Chapter 141 Rocco
The night air was heavy with a strange weight-quiet, yet not still. I could still feel the ghost of Camillo's presence coursing through my veins, the rush of seeing his face again after so many years of imagining him smothered beneath the dirt he had made for himself. Since I'd followed him through the alleys reeking of oil and gunpowder, my heart hadn't beat with less intensity.
He was alive.
And still playing his games.
When I told my brothers, the De Luca study turned cold.
Rafael leaned forward on his elbows, the dim light carving hard lines across his face. “You're sure it was him?”
“I’d know that bastard anywhere,” I said, my voice low, tight. “Same tattoo at the base of his neck. Same way he moves, like he’s always one step ahead. He’s been operating in the shadows for months. I tailed him to a compound, he had a target on my back.”
Riccardo cursed under his breath and began to pace around near the liquor cabinet. "Camillo? What the hell is he up to? ."
“I don’t know ,” I said. “But he’s planning something and working with someone.”
Rafael's jaw flexed. "Then we find out what-and end it before he gets close again. None of us can afford ghosts from the past resurfacing."
My gaze drifted to the window. The reflection staring back looked every bit the man Camillo betrayed, older, harder. “He already got close once,” I muttered. “Won’t happen again.”
Riccardo leaned back against the couch, smirking faintly to break the tension. “You’ve been saying that since the shootout three years ago. I’ll believe it when I don’t see a bullet hole in your suit.”
“Funny,” I said, deadpan.
He was grinning, but beneath it, something seemed uneasy. We all felt it, the shifting air, the sense that our enemies were beginning to close ranks again.
Rafael sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I'll have Matteo double security around the mansion. If Camillo's working with anyone, we'll know.”
"Do that," I said. "And make sure Rosalia is safe. And while you’re at it, find out who Nek is, he mentioned that name and Fiorella too.”
Rafael hesitated. “I’ll make sure Ro is safe, you take care of Fiorella. I’ll start digging on this Nek.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. "Good. Keep your wife safe."
Riccardo suddenly chuckled from the corner. “You two sound like old men giving advice on marriage. Meanwhile, the club’s become so damn boring since none of you show up anymore. I swear, the girls ask for you more than they ask for drinks.”
Rafael tossed a grape at him. “You could always try an actual relationship, Ricc.”
He caught it mid-air, smirking. "Where's the fun in that?"
It wasn't a light moment that lasted very long. My phone buzzed in my hand, a sharp sound slicing through the laughter. The text flashed across the screen-an unfamiliar number, a single letter.
C: counting down to when we really see. How many days do you think is left?
Those words pulled a chill down my spine. I showed it to Rafael and Riccardo, wordless. Both fell silent.
“He knows you're watching him,” Rafael murmured.
“Good,” I said, locking the screen. “Let him. I want him to see me coming.”
Later that night, I drove to the penthouse. The city lights bled across the windshield, the reflections sliding over the hood like liquid fire. Every mile separating the mansion from her felt like an eternity.
That's what Fiorella did for me-grounded me when everything else spun out of control.
As I walked in, the sweet aroma of vanilla and gunpowder hit me, her smell. She sat by the window, hair falling down her back, legs folded under her on the couch. She looked exhausted as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders yet she refused to buckle under it.
I held up the takeout bag. "Truce offering. Creamy pasta and a bottle of that red you like."
A small smile curved her lips. “You're learning.”
“I’m trying,” I said, setting everything down on the coffee table. I poured the wine and handed her a glass.
As she took it, her gaze softened. “Rough day?”
"Just another ghost," I said, sipping my drink.
“Camillo?” she said softly.
I nodded. "Spotted him. Traced him, nearly got shot but I overheard some things, he mentioned the D’Angelo girl and Nek."
Her brow furrowed. "He's bold. You think he's behind the text?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But he's playing games again, and I don't like it."
She let out a sigh, placing her glass of wine down. “Seems like everyone's playing games lately.”
I looked at her. “You mean N?
She nodded slowly. “I got another message today. ‘You look so much like your mother. Would you like to see how she looks now?’”
The glass almost slipped out of my hand. "What?
She laughed shakily, trying to sound unconcerned. "He's bluffing. My mum's dead. Probably just trying to get into my head."
I moved closer, sitting beside her. “Or he knows something we don’t.”
“Don’t,” she said quickly, “please. I’ve lost enough sleep over people who aren’t here anymore.”
Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it with a sip of wine.
I brushed my thumb along her jaw. “I just don’t want you hurt again.”
She leaned into my touch. “I'm tougher than I look, Rocco.”
“I know,” I muttered. “Doesn’t mean I won’t worry, though.”
We sat like that for a moment, the world outside muffled by the glass and distance. Her head leaned into my shoulder, her breathing falling in sync with mine without me even trying.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Her expression changed-curiosity, confusion, then a tightening dread. She turned the screen toward me.
A new message glowed against the dark:
N: Family secrets always come out eventually. Perhaps you should ask Phillipe where your mother is; I am sure he is dying to tell.
Her hand trembled a bit. My heart contracted while the meaning sank in.
Phillipe, her mother, a connection she never imagined existing.
Fiorella's eyes lifted to mine, wide, searching. "What does that mean?" I didn't have an answer, only this hollow certainty that everything was going to change. The room fell silent. And outside, thunder rolled.