Chapter 151 Rocco
The air was different inside the mansion.
It wasn't loud or obvious, no sudden outbursts, no late-night arguments, but subtle, like a current beneath still water. A pause that wasn't there before when she kissed me good-bye. The way her eyes flicked to her phone before she met my gaze. The faint scent of gunpowder that clung to her jacket when she came in late and said she'd been "just running checks."
Fiorella had always been driven, but lately, she was something else.
Restless. Guarded.
That morning, she'd left before the sun was up. I'd woken to the soft click of her heels, the whisper of the front door closing. I didn't stop her-because that's what trust was supposed to look like-but the empty space she left behind itched like a wound I couldn't see.
By the time sunlight spilled through the window, I was in the study with Riccardo and Rafael. The map of our trade routes lay spread across the desk, all lines and markers and notes from the last shipment that Camillo's men had managed to sabotage.
“She's been off,” Riccardo muttered, leaning back in his chair and flipping a knife from one hand to the other. “You've noticed too, huh?”
Rafael shot him a warning look, but his silence was answer enough.
"She's been through hell," I said flatly. "Her mother, that photo, the threats. Anyone would act different.
Riccardo shrugged, the blade flashing. "Different, sure. But secretive?"
That word stuck.
Secretive.
The sound of the door saved me from answering. Leo stepped in, looking freshly pressed but exhausted-the kind of tired coming from keeping too many things bottled up.
“Rocco,” he greeted, nodding respectfully to my brothers before facing me. “She wanted me to tell you she’ll be at the docks later, overseeing a new inspection.”
“On the docks?” I asked, crossing my arms. “That’s not her job.”
Leo hesitated, his eyes darting for a fraction of a second, too fast for most to catch, but I did.
"She said she wanted to understand the supply chain better," he said. "Said she's learning more about your world. To be better prepared for when you two eventually merge operations."
The words should have sounded reasonable.
Instead, they sounded rehearsed.
Rafael stirred in his seat. “Since when does Fiorella take interest in logistics?”
“Since last week,” Riccardo replied dryly. “Now she’s shadowing our routes. What’s next? Sitting in on financial audits?”
"Enough," I snapped, though my chest was already tightening. I turned back to Leo. "Tell me the truth. Has she asked about our shipments? About anything related to our routes?"
He looked at me then, straight in the eyes. And the fact that he hesitated, just a flicker, was all the answer I needed.
“I’m just here to pick up a box she forgot.” he admitted. “Whatever Fiorella is up to, she’s the one that knows.”
Rafael's eyes darkened. “But you do know what it is right?”
“I’ll talk with Leo.” I said not wanting the situation to escalate further.
Leo's jaw tensed. "She's your future wife. I thought maybe she was trying to surprise you. Plan something."
Riccardo laughed low, mirthless. "Yeah. A surprise. Maybe a bullet with his name on it."
I let the comment go, but the unease had already burrowed deep. My pulse throbbed in my temples. Fiorella's question about shipments directly after Camillo's attack and the appearance of this mysterious Nek didn't feel like a coincidence.
Leo must have seen the shift in my face because he raised his hands. “Rocco, listen. Fiorella’s loyal. You know that. She wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t what?” Riccardo cut in sharply, “Keep something from him? Lie?”
The words hit harder than I meant them to. I wanted so badly not to believe them, but they hung there, heavy and unmovable.
Leo swallowed. “Maybe she’s trying to protect you.”
“Then she'd tell me what's going on.” I snatched my jacket from the chair; every movement was clipped. “If she won't, I'll find out myself.”
The afternoon stretched into a haze of waiting. I didn't go to the docks right away, instead I sent one of my men, a silent watcher whose updates came in short, coded texts.
12:46 p.m. — Fiorella arrived. Not alone. One guard. Talking to warehouse manager.
1:10 p.m. — She's walking the line, checking cargo manifests herself.
1:27 p.m.-Stopped near containers on Route 3. Appeared anxious. Received phone call. Departed early.
