Chapter 161 Rocco
The drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and wail of sirens. My chest was tight, my jaw locked, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. I didn't register the driver's words, didn't hear the traffic, didn't notice the city flying past me. There was only one thing: Rafael.
The door burst open, and we were inside. Doctors were moving fast, machines beeping, nurses weaving between gurneys. My brothers, Riccardo and I, hurried toward him. Rafael lay on a stretcher, pale beneath the stark hospital lights, his body still with tubes and monitors, his chest rising shallowly.
I gritted my teeth. "Where is he? How bad?"
One of the doctors, weary and sharp-eyed, looked at me. "He's stable, but it was close. Bullet grazed the artery deep enough to cause serious blood loss. We've stopped it. He's strong; he'll be okay, but he's not out of danger yet."
Relief slammed into me like a fist, followed immediately by a wave of guilt and rage. My brother had always been the strongest, the calmest, most unshakable—and here he was, bleeding, because of Camillo. Because of me.
Riccardo was pacing beside me, his face tight with fury. His leg was still bandaged, and his hands were trembling with adrenaline. "That bastard's going to regret this," he growled. "I don't care if it costs me my life-I will make him pay."
I placed a hand on his shoulder, but it barely slowed the storm inside him. “We’ll handle it, Ric. One step at a time. He won’t get away with this.”
The door opened and Rosalia was standing there, her eyes red and mascara running. My chest tightened even further. She looked so terrified, almost unrecognisable. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she went to Rafael’s bedside and touched his hand. “Rafael… oh God, Rafael…”
I crouched beside her, putting my hands over hers, trying to ground her. "He's going to be fine," I said, my voice firm but low. "The doctors are good. He's strong. He's a fighter. He's going to pull through."
Her sobs shook the small of my back, and for a moment, I allowed myself to brush my thumb across her knuckles, offering what little comfort I could. "Look at me," I said softly. "He's alive. You hear me? He's alive. And he's going to be okay."
She nodded shakily, trying to catch her breath, but the fear still lingered in her wide eyes. I didn't blame her. We'd all come too close to losing someone we loved.
Time became a blur of beeping machines, whispered reassurances, and pacing. Finally, Rafael's colour came back, the monitors stabilised, and the doctors were nodding to each other with cautious optimism. When they finally stepped aside, I exhaled deeply, relief coming over me in waves. "He's going to make it," I muttered.
Pounding his fist against the wall, Riccardo cursed under his breath. "Camillo's going to pay," he repeated, almost like a mantra, his teeth clenched and his eyes dark with rage.
I didn't argue. I only nodded, letting the fury fuel my next moves.
Rosalia stayed close, brushing strands of hair from her face. “Rocco… you—” she started, voice trembling. I placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I said in a firm tone. “Really. Don’t worry about me. I need you to stay calm for him.”
She nodded, but her eyes still searched mine for cracks. I could feel her fear; it was like a weight in my chest. I swallowed it, forcing myself to stay in control.
It was the next afternoon when, with exhaustion heavy in my bones, my phone vibrated sharply. It was Leo.
“Rocco, is Fiorella with you? She didn’t come home last night and I haven’t heard from her. Since you two were supposed to meet… I assumed she was with you.”
My stomach dropped. My fingers clenched around the phone. “No,” I typed, voice barely audible even to myself. “She’s not here.”
More information came fast, Leo's texts confirming every suspicion:
“She followed a lead. A strong one. I tracked her movements, but… she never reported back. She didn't answer my calls. The men we sent out with her too, all gone, she’s not there.”
The pieces snapped together with terrifying clarity. They already had her. Someone had intercepted her, anticipated her every move.
My chest felt tight, my adrenaline spiking. My mind was racing, my heart hammering in rhythm with my pulse. I thought of her fighting, struggling, resisting, my Fiorella, fierce and unyielding. But even her couldn't be everywhere at once.
Then, another buzz. A text. From Camillo.
Who would you save, Rocco? Your woman… or your brother?
My breath caught. My hand shook as I stared at the words. The screen seemed to burn against my palm. My chest constricted, and my mind raced through every possibility, every strategy, every outcome.
Camillo had her.
Camillo had Fiorella.
And now, he was forcing me to make a choice.
I could feel the weight of it, the vice of every rational thought, every plan I'd put together over weeks, being squeezed. Rage, fear, and desperation all were melding inside of me.
