Chapter 153 Rocco
The night looks different when one has been betrayed.
City lights blur past me as I drive, but I barely see them. My fingers are locked around the steering wheel like I'm trying to choke it, and honestly, maybe I am. It's the only thing within reach I can break without consequences.
My chest is tight. Hot. Heavy. There's something inside it clawing to get out.
I have been angry before, several times. Rage is not unfamiliar to me. But this?
This is something darker.
All I can think about is Fiorella's face-the way her lips shook, the way she couldn't look me in the eye until she forced herself to.
The way she said sorry, like it was supposed to fix anything.
I hit the steering wheel once with the heel of my palm-a sharp, violent thud that does absolutely nothing to ease the building pressure inside me.
The tires hiss against the asphalt as I take a turn too fast.
I shouldn't be driving.
But I can't sit still. Not with this fire crawling up my spine. Not with the sick feeling sitting low in my stomach, twisting every time I hear her voice in my head.
Nek had her mother.
She said that, as if to excuse everything.
Maybe it does.
Maybe it doesn't.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I'm on my way to tell my brothers-the two people I trust most in this world-that the woman I chose, the woman I let into my house, into my bed, into the bruised parts of me I don't show anyone…
handed our family's secrets to the man who wants us dead.
And I don't know what version of me will walk out of that mansion after I say it out loud.
The guards immediately open the mansion gates when I arrive. They can likely feel the storm radiating off me, even through the tinted windows.
I'm about to walk in and tell them I failed at something that I should've known better about.
I park.
Switch off the engine.
Sit.
Just breathing.
Not calmly, not steadily, just breathing because it's either that or put my fist through the dashboard.
I push the door open after a moment and step out. The night air immediately chills my skin.
It doesn't cool me.
Nothing could
As I walk into the living room, Riccardo is pacing like a caged animal. Rafael sits on the arm of a chair, shoulders straight, eyes sharp, jaw stiff.
They both look at me.
I don't say anything at first. I drag a hand down my face. I feel the weight of their eyes; the truth sits like a stone in my throat.
“Rocco,” Rafael says softly. “What happened?”
I swallow.
And when I speak, my voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere hollow.
"Fiorella sold us out."
The effect is instant.
Riccardo stops his pacing. He freezes mid-step, muscles jerking tight like a pulled wire.
"What?" he demands. "What the fuck do you mean she sold us out?"
Rafael's lips press into a thin, controlled line, but his eyes darken.
I tell them.
I tell them everything: her mother being held, Nek's threats, what she gave away, that look in her eyes when she confessed.
Words spill out of me like splinters: sharp, ugly, painful.
When I am finished, the silence is thick enough to choke on.
Riccardo explodes first.
“Fucking hell, Rocco!” he yells, slamming his palm into the wall. “You let her in! You let her close! How could you not see this coming?”
I flinch.
He sees it.
Rafael sees it.
Riccardo walks up to me, his eyes wild. “She could've gotten us all killed! We could have gotten into a bad mess. The possibilities are endless. Do you understand that?”
“Ric—” Rafael tries.
“No!” Riccardo snaps, pointing at me. “He should’ve known. She will always put herself first, she doesn’t see you as an equal, probably thinks she’s better than you. She’s a Donna Rocco, you know better than to expect anything good from the union.”
“Don’t,” I warn, my voice low and dangerous.
“ She’s just like one of us,” Riccards finishes anyway, his chest heaving. “You both won’t work.”
That hits me like a hit to the ribs.
Because it feels too close to the truth.
I take a step forward. Riccardo does too.
Rafael moves between us instantly, one hand on my chest, one holding Riccardo back.
“Enough,” Rafael says sharply. “Both of you.”
Riccardo jerks away, furious, pacing again. “I swear to God, when I get my hands on that girl—”
“Riccardo.”
Rafael's tone is one that makes him shut up, even though his jaw is still ticking violently.
Rafael turns to me.
His eyes hold the kind of hurt that stings worse than Riccardo's anger.
"You defended her," he says quietly. "You trusted her. You chose her. And she did this."
I swallow hard, my throat burning.
He continues.
“And we’re paying the price for that.”
Something in me sinks.
Not anger.
Something lower. Heavier.
Guilt.
Rafael rubs a hand over his face. "We have to fix this. Now. Before Nek makes a move." His eyes narrow just slightly. "And we need to figure out what to do with Fiorella."
I look away.
I don't want to think about her yet.
Not without feeling sick.
Not without feeling everything I'm trying to hold back.
"I need a minute," I mutter.
Riccardo says loudly, “Oh, that’s fucking great.”
Rafael shoots him a look that shuts him up. Then he nods toward the hallway.
“Go,” he tells me. “Take your minute.”
I leave the room.
But the anger follows me like a shadow.
My office is dark upon entrance. I do not bother turning the lights on. The darkness suits me.
I clamp my hands with fingers splayed on the edge of my desk and let my head fall. My breath shakes-once. A crack in the armor.
I'm glad no one can see it.
Her voice is whispering in my head again.
“I didn’t know what to do… he had my mother…”
I slam both palms against the desk; the sound cracks through the room.
I don't even know if I'm angrier at her or myself.
Probably both.
Undoubtedly both.
A soft knock breaks the silence.
I don't answer.
The door opens anyway.
Rafael.
He steps inside, closes the door behind him, and leans against it. He watches me for a long moment.
He doesn't look judgmental.
Or furious.
He just looks… tired. And disappointed.
I hate that.
I'd rather he yelled.
“Rocco,” he says quietly, “look at me.”
I do.
Barely.
Rafael studies my face, taking in whatever mess I’m failing to hide.
Then he speaks in a calm yet firm voice:
“You love her.”
I inhale: sharp and electric, as if he'd stabbed the truth straight into me.
I don't answer. But he sees it. He always sees everything.
“Love doesn’t excuse what she did,” he goes on. “But it explains why you’re falling apart.”
My jaw clenches. Rafael walks farther into the room, hands in his pockets. “We will deal with Nek,” he says. “We will fix the damage.” His eyes lock on mine. “But you need to decide what Fiorella is to you now. Before Riccardo decides for you. Before the family does. Before your anger does.”
I drag a hand over my mouth, breathing out shakily.
"I don't know what she is anymore," I admit, voice rough. "I don't know whether to hold her or walk away before I break something that can't be fixed."
Rafael nods once. Slowly. Understanding. Then, he says something that hits deeper than anything yet: “Don’t make a decision while you’re bleeding.” The words land heavy. He steps back towards the door. "When you're ready,"
Rafael says quietly, "come find us. We'll figure the rest out together." He leaves.
The room is silent again. But within me? A war is on, loud enough to shake the walls.