The air reeked of diesel and salt by the time I arrived; workers yelled orders across the docks, forklifts clattered, and seagulls screeched overhead. But all I saw was the empty space where she'd been.
She'd stood right there, beside those marked containers, when she took that call. I could almost feel her presence in the air. My eyes traced the serial numbers burned into the metal crates-our crates, the ones carrying goods we'd rerouted after Camillo's sabotage.
And that's when it hit me.
With these, anyone wanting access would have it to our shipment routes.
She'd been here for that.
My chest went cold.
I climbed back into my car, knuckles white around the steering wheel. I drove straight to her estate, where the guards bowed and looked anywhere but at me. She wasn’t home yet, but her scent lingered in the air.
Her laptop sat open on the counter, still logged in. I didn't like invading her space, but something primal pushed me forward. The screen showed shipment schedules-ours-cross-referenced with coordinates that weren't familiar.
And in the document's corner was a name, like a stain on glass.
N.
My breath caught.
I was still staring when the elevator pinged and Leo stepped out, his expression wary.
“Rocco—”
I turned on him. "How long have you known?"
He froze. “Known what?”
“Don’t play dumb.” My voice was low, dangerous. “You’ve been covering for her. You knew she was in contact with someone. Was it Nek? Did she tell you that name?”
His silence spoke volumes.
“Jesus, Leo,” I breathed, pushing a hand through my hair. “What the hell is going on? Why is she talking to him?”
“She's not betraying you,” Leo finally said, stepping closer. “ Nek's using her, Rocco. She's trying to save someone, not destroy you.”
The room tilted a little. “This looks like destruction.”
Leo’s gaze fell. “No,” he whispered. “She won’t hurt you like that.”.
I stood there, every thought unraveling.
All this time, Fiorella had been going behind my back, trying to save a woman buried by the past, and I'd been too blind to see it.
Leo went on, voice low and rough. “She’s walking a line she can’t tell you about. If she does, Nek kills her mother. That’s the deal. That’s why she’s been secretive.”
I turned away, the muscles in my jaw locking. My chest hurt in a way I didn’t like-part anger, part heartbreak.
“She should have told me,” I said.
“She didn’t want to drag you into it.”
“She already has.”
The silence stretched long between us. Finally, I picked up my phone, scrolling through our security feeds, searching for her last location.
If she was being blackmailed, I had to see who she met. I needed to know if Nek's men were close.
Leo hesitated. “What are you going to do?”
"Follow her," I said. "And find out what she's not saying."
That night, I parked a few streets away from her warehouse base. My car was low-key enough to blend with the shadows, but my pulse didn't know how to stay still. Through the windshield, I watched her figure move-alone, purposeful-sliding through the narrow alleys that led toward the docks again.
She was beautiful in the way danger was beautiful, sharp and deliberate and magnetic. Her hair glinted under the streetlights, her stride steady even as her phone buzzed in her hand.
I killed the headlights and followed on foot, keeping to the edges of the street.
She crossed the intersection near the abandoned fairgrounds, empty now, except for the skeletons of rusted rides. Then she disappeared through a gate I hadn’t known was open.
My gut tightened.
I pulled my phone out, ready to text my brothers. Before I could, the quiet was split by a low, mechanical sound: the closing of a car door. Another set of footsteps.
I moved closer, concealing myself behind a rusted fence, and that's when I saw him.
A tall figure in a dark coat. Not Phillipe. Not Camillo.
He stood opposite Fiorella, the distance between them tense and silent. He said something I couldn't hear, and she stiffened, her hand brushing the gun at her hip.
Then, in a movement too fast to be rehearsed, he reached into his coat, and handed her something small and she in turn gave him something.
Her expression changed: shock, grief, disbelief.
He said something-too low to catch-but his next movement was clear. He leaned forward, whispered something in her ear, then turned to leave.
And that's when I saw his face-half-hidden by shadow, but unmistakable.
This had to be Nek.
She stood there clutching what was given to her, completely unaware I'd seen everything. And at that moment, my phone buzzed-an unknown number lighting up the screen.
See? Everyone keeps secrets. — C.