonio's name continued to be on the fringes of everything.
I breathed out slowly. "So the Valentis never disappeared. They just waited. Antonio acquired them with our means, and now Philippe is taking advantage of the same opening to get to us."
Riccardo swore under his breath. "And Rosalia almost died over it."
Rafael's fists clenched on the desk. "I know."
Before I could respond, there was a gentle knock. The door creaked open just wide enough for one of the staff to peer in.
"Signore," she said. "Madam Rosalia is awake. She's calling for you."
Rafael was up in an instant before she'd even finished speaking.
As we entered the room of Rosalia, a different atmosphere prevailed. The nurses had left only minutes ago; soft beeping of the machines broke the silence. She was pale but very much alive, hair pushed to one side, half-closed eyes with signs of tiredness.
Rafael moved to her side immediately, sitting carefully on the bed. His arm enclosed hers, and for the first time since the attack, I could see the tension in his shoulders drop a little.
"Hey, bella," he whispered.
Her lips curled in a half-snarl. "You didn't have to look so worried. It takes more than a knife to kill me."
Rafael gave a shaky laugh that didn't reach quite far enough to his eyes. "Don't joke."
I stayed at the door, watching. There was something grounded in her waking, as though the hurricane outside couldn't quite reach this moment.
Riccardo leaned beside me, whispering, "You know she's going to milk this for months."
I almost smiled. Almost. "Let her."
Rosalia surprised us both in the act of staring and shot up a brow. "You two look guilty."
"We're not," Riccardo responded in a burst.
She smiled faintly, then turned her gaze to me. " What of Fiorella?"
"At her estate," I said. "She's all right."
"Good." Her tone softened. "She didn't deserve to have her engagement night turn out as it did."
Rafael brushed a hand over her hair. "None of us did."
When she finally drifted back to sleep, the three of us stepped out quietly into the hall.
Rafael leaned against the wall, shoulders heavy. “She didn’t see who attacked her. But the guard downstairs found something, a flash drive in the catering truck. It’s encrypted, but Riccardo’s working on it.”
“Already did,” Riccardo said, holding up his phone. “And you’re going to want to see this.”
He opened a video. Grainy, night vision , a video from the loading bay the night before the party.
A caterer uniform-wearing man passed a little crate to another, but when he turned away, the camera caught a flash of his neck tattoo: a serpent tail.
Rafael went white. "Valenti crest."
My gut roiled. "Then it's confirmed."
“Yeah,” Riccardo sneered. "The Valenti were within the mansion before the party had even started."
I pushed a hand through my hair. "They knew each point of entry, every blind spot."
Rafael's jaw ticked. "Antonio must have sold it to them along with the staff we know betrayed us."
The silence that followed was colder than anything we'd felt since the attack.
Finally, I rose to my feet. "We're done speculating."
Rafael turned to me, something like weariness flashing in his eyes. "What do you mean?
"We've gone around in circles long enough, I mean." I faced the door. "It's time we conducted a little meet and greet with Antonio."
Riccardo whistled softly. "Do you think he'll cooperate?"
"Oh, he'll cooperate," I said quietly. "One way or another."
For a very long moment, there was silence. Then Rafael nodded once, his face grim.
"We'll go tomorrow," he said. "He still owes this family an apology."
I started walking, my feet slower with every step. I could see the garden outside through the windows in the corridor, still, sunny, calm. A stark contrast to the war simmering just below the surface.
I reached the end of the hall and stopped, glancing back in the direction of Rosalia's room.
She survived. But that did not erase what had happened.
I looked at Rafael. His expression said it all I did not want to hear: anger, guilt, the sort that wouldn't wash off.
"Antonio started all this years ago," I stated. "Now Antonio is going to pay."
My phone buzzed, a hasty text message from Leo, Fiorella's second in command : Your fiancée is safe. Watching the estate.
I replied, Keep her that way.
I turned again to Rafael, in low, even, and absolute tones.
“We’re going to pay Antonio a visit.”