Chapter 158 Fiorella
Leo has that look.
The one he only wears when everything's falling apart and he's trying to hold it together for my sake.
We're barely back from the weapons drop when he intercepts me at the bottom of the staircase, blocking my path before I can head up to my private office.
"Boss," he says softly, as if the air might shatter around us if he speaks too loudly.
I pause.
“What now?”
He hesitates, not out of fear but caution.
Leo never wavers.
"Something happened, " he says. "To the De Lucas."
The name hits me like a shove to my chest, knocking breath right out of my lungs even though my face stays composed.
I stop walking.
“Define something.”
Leo lets out a breath as he draws closer, his voice hushed:
“It’s Rocco.”
My heart slams hard against my ribs-but I keep my expression cold, neutral, unreadable.
Training. Instinct. Survival.
But inside…
Everything jolts awake.
He continues, his eyes locking with mine.
"I got word from one of our watchers. There was a fight. Rocco came out with an injury. A knife wound."
My throat tightens, but I will my jaw to stay firm.
“How bad?”
“He walked away from it,” Leo says. “It was stitched. He’s fine.”
A beat.
“Mostly.”
Mostly.
That one word can rip through me.
I clear my throat and turn, facing forwards once more. "Who?"
“Camillo.”
A chill crawls up my spine. Camillo, the traitor. The ghost. The man Rocco used to call brother.
The man who would enjoy cutting him.
Leo presses on, unyielding.
“And it wasn’t just Rocco. Riccardo took a bullet to the leg in an ambush last night
My eyes widen before I can stop myself. Riccardo--the youngest Moretti. Wild, sharp-tongued, impossible.
A bullet.
“That’s not all,” Leo says, his voice dropping lower. “Their retaliation failed. They bombed Camillo’s car.”
My pulse spikes.
"Failed how?"
"Camillo stepped out before the explosion. Walked away with scratches."
So Camillo is alive. Very alive. And taunting.
I breathe in slowly, grounding myself, steadying the quake inside.
But the fear, the real kind, the deep, dark, sickening kind, uncoils in my chest.
Fear for Rocco.
Fear that I don't want to admit having.
Leo watches me in silence. "Boss… want me to check in on him?
No.
Yes.
No.
I swallow. “No. I will.”
Leo nods and steps back.
I take the stairs up to my office, one slow step at a time, hands shaking despite my iron discipline. I close the door behind me and finally let the emotions hit like a truck.
Rocco is injured.
Riccardo was shot.
I sit behind my desk, staring at my phone like it's a weapon I don't know how to use.
Do I reach out?
Do I give him space?
Do I play the indifferent?
I can't.
Not today.
Not after blood has been spilled.
My fingers hover over his name.
My stomach twists.
And then I type.
Fiorella:
Leo told me what happened.
Are you alright?
No answer.
I stare at the screen, pulse pounding.
I type again.
Fiorella:
Please answer.
I know I'm the last person you want to hear from but—
I'm worried.
The message sends, the dots disappear, and the silence thickens.
I take a shaky breath, press my fingers to my lips, before typing one more:
Fiorella:
I'm sorry, Rocco.
I miss you.
My thumb hovers.
Then I hit send.
It's like jumping off of a cliff and not being sure if you will land.
I close my eyes and exhale, pressing the phone to my forehead.
No response.
I push back from my desk, needing air, needing distance from everything, him, Nek, Phillipe, the entire suffocating mess that is my life.
I walk out into the night, taking a stroll around.
The city is dim, the streetlamp flickering, the air smelling of rain that refuses to fall.
Instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Somebody's watching me.
I scan the street-slow, practiced, not giving away that I noticed. A flicker of movement on the rooftop across the street catches my eye.
Too quick. Too deliberate.
Leo steps outside behind me. “Boss?”
I don't look at him. "Did you bring anyone else with us?"
“No.”
My stomach knots.
Then a phone vibrates.
Mine.
Unknown number.
But I know,
I know.
A chill slides down my spine as I swipe the message open.
Nek.
Nek
You think you could fool me?
You thought I wouldn't find out your little swap?
My breath catches in my throat.
I scroll.
Nek:
You and your mother will pay for it.
Both of you.
My fingers shake.
Nek:
I hope your De Luca prince can save you.
He'll die trying.
My heart drops.
Hard.
Cold.
Then one more message.
A photo.
I feel my blood run cold.
It's me.
Standing outside.
This very moment.
Taken from behind.
There is someone right there in the shadows.
Watching me.
Tracking me.
Hunting me.
My fingers tighten so hard around my phone I feel it creak.
Leo sees my face and starts cursing softly.
“What is it?”
I hand him the phone.
He pales. And before he can say anything. Another message pops up
Nek: Run, little lioness. Your time is up.
I look up at the rooftops. The streetlights. The dark corners. Someone is there. Watching Waiting.
And then. The last message arrives. Nek: Say goodbye to something you love.
The street goes silent. Dead silent. Something is about to take place.
. ⸻
My hands shake, not from fear alone but from the guilt clawing at me, guilt that my mother’s life is dangling because of my choices. I pace the room, running my hands through my hair, trying to think, trying to plan.
It’s been days after, I’ve been relentless in the search of my mother.
Every contact I’ve leaned on, every network I’ve tapped, every whisper in the dark… nothing. Nothing has led me to her. I’ve chased leads, braved threats, bribed men who should be loyal to me, and every single time, it’s been a dead end.
The phone vibrates again, Leo's name flashing across, but I don't answer. I can't-not when my mind is screaming that every second wasted could cost her her life.
I sink to the floor, leaning back against the wall and staring at the polished floorboards, as though they hold some hidden clue. My chest tightens with each shallow breath.
It was supposed to work. My plan, my careful orchestration of every move, every lie to Nek… it was supposed to guarantee her safety. And now? Now it's in pieces. Shattered.
If I can't find her, if I can't get to her in time… everything I've done, every risk, every betrayal… it will all have been for nothing.
I press my palms against my face, trembling, whispering her name into the void.
Mamma… mamma… I won’t lose you.
But the shadows in the room seem to laugh at me, closing in, whispering it's too late.