Chapter 131 Rocco
The De Luca estate was bubbling again. The sound of laughter ringing down the corridors, the kind that had been unheard for weeks. For the first time, there wasn't the smell of smoke or blood hanging in the air, just the sound of my brothers teasing each other at lunch, the clinking of silverware, and Rosalia's laugh ringing out like the first real sliver of sunlight after a hurricane.
She was radiant, her cheeks flushed, a sparkle back in her eyes that made me realize just how close we’d come to losing her. Rafael barely let her move without a hand on her, his thumb tracing over her wrist as though making sure she was still there.
“Raf, you’re cutting her steak like she’s five,” Riccardo said, grinning as he poured himself another glass of wine.
Rafael did not even look up. "And if I am? She's earned a lifetime of attention."
Rosalia kissed him on the cheek and laughed. "You're lucky I love you, or I'd stick that fork in you."
Riccardo grinned. "Please do , he needs to be stopped.”
The table erupted in laughter, including mine. For a moment, everything was fine again. We were just us. Family.
Rosalia removed her hand for the salad, smiling at me from across the table. "You look tired, Rocco."
"I'm okay," I lied, although I knew the dark circles under my eyes betrayed me. I'd not slept for a long time since Fiorella's revenge had begun. She was home safe now, resting in bed and healing, but my stomach had not ceased knotting since that final text.
Rafael looked at me, reading me as he was so skilled at doing. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing important ," I said, playing with food on my plate.
He frowned. "You're lying."
Rosalia smiled faintly. "He's a De Luca. You all are liars."
Riccardo laughed and I’m sure he would have said something if Rafael hadn’t beat him to it.
“Oh sweetheart, you’re a De Luca too.” Rafael pointed out and she rolled her eyes.
I laughed now, one that was cut short as my phone vibrated on the table. I didn't have to check it to know what it was. The same number. The same ghost.
I switched it off and shoved it into my jacket pocket, inhaling slowly. "Okay. Perhaps there is something."
Riccardo leaned forward, forearms on the table. "Spill."
"I’ve been getting messages. They’ve been signed 'C'."
Rafael’s smile had vanished. "C, for—"
"Camillo." The name hung between us like a curse.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Rafael's hand stopped on its way down, knife and fork clinking softly as he set them aside. His jaw clenched. "You think it's him?
"I don't know," I said quietly. "But it fits. The way it was written. The tone. Like he understands me. Like he's observing."
Riccardo glanced at Rafael. "Wasn't Camillo your best friend?"
"He was," I replied flatly. "Before he shot me in the back and made a run for it."
Rafael looked down, muttering, "Literally."
The room grew quiet once more, the tension tight.
Camillo had been family, once, not familial by blood, but by allegiance. Or what I'd thought was allegiance. We'd been trained together, grown up together, and fought together in the kind of wars that forge brotherhood. And he'd sold me to our enemies for money and a vow. The bullet he'd placed in my body had not killed me, but the treason had.
"We shot him that night," Rafael snapped the silence. "No sign of life, no appearances. If he's coming to us now, he has an agenda."
"Revenge?" riccardo prompted.
"Maybe," I answered. "Maybe he just wants to finish what he started."
Rafael leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "If it is him, he's not doing it alone. Not after all this time. He'll have resources, money, bodyguards. Someone who has power enough to keep him hidden for so long."
Rosalia's eyes flashed between us, restless. "Do you think it has something to do with the warehouse attacks? The explosion?"
I shook my head. "No. That was all Fiorella and her uncle Phillipe.”
Leo's brow furrowed. "She finally moved?"
"She did," I said. "And it was smooth. Smarter. She hit Phillipe where it counted."
Rafael smiled. "Good girl."
“She's not done yet," I whispered. "But this. this is different. The person who sent the 'C' message isn't Phillipe or Valenti. This is personal."
Riccardo took a breath, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Christ. First Lorenzo comes back from the dead to murder Rafael, now this.”
Rafael gave him a stern look, but Riccardo shrugged. "I'm serious. Do you remember when we believed Lorenzo was dead for life? Then boom, comes back with a vengeance and tries to kill Rosalia. And now you're telling me Camillo might be alive and dangerous?"
Rafael’s eyes hardened. "You're saying it as if it has happened again."
"Right." Riccardo's eyes darted to mine. "And if it does, Rocco, you know what that means.".
I said nothing. I didn't have to.
He meant Fiorella.
If Camillo were alive, if he actually was back, then he wouldn't come for just me. He'd target her, woman he'd know I'd be susceptible to.
The thought of it made something feral twist inside me.
Rafael saw the transformation. "Easy," he cautioned softly. "We'll take care of this before she notices."
Riccardo nodded. "If it's Camillo, we take him out again. It shouldn’t be that hard."
“Nothing is ever easy and you know it,” Rafael pointed out.
“You boys just be careful and stay safe. I don’t want to loose you Rafael.” She kissed him on the cheek.
Rafael turned his hand to hold hers, his tone soft. "I promise. You won’t loose me.”
The sweetness of his voice made me weakly smile despite the tension. Rafael De Luca, the same one who once vowed he'd never fall in love, was now that kind of husband who'd burn the world to ash for his wife. I felt a twinge of jealousy. That kind of peace was something I had not yet achieved.
At dusk, we moved from the dining room to the patio. The sky was heavy gold, curving over the hills that rimmed the estate. Riccardo lit a cigar, and Rafael leaned against the railing.
I remained silent, taking a sip of my drink, my mind ensnared in darkness.
That evening with Camillo lingered in my mind. The shot. The burn on my back. The tone of his voice, firm, not apologetic, as he whispered, "Go to hell, brother."
I had forgiven worse men for lesser crimes. But treason like that… it doesn't die. It merely sleeps.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I pulled it out, the screen glowing over the dying light of day. Same number. Same thread of messages.
One new text.
How are your brothers doing?– C
Rafael saw the shift in my expression before anyone else. "It's him, isn't it?"
I didn't respond. I simply held up the screen.
Rafael's jaw stiffened. "Then we move fast. No sitting around, no guessing."
Riccardo flicked ash from his cigar, the ember glowing briefly. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t crawl back from hell with an army.”
“Because if he does,” Rafael said, raising his glass, “we’re sending him back there ourselves.”
I stared at the message one more time before locking the phone, my reflection staring back from the black screen.
Some bodies don’t stay buried.
It’s time to dig them up.