Chapter 118 Fiorella
Morning sunlight filtered through the cream curtains of my room, soft and golden, too understated for the week we'd had. For the first time in days, I wanted quiet, no plotting, no tension, no calls from Philippe or suppliers or security. Something that didn't stink of menace. So I tossed a small overnight bag together, brushed my hair, and headed out to drive to the De Luca estate.
Rocco hadn't invited me to come along. He'd been gone for meetings since the break of day, but I needed to see Rosalia. Needed to know she was healing, not just for Rafael's sake, but mine too. She'd become the calm to our chaos.
The De Luca gates opened before I even honked my horn. The guards knew my car by now. As the tires crunched across the long gravel driveway, I caught sight of the garden where Rosalia used to sit and read during her mornings. It was empty now, trimmed and quiet.
Aria was in the hallway already when I entered, a small smile that warmed the chill of the house instantly. "Finally," she said, looping her arm through mine. "The fire queen herself. Took you long enough."
"I needed coffee before I tackled you all," I said with a laugh, letting her guide me toward the stairs.
“Good. Because Rosalia's been needing company that doesn't include her husband breathing down her neck every five seconds. She's upstairs, pretending she's now completely fine.”
When we entered, Rosalia was sitting up against a heap of pillows, a silk shawl draped over her shoulders. She was improving, still pale but with her sparkle back in her eyes. There was a plate of partially eaten fruit on the tray beside her and a scattering of magazines across the duvet.
"Look who finally visited the patient," she said, smiling weakly.
I laughed, moving to hug her gingerly. "I arrived as soon as I could. You appear… good. Better."
"That's what occurs when your husband stops demanding to sleep in the armchair beside your bed," she complained, looking at me. "He's worse than my father when I was sixteen."
Aria laughed, dropping into a chair. "Protective men are exhausting. Mine texts me every hour when I'm not home."
“Yours does not run a mafia empire," I reminded her.
She shrugged. "Same energy still."
Rosalia laughed and patted the seat beside her, so I sat, kicking off my shoes. For the next hour, the three of us did something I had not done in a long time, nothing serious at all. We talked about shoes, wedding dresses, Rocco's possessiveness, Rafael's stubbornness, and how Riccardo's love life was a mess.
“He flirts with anything that blinks," Rosalia laughed. "He needs a woman who'll scare him into shape."
"Like you did with Rafael?" I teased.
She smiled. "Exactly.
It felt good to laugh. To simply breathe. The tension of the last few days eased its hold on my chest. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed this, being wrapped in warmth that wasn't transactional, by people who weren't trying to take something from me.
Aria was painting Rosalia's nails a pale coral when she turned and smiled at me. "So, Fiorella, have you thought about your wedding dress yet? Please tell me it's red. You'd be sin in red."
Rosalia gasped dramatically. "Red? For a wedding?"
Aria laughed. "She could pull it off. Don't even lie."
I smiled, rotating the ring on my finger. "Maybe I'll surprise both of you. Something elegant but deadly. Something that'll make Rocco forget how to breathe."
Rosalia laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea. "He already forgets when you walk into a room."
Their banter warmed me like the sun. I found myself talking about things I had not allowed myself to dream of, honeymoon destinations, flowers, the way Rocco liked quiet mornings with coffee and jazz. I was not a mafia heiress or a target for a little while. I was just a woman in love surrounded by other women who understood.
Rosalia quieted after a moment, her eyes softening. "Fiorella," she whispered, voice barely audible, "I'm sorry things went the way they did at the engagement party. It was supposed to be perfect, and it turned into." She trailed off, eyes shining with guilt.
I reached out and took her hand. "Rosalia, don't. None of that was your fault."
"But it was our home," she said, eyes filling. "You deserved better. You and Rocco."
I softly pressed her fingertips. "We're still here. That's all that matters."
She smiled faintly, then breathed out softly. "Let me make it up to you. When I'm feeling better, we'll do a redo, nothing fancy, no guards or catering companies. Just us. Family. I'll cook, and we'll eat in the garden. You can wear that red dress Aria can't stop talking about."
Aria clapped her hands. “Yes! A family dinner party. I’ll bring dessert.”
Rosalia’s eyes gleamed with something fragile and hopeful. “I want it to be something pure this time. No titles. No guns. Just love.”
For a long moment, none of us spoke. The idea of sitting under the garden lights, laughter replacing gunfire, felt almost too perfect to be real.
“I'd like that," I whispered. "When you're better, we'll do it."
She smiled and lay back in her pillows, more at ease than she'd been since the attack.
We used the rest of the afternoon doing nails, modeling jewelry, and talking about anything except business. Aria played songs on her phone, and Rosalia sang along to a love song so off-key that we all ended up in hysterics.
It was the kind of day that reminded me why we fought so hard to protect what we had.
As the sun began to set, the golden light streaming through the windows caught the diamond on my hand. I noticed it twinkling and thought of Rocco, of the way his hand had fit so cleanly around mine the night before, of the way his kiss still lingered somewhere between my throat and my heart.
Rosalia noticed I was smiling. "Thinking about him?"
I nodded. "Always."
"Good," she whispered. "Love him some more. The world's gonna try to tear the two of you apart. Don't let it."
Her words echoed long after laughter was heard again in the room.
Night descended, and I stepped out onto the balcony for air. The garden lights glinted below, and for a moment, I pictured the dinner we'd just promised each other, family around the table, laughter echoing through the night. Peace.
But then, in the silence, I felt it once more. That pull at the back of my neck.
The sensation of being watched.
I turned to the driveway. A figure loomed beyond the fence, vague, too far to make out, but present.
I blinked once, twice. Gone.
A shiver ran through me. Possibly nothing. Possibly paranoia. But something within me thought differently.