Chapter 163 Rocco
The moment Camillo’s message burned across my phone, a cold steadiness settled over me, an instinct older than reason, older than fear. Choose who you’ll save: your woman or your brother.
My choice was already made the second Fiorella’s name appeared.
I shoved the thought aside and dialed Leo with fingers that no longer felt like mine.
He picked on the first ring. “Boss—”
“They have Fiorella, I need you and your best men armed and ready in ten minutes. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
“I’m already on it,” he replied, guilt twisting his voice. “Rocco… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just get there.”
The location was an abandoned industrial warehouse district on the outskirts of the port. Perfect place to erase someone. Perfect place to stage a trap.
Exactly like Camillo would pick.
Exactly like Nek would enjoy.
A call from Riccardo startled me.
“What’s up? Are you there yet?”
“No, almost.What’s up?” I asked quietly.
“I just wanted to tell you that I love you and be careful. Don’t let anything happen to you.”
Who knew Riccardo could be a declarer of love. If I wasn’t so tensed I’d teased him.
“If something happens,” I continued, “you take care of them. Keep Rafael safe. Keep Rosalia safe. That’s your only job tonight.”
“You’re going after her alone, I swear I’ll murder you myself. You better bring your ass back alive.”
“Leo’s coming,” I nearly laughed at his sudden tone switch from loving brother to something else. “And I’m not giving Camillo the satisfaction of seeing me walk into his trap like an idiot.”
He swallowed hard. “Don’t die for her, Rocco.”
“I’m not dying,” I said. “I’m ending this.”
“Then end it.”
The drive to the outskirts felt endless and too fast all at once. The night was painted in deep navy, the kind that swallows sound, swallows breath, swallows hope.
I didn’t let myself think about Fiorella tied somewhere in that darkness.
Didn’t let myself imagine her mother, barely more than a ghost from her past, trapped beside her.
Didn’t let myself feel the full weight of what losing Fiorella would do to me.
Only focused on what needed to be done.
Leo’s SUV headlights flashed in the distance as his convoy joined mine on the narrow service road. Three vehicles. Twelve men. My best. His best.
He stepped out as I parked. “The place is wired to hell,” he said without preamble, handing me binoculars. “Motion sensors on the external doors. Snipers on the roof, two at least. And inside…”
Inside, the warehouse lights flickered faintly through the cracks of the metal siding, yellow, sickly, unstable.
Perfect for torture.
Perfect for spectacle.
Perfect for Camillo’s kind of welcome.
“…it’s crawling,” Leo finished. “They knew you’d come.”
“Good,” I said. “Let them prepare.”
Leo gave a grim smile. “What’s the plan?”
I scanned the perimeter, tracing the familiar patterns of old industrial layouts. “The front entrance is wired. The side door has a metal bar lock and movement sensors, too obvious. There’s a ventilation shaft at the northwest corner. Leads into the old machinery room.”
Leo blinked. “You want to go in through a shaft barely wide enough to crawl through?”
“I want to get inside without alerting them.” I locked eyes with him. “You and the men create a diversion at the south entrance. Nothing too big. Just enough noise to pull guards away.”
“And you?”
“I go through the vent. Find Fiorella. Find her mother. And kill anyone in my way.”
Leo inhaled sharply. “Understood.”
“We have some snipers close by too. Once I’m in the men should follow.”
The vent was narrow, suffocating, and stank of rust and mold. Every drag forward scraped my knuckles. Sweat slid down my spine. Voices echoed below, rough, drunken, waiting.
Waiting for me.
I reached the grate overlooking the machinery room and peered through.
Three men. Armed. Talking loudly.
A fourth adjusting something metallic on a table, a knife? A wire? A camera?
And behind them… movement.
A choked breath.
A muffled sob.
My entire body froze.
Fiorella’s mother.
Slumped on a chair, wrists tied, hair hanging over her bruised face.
And Fiorella
My chest tightened.
Fiorella was on the ground beside her, half-conscious, hands chained behind her back, blood at her temple, curls sticking to her cheek.
My breath left my lungs.
Seeing her like that, broken, hurt, trapped, ignited something dark inside me. Something Camillo had felt before, years ago, when he betrayed us. Something Nek had earned the second he touched her.
I kicked the grate out.
It hit the floor with a clang.
The guards barely had time to look up before I dropped on them.
The first man swung his gun. I grabbed his wrist, twisted, heard a crack, then elbowed him in the throat. He collapsed.
The second lunged at me with a knife. I sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and slammed his face into the steel beam. Blood spilled. .
The third pulled the trigger.
I rolled behind the table, grabbed the knife the fourth man was polishing, and launched it across the room.
It buried itself in his shoulder. He screamed, dropped his gun.
One shot fired, ricocheted off machinery. But the fight was over in seconds.
The room fell silent except for the drip of blood on concrete.
Then—
“R… Rocco…?”
Fiorella’s voice was hoarse, cracked, but alive.
I turned.
And the world tilted.
Her eyes, fear, shock, relief, locked on mine.
“I’m here,” I said, crossing to her in three long strides. I cupped her face gently, brushing her cheek with my thumb. “I’m here, amore. I’ve got you.”
She leaned into my touch, shaking. “My mother… please…”
“I’ll get you both out.” I sliced the rope binding her mother first, then the rope around Fiorella’s wrists.
But before I could lift her.
Clapping echoed from the shadows.
Slow. Sarcastic. Familiar.
“Touching,” Camillo’s voice drawled. “Really touching.”
I pivoted, muscles coiling, rage rising.
Camillo stepped into the dim light, hands spread mockingly. A jagged scar cut across his jaw, a reminder of the last time we thought we buried him. Nek flanked his right side, smirking, arms crossed.
“Look at you, Rocco,” Camillo continued. “Storming in alone. Choosing your little lover over your own blood. I told you, love makes men stupid.”
“Funny,” I said, stepping in front of Fiorella instinctively. “I was about to say the same thing about revenge.”
Nek snorted. “You think you can save them? Save yourself?”
Camillo tilted his head. “I want you to watch something first.”
He snapped his fingers.
Two guards dragged in a monitor, setting it on a crate.
A live feed.
Hospital lights.
Blood.
Chaos.
Rafael’s room.
My heart seized.
Camillo smiled leisurely. “I told you your brothers would fall.”
“You touch him,” I growled, “I tear you apart.”
“Oh, Rocco.” He sighed theatrically. “You still don’t understand. You don’t get to threaten me anymore. I’m the one deciding who lives tonight.”
I felt Fiorella shift behind me, weak but defiant.
Her voice trembled. “You won’t win. You never do.”
Nek grinned. “Oh, sweetheart… we already have.”
Camillo lifted a gun.
“And now, Rocco… you die first.”
And the world exploded into motion.
I shoved Fiorella aside just as the gunshot cracked.
Leo’s diversion detonated outside, shaking the walls.
Shouts and gunfire erupted through the warehouse.
Camillo lunged.
Nek raised his gun.
I charged.
And the fight for all our lives began.