I turned to Rafael's still recovering form in the hospital bed, then to Riccardo pacing beside me, muttering curses with every step as each one reminded me of what was at stake.
Then again at the phone.
The only choice was mine, and whatever I did next would determine who lived… and who didn't.
⸻
I turned the phone to Riccardo, letting him read the message himself. His face contorted in a snarl, rage boiling beneath the surface, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
“Camillo…” Riccardo muttered in a low and dangerous voice. “That son of a—”
“Yeah,” I said, interrupting, my voice even, steady. “That’s him. And he’s done what I feared. He’s got Fiorella.”
Riccardo's eyes flashed with fury, but I held up a hand. "Listen to me. I'm going after her. I have to. No discussion. But I need you here. With Rosalia, with Rafael. Nothing happens to them while I'm gone. Understood?"
He hesitated, his jaw tight, then nodded. “Understood. Don’t, don’t screw this up, Rocco. She’s smart, but she’s human. And he… he’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I know,” I said. My own chest ached at the thought of leaving my family, even for a short while, but my mind and my heart were tied to another anchor now: Fiorella.
I opened up a new message to Camillo and my fingers flew across the screen furiously. My thumb hovered over send. Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous, that it was a trap-but I had no choice. I had to know.
Where’s she at? I typed, short, controlled.
Almost immediately came his reply, cruel and sharp:
C: Looking for love, Rocco? Choosing a woman over your brothers already?
This text made my chest tighten; my fingers clenched around the phone, my jaw set.
C: Is her life worth more than theirs? More than your sister-in-law?
The audacity of him, the venom, the way in which he tried to get me to doubt myself-it didn't work. Not entirely. Something inside me shifted, in a way I couldn't ignore.
Fiorella.
Her. Always her.
Even though we'd been apart-even through the betrayals, through the blood and the chaos, through the nights I'd lain awake furious, trying to convince myself I shouldn't care so much. I needed her. She was in my head, my chest, my blood. And the moment Camillo reminded me of what was at stake, what I could lose if I didn't act, the realization hit me with clarity: I could survive anger. I could survive revenge. I could survive Camillo. But losing her… losing her was something I couldn't bear.
I couldn’t waste another second.
She's worth it, I typed back, the words steady, unwavering. "I'm coming for her."
Camillo's response was nearly immediate, and cruel and mocking.
C: Good. You love her more than you love your family. Admirable, but foolish. You'll regret it if you don't move fast.
Then, after a pause, the message shifted cold and calculated.
C: if you want her alive, here's where to find her. But move quickly, Rocco. And know this, if you don't arrive in time, the rest of your family pays. Your brother, your sister-in-law… every one of them. And her too. Tick-tock.
I stared at the screen, the location details blurring as adrenaline spiked. Every muscle in my body coiled. My jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. The weight of the threat pressed down on me, yet beneath it, a fire ignited-a burning certainty that I had to get to her, had to make up for every second we'd lost, every fight, every misunderstanding, every dangerous step that had driven us apart.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, then moved toward Riccardo at a steady, urgent pace. “I’m going after her,” I said again, softer this time. “I need you to stay here. Keep Rosalia safe. Keep Rafael safe. I can’t lose anyone else.”
Riccardo looked me in the eye, silent for a heartbeat, then gave a sharp nod. "Go. Bring her back. Alive. Do whatever it takes."
My fists clenched as the adrenaline buzzed in my veins. Every plan I'd ever made, every strategy, every battle I'd fought-it all led to this moment. Fiorella wasn't just my woman; she was my equal, my partner, my anchor. And no force on this earth, no betrayal, no enemy would stop me from getting her back.
I slipped out of the room, fast and silent. Cold air struck me like a shock as I moved toward my car. Every second counted. Every heartbeat was a countdown.
Camillo's words still echoed in my mind: Your woman… or your family.
I had made my choice. And absolutely nothing would ever get in my way of making sure she survived.
The city blurred past me as I drove, every turn, every street a countdown toward a rescue I knew I had to succeed at. My heart pounded with fear and anticipation and a burning, undeniable love that had survived every betrayal, every battle, and every night apart. And I knew one thing, as I gripped the steering wheel tighter: Not being able to get to her in time, I would never forgive myself.