Chapter 129 Rocco
The rain started again when I stepped out of the car. Gentle mist flowed across the De Luca grounds, rounding the edges of the marble walls and creating an oily coating on the cobblestones in the pale morning light.
I'd been up since morning. Fiorella hadn't slept at all, I knew that by the way she floated through the halls, quiet but disturbed, her mind a thousand miles ahead of now. She'd brushed off the message the night before as something about someone she didn't know, "N," but her eyes did not deceive.
There was something about that message that got under her skin.
And it got under mine too.
"Rocco?" Riccardo's voice was coming from behind me as he stepped out of his own car, trench coat flapping in the wind. "You sure you want to leave her alone now?"
"She's not alone," I said, closing the door behind me. "Leo's with her. And I told security to double up at the gates. She's under guard."
Riccardo nodded, though the set of his jaw was still stubborn. "You still don't sound as if you believe what you're saying."
I gave him a half-smile that was as dry as dust. "Maybe I don't."
We started climbing the stone steps up to the De Luca estate. Inside, warmth and the far-off scent of coffee replaced the damp chill of the outside.
Rafael greeted us in the main room , tall, composed, every inch the man that people obeyed and respected. On the table in front of him lay a map. red spots dotted around like splashes of blood across ports, warehouses, and shipping routes.
He looked up at our arrival. "Finally."
"You said it was an emergency," I said, hanging my overcoat. "What's going on?"
Before he spoke, Riccardo interjected, "And don't tell me nothing's wrong, because that tone comes out only when something's burning somewhere."
Rafael shot him a look of death. Riccardo merely smiled and took the espresso pot.
Then Rafael leaned in. "Antonio's coming here."
That stopped us both.
I folded my arms. "He has a death wish?"
"Apparently, a desire to settle a debt," Rafael said. "He called last night, begged for help. The Valentis are prowling again. I told him we'd talk this morning."
Riccardo growled low. "That man doesn't know how to stop playing games with the devil."
I remembered Rosalia, how she'd lain, pale and still in that hospital bed, a wound where life was supposed to be. I remembered what Fiorella had said: If they kill Rosalia's parents, then they'll come for her too.
Rafael must have caught the look on my face because he talked low and quietly, "This isn't about saving Antonio. It's about finishing off what's left of his destruction before it reaches my wife again."
His voice softened on the last sentence, wife.
I hadn't seen him that human in a long time.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open behind us, and Antonio stepped inside. Age had weathered him hard , grey filtering into his hair, eyes deeply sunk, shoulders bent under the unseen load of fear and guilt. He was smaller than I remembered.
"Rafael," he said warily. "Riccardo. Rocco."
"Antonio."
Rafael's voice was steel wrapped in courtesy. "Sit down."
Antonio sat down.
Rafael poured a glass of whiskey and pushed it down the table towards him. "How much?"
Antonio blinked. "What?"
"How much do you owe the Valentis?"
He hesitated, glancing among the three of us. "Fifteen million. Maybe sixteen now that I have interest."
Riccardo whistled softly. "You never do anything on a small scale, do you?"
Antonio rubbed his face. "I didn't have any option. After the deal last year fell through..”
"You mean the one you sold behind our backs?" I cut in sharply.
His eyes leapt to mine, guilty. "I was desperate."
Rafael's eyes were icy. "And because you were desperate, Rosalia was attacked in our home. Do you understand what that implies, Antonio? My wife, your daughter, almost died because of you."
Antonio swallowed. "I know. I've been suffering for it each day."
"You haven't suffered enough," Riccardo muttered.
Rafael leaned back in his chair, looking at him with that icy, calculating patience that was uniquely his own. "You requested my help. This is what's going to happen. I'll pay the debt. All of it."
Antonio's head jerked up, incredulous written on his face.
"But," Rafael continued, "you will repay me every cent in the next two years. You'll dispose of your lesser assets, your vineyards, your off-shore accounts. Every dollar you spend from now on goes through me."
Antonio's lips opened for words, but Rafael raised a hand. "And if you breathe so much as a lie, I'll make sure Valentis never have a chance to kill you. I will."
Silence stretched heavy in the air.
Then Antonio nodded slowly. “Understood.”
“Good,” Rafael said. “Then we’re done here.”
Rosalia entered just as Antonio stood to leave.
She looked radiant, soft cream sweater, her hair loose over her shoulders, color back in her cheeks. The faint scar at her side was barely visible beneath the fabric.
When she saw her father, she stopped. For a long heartbeat, no one spoke.
And she went across the room. "Papa."
His shoulders sagged at her words. "Rosalia."
She hugged him. It was only a moment, but it held the forgiveness that no words could.
"I knew what you did," she said softly as she stepped back, eyes aglow. "Rafael paid your debt."
Antonio's lips shook. "I don't deserve it."
She smiled weakly. "Maybe not. But I'm glad you're still here."
Rafael, who had kept his distance, stepped forward. His expression eased. "I'm not doing this for him," he said bluntly. "I'm doing this for you. Just so the Valentis don’t bother you, Rosalia."
Her tears began welling up once more, and she reached out to hug him. "Thank you."
He nodded once, and then looked at Antonio. "Go. Don't make me wish I hadn't.".
Antonio nodded, his voice breaking. "You have my word."
“Please Papa, don’t make him regret it.”
He nodded. Then he left.
Hours went by, and the three of us were standing on the balcony outside. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and biting. Riccardo lit a cigarette and sent smoke drifting up into the grey sky.
"Well," he said. "That's one problem off the plate."
"For the time being," I whispered.
Rafael's gaze remained on the horizon. "The Valentis won't enjoy losing bargaining power. But they'll accept money for blood if that makes it nice and tidy."
I rested back against the railing, eyes unfocused. "They'll accept it… until someone else tries to play with the fire again. Hopefully he doesn’t go back on his word.”
“I’ll kill him immediately.” He said, his voice tensed then he softened. " How’s Fiorella?"
"She's alright," I replied hastily. "Shook. Enraged. But alright.".
Riccardo's eyebrow went up. "You sure about that? Because the last time she was fine, three of Phillipe's warehouses exploded."
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. "She's calmer now."
"You mean calm for Fiorella," he corrected.
"Exactly."
Rafael smiled at both of us, his tone lighter now. "You have to keep her in that state. The east wing renovation is already raising eyebrows. Keep it on the low until the heat dies down."
I nodded. "Got it."
It was late evening by the time I returned to the car. My phone beeped as I started the engine.
A message.
No number.
For a moment, I thought it might be another from "N."
But the name that flashed halted the air in my lungs.
It's been too long, Rocco.
Did you really think ghosts stay buried forever?
— C
I stared at the screen, my own reflection staring back , a moment of past and present crashing in the glass.
C.
There was only one person who ever signed their messages this way.
Someone I’d literally buried years ago.