Chapter 126 Rocco
The sound of the blast shredded the night air before my brain could catch up.
One second, the smell of gunfire and smoke hung in the air; the next, flames engulfed the right side of the house in a wall of fire.
"Fiorella!"
Her name was torn from my throat like a wound.
I ran. Heat hit first, punching me with the force of a blow as I smashed through the smoke. Shards of glass rained down from the blown-out windows, but I didn't hesitate.
My lungs burned, eyes searing, but I didn't stop.
Leo shouted behind me, yelping orders at the men to lock down the grounds, to hold the perimeter close. I didn't care. The only thing that concerned me was her.
The east wing was blocked off, smoke boiling up the stairway, furniture overturned, flames licking at the wallpaper like they were hungry. I took the stairs two at a time, coughing into the black air, ignoring the sear of ash cutting at my throat.
"Fiorella!" I shouted again, voice breaking somewhere between fury and fear.
And then, through the smoke, I caught sight of her.
She was on the floor near the doorway, coughing, trying to push herself up. Her hair was tangled, her dress torn, streaks of soot darkening her skin, but she was alive. That was all that mattered.
I got to her in three strides and pulled her into my arms.
Her fingers curled weakly around my shirt. “I—I’m fine,” she tried to say, voice raw.
"Don't," I growled, "Come closer." My heart slammed against my side so hard I thought it was going to break through. I pushed her chin up, searching for blood, for burns, for anything I could find.
Her eyelids flickered open, unfocused for a second, then locked on mine. "Rocco…"
"You're okay," I said to her, though I didn't know if I was saying it to her or to me.
Leo appeared in the hall, coughing violently, his arm shielding his face from the smoke. "We've got to get her out! The second floor is gonna go!"
I nodded once, then scooped her up in my arms. She didn't fight, just put her head on my chest as I carried her downstairs, crawling over debris, gunfire from outside sounding like thunder.
The night had dissolved into chaos. The courtyard that had glimmered with soft lights and laughter was now hell, fires reflected in puddles of blood, men shouting, engines roaring.
Philippe's men were falling back toward their automobiles. I set Fiorella down behind one of the pillars and pulled out my gun.
"Stay here," I said to her.
"Rocco, don't—"
I faced her. The urgency in her voice, the fear in her eyes—it nearly undid me. "I have to do this, Fiore. If I don't, he'll just keep coming."
I was already moving before she could respond.
I caught sight of Philippe through the fire, his stance casual, unflappable, like the world burning around him didn't faze him. He turned, his gaze meeting mine across the flames, and smiled, slow and cold.
"You should've stayed out of this, boy," he bellowed, voice echoing through the courtyard. "Now you've invited war into your home."
"War?" I stepped forward, gun raised, voice low but deadly. "You brought it when you put hands on her."
Philippe tilted his head to the side. "Oh, Rocco. You really don't understand how this world works. It's not love or loyalty. It's survival. And right now, you're losing."
My finger tightened on the trigger.
But before I could shoot, his men threw smoke bombs. The thick white cloud obscured everything. I heard engines roaring, the squeal of tires, the shouts of my men.
When the air had finally cleared, Philippe's convoy was gone.
All that remained was the smell of scorched gasoline and the echo of his laughter still hanging in the air.
⸻
Hours later, the fire was out, the dead were counted, the injured were tended to.
But I couldn't shake the vision of his smirk from my mind.
Fiorella slept upstairs, refusing the doctor's advice to be driven to the hospital. She'd insisted on staying, said she didn't want to give him the house, not even for a night. I didn't argue; I knew that kind of pride all too well.
I stood at the balcony, staring out into the night, one hand gripped on the railing so tightly my knuckles turned white. The compound smelled of gunpowder and smoke. My men moved quietly below, sweeping the grounds, cleaning up the mess of what was clearly only the beginning of something.
Leo was beside me, his arm still in a sling, his expression set. "We lost four men," he said. "Five others injured. The east wing is gone. They had explosives in the delivery truck that gained entry earlier. We missed it."
My jaw tightened. "That's my fault."
"It's his fault," Leo said quietly. "You can't predict snakes. You just decapitate them."
I didn't answer. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, already knowing who it was.
Rafael.
His voice was rough, low. "I heard what happened. You two all right?"
"She's fine," I said. "We're good. For now."
He paused then continued. “You know this isn't finished."
"I know," I said.
He paused, then said, "Don't do anything stupid."
I almost laughed. "You know me better than that."
"I do," Rafael whispered. "That's what scares me."
The line died.
⸻
I remained outside long after the call had ended.
The night was strangely silent now, the sort of silence that rests on your chest and makes your breath come harder..
I turned back to the house, watching as a light flashed in the upstairs window, our room. Fiorella's silhouette moved across the curtain, slow, graceful, alive.
And something within me eased.
Until my phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I was going to ignore it, until I saw the message.
"You saved her tonight. Impressive. But let's see how long you can keep her safe. After all… you can't protect what you can't find.".