Chapter 138 Fiorella
The city outside Rocco's penthouse felt softer at night , as if the strife of the day dissolved to turn soft and tender once illuminated by the glow of streetlamps. Outside the glass wall, the skyline sparkled like a living painting. The hum of cars down there, distant and muffled.
I sat cramped on the couch, one of Rocco's massive shirts swallowing me up, my legs bare and tucked up under me. The slightest scent of him, smoke, leather, and dark warmth, lingered in the fabric, and it was comforting.
The TV showed a movie neither of us was really watching. Something sentimental, ironically enough. The characters on the screen fought, their lips nipping, their pain too real. But here, with Rocco's arm slung over my shoulders and his thumb drawing slow circles down my arm, the world stood still.
His skin was heat and strength against mine, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling holding me steady. My face against him, my fingers tracing the path of his veins on his forearm automatically. He had only spoken briefly since we'd come back to the penthouse, but I didn't need words to know his thoughts.
He panted softly, voice low, rasped by exhaustion. "You're quiet tonight, amore mio."
"You too," I whispered.
He chuckled softly, the vibration thudding against my face. "Guess we're finally out of ideas for things to fight about."
I smiled weakly, angling my face just enough to look up at him. "We could fight about what movie to see next."
"I'd lose," he said with certainty.
"You would."
His lips brushed the crown of my head, a feather's touch, before he settled back again. It was a simple thing to do, but it had that unspoken love he could never master speaking. I could sense it, in the way his hand never lost its movement, in the way he pulled the blanket over me when I rolled.
Outside, off in the distance, thunder rumbled softly. The rain wasn't starting yet, but there was a smell of it on the way.
Rocco's gaze stayed glued to the TV, but I knew he wasn't watching. "You ever think about it?" he asked me out of the blue.
"About what?"
"Us." He paused. "Marriage."
My heart stumbled from the word. I tilted my head to better see his face. He wasn't kidding. His face was set, eyes fixed on the dancing light on the screen. "I do think about it," I told him. "More than I think I should, considering everything that's happening."
"Same." His fingers brushed over my jaw, gentle. "But sometimes I wonder when we'll ever have the time for it. As soon as things level off, another fire breaks out."
"Then we're cursed, I guess," I teased gently, trying to elicit a smile.
He didn't smile. "Or maybe we just need to stop waiting for perfect timing."
I twirled around him, a leg crossing to land on his lap. His hands fell naturally to my hips, holding me steady. "What do you mean?"
"That we're through waiting," he said softly, eyes rising to meet mine. "Eloping's not such a terrible idea. No guests, no politics, no drama. Just us."
The image hurt something in my chest, the peace of it, the quiet. Rocco and me somewhere out of all this turmoil. Maybe on the edge of a cliff above the ocean, or inside of a chapel so small the echoes of our vows would be louder than everything else.
"It sounds wonderful," I whispered. "But—"
He cocked an eyebrow. "There's always a but with you."
I smiled gently. "Because I want a real wedding. With people. With laughter. I want to dance with you, in public, barefoot if I have to. I want noise, music, family. I want something that feels alive."
He tilted his head to one side, a smile playing over his lips. "You don't ask for much, do you?"
"I just want us to celebrate it," I said. "After everything we've been through."
He fell silent, looking at me. His thumb traced across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. "You deserve that," he said finally, voice a rough growl. "A big, loud, beautiful wedding. One that says we made it."
Too many of our enemies remained, too many secrets eating at the edges of our tranquility. But in that moment, it didn't matter.
I went in, covering his mouth with mine. The kiss was soft and tentative, before he moved deeper when he brought his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me closer. I yielded to him, the world outside receding so that all I was aware of was the warmth of his mouth and the firm beat of his heart against my hand.
When I finally pulled away, I was gasping, my forehead against his. "I love you," I breathed.
He smiled, not his usual smirk, but something gentler. "Say it again."
I did. And again. Each time more quietly than the last, as if the words themselves were coming to rest in him.
He cupped my face, his eyes locked to mine. "You're the only thing that makes sense in all this craziness, Fi."
My throat closed. "You make sense to me too."
He chuckled quietly, his fingers tracing slow paths down my back. "Then we're both lost."
I laughed, burrowing into him. "If I'm going to be lost, I'd want to be with you."
He kissed my temple, the motion gentle and soft. We simply lay there for a long time, breathing, the city lights sparkling against the walls like fireflies.
The rain eventually began, soft at first, then steady, a steady rhythm that filled the air around us.
I looked up at him, mapping the lines of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes. "You've barely slept, have you?"
He shrugged. "Can't turn it off."
"You must try." I wriggled, folding into his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin. "Sleep here. With me."
"I always do."
"No, I mean actually sleep. Not the one where you're half-listening to hear the footsteps."
A weak smile, his fingers creeping beneath my hair to cradle the back of my head. "I'll try my best."
"Promise?"
"Prometto, amore mio."
The words hummed against my ear, and something deep inside me relaxed. The tightness that had coiled for days began to uncurl.
Minutes passed on. Maybe hours. The movie ended, credits rolling in silence while the rain served as its own soundtrack.
Rocco finally moved, turning off the TV, and the room sank into the soft light of the city beyond the glass. He pulled me closer, his body a warm shell of quiet strength.
“You see,” breathed, his voice half-asleep, "if I had to choose between ruling the entire empire or just having nights like these with you."
I smiled into his chest. "You'd choose the empire."
He laughed, low and drowsy. "Maybe. But only if you were the queen beside me."
My heart hurt. I drew my head back up and kissed him again, more slowly this time, like a promise.
Outside, lightning flashe, distant, ephemeral, but inside, all warmth and breath and even heartbeats that were steady.
No danger, no foes, no ghosts. Only us.
I can’t wait to be married to him. I just need to take every ghosts back to their graves.