Chapter 166 Rocco
The world returned in fragments.
Sound first - muffled, distant, like my ears were underwater. Someone shouting my name. Heavy boots crunching through debris. A car engine rumbling, too close, too loud.
Then smell - smoke, burning metal, diesel.
Then pain.
A brutal crushing weight on my ribs, sharp stones digging into my spine, heat licking the back of my neck like the breath of some demon. My eyelids felt glued shut, my throat scorched.
And then…
“Rocco! Rocco, hey, stay with me…”
Leo's voice. Close. Panicked.
Something inside me ripped sharply awake.
My eyes flew open.
Everything above me was black sky and orange flame. The warehouse was gone, collapsed carcass of steel and fire, embers floating in the air like dying stars. Leo hovered over me, face smeared with soot, sweat dripping from his jaw.
“Thank God,” he breathed, his exhalation shaky. “I thought you were done.”
I tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasp. “Fi… Fiorella—"
Leo didn't answer. He just took my arm and pulled me upwards. The world leaned, spun and then fell back into place. My head pounded as though someone had driven a spike through it. But none of it mattered.
I twisted wildly, scanning the ground.
And then I saw her.
A few feet away, Fiorella was lying half-buried in ash and dust, her hair tangled, her body limp, unmoving.
My heart stopped.
“Fiorella—?!” I stumbled forward, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands shook uncontrollably as I cupped her face? warm, but too pale, too still. Blood soaked her shoulder, running down her arm, disappearing into the grey dust beneath her.
"Fiorella, baby, hey-look at me," I whispered, my voice cracked raw. "Open your eyes."
She remained still.
Leo shoved me back gently, kneeling on the other side. “Rocco, let me.”
He laid two fingers against her neck.
My whole body froze.
Seconds stretched into nightmares.
Then he muttered, his breath shaky, “She’s alive. Weak… but alive.”
I almost fainted.
Leo didn't waste time. He tore open his kit, hands moving fast, precise, pushing gauze against her wound, wrapping her arm, checking her breathing. He was muttering under his breath , prayers, curses, both.
I squeezed her hand as one would to transfer my heartbeat into hers.
“Hold on, Fi,” I whispered. “Hold on.”
Leo finished securing her as best he could. "We need to move. The car's behind the rubble. Her mom's inside already. Let's go."
Her mother.
Alive.
A breath I hadn't known I'd been holding escaped me. "Thank God…”
Leo nodded tightly. "She's in shock, but conscious. We don't have time. The whole place might blow again."
I lifted Fiorella gently, cradling her against my chest. Her head fell against my shoulder, her breath barely a whisper on my neck. My throat closed as I carried her to the waiting SUV.
Her mother sat inside, wrapping her arms around herself as tears ran tracks in the soot on her face. When she saw Fiorella’s limp body, she let a sob break loose.
“Fiorella… my daughter… God, no.”
Leo slid into the driver’s seat, yelling, “Move!” as I lowered Fiorella into the backseat beside me. I held her against me, one hand on her cheek, the other squeezing her hand, refusing to let go.
Tires screeched, gravel flying as Leo tore away from the burning wreck of the warehouse.
Inside the car was chaos.
Her mother crying softly.
Fiorella, hardly breathing.
My hands shaking with a rage I could barely contain.
Cursing, Leo swerved the SUV around a fallen beam, and it bounced violently.
“Leo,” I rasped. “Camillo?”
Leo didn't look at me. "I don't know. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, but… I didn't find a body."
A chill, deadly silence enveloped the SUV.
I stared out the shattered window at the collapsing building behind us; flames devoured everything, the sky glowing red.
"That bastard doesn't die that easily," I said, my voice low, deadly calm.
Leo didn’t argue.
I looked down at Fiorella again. Her face contracted slightly, her lips parting like she was trying to form a word.
"I'm right here." My voice cracked. I kissed her forehead. "Stay with me, amore. We're almost there."
Blood soaked through her bandage, warm against my arm. Her breathing hitched. My chest tightened painfully with terror.
Leo hit the gas, accelerating the SUV.
“We’re ten minutes away,” he yelled.
We hit a sharp turn. The tires skidded. Fiorella’s mother clutched the dashboard, whispering frantic prayers.
Then my phone vibrated.
Riccardo.
My heart punched against my ribs.
I answered. “Ric—”
“Rocco.” His voice was ice. “Someone hit the hospital.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
"Some idiot leftover loyal to Camillo. Came in screaming vengeance." Riccardo exhaled sharply. "I put him down."
Relief and rage were warring furiously inside my chest.
Nek.
Gone.
One poison finally removed from our lives.
But Riccardo continued,
"Are you alright? What’s the update with Nek and Camillo?”
“Nek is gone,” I announced, “he won’t get up again.”
“Good. One dead. What about Camillo?”
“Bleeding. Burned. Crushed beneath the falling building, maybe”
But I knew better than to hope.
"He might be dead," Leo muttered, as if reading my thoughts, while keeping his focus on the road. "You shot him. The building collapsed. No way he crawled out of that."
I stared ahead, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“I’ll believe he’s dead,” I said, my voice low, “when I see his body on the ground with a bullet in his skull and his brains spilling out the back.”
The car went silent.
Leo didn’t argue.
Fiorella's mother was beyond all that; grief and shock seemed to have wrung everything else out of her.
Riccardo's voice came through again, this time softer. "How is she?"
I looked down at her, her head leaning against my chest, eyes shut, breathing shallow, skin cold.
“Alive,” I whispered. “Barely.”
Riccardo shakily exhaled. "Bring her home, brother."
“I will.”
The phone call was over.
As the hospital lights appeared in the distance through the smoke, Leo floored the gas pedal.
I wrapped my arms tightly around Fiorella, pressing my forehead against hers.
“You're safe,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I've got you. I'm not losing you. Not now, not ever.”
Her fingers twitched faintly, curling into my shirt.
Leo screeched into the emergency bay, nurses sprinting toward us as he yelled, "Gunshot wound, heavy blood loss, possible internal injuries-move!"
They ripped the door open.
And I refused to let go of her hand until they physically pried my fingers apart.
The instant we arrived, doctors and nurses ran toward us. Leo leapt out first and began to shout orders like a man possessed.
Two nurses lifted Fiorella onto a stretcher and wheeled her toward the trauma unit. Her head lolled to the side, hair tangled with dust and blood, and when her fingers slipped from mine, something inside me tore open.
Her mother attempted to stand from the truck but stumbled.
"I've got her," I said, steadying her with one arm. She winced; her ribs hurt badly. A doctor hurried over.
“She's dehydrated, oxygen low, and she has bruising along the ribs. We'll run tests-possible mild respiratory damage from smoke inhalation.”
I nodded, unable to say a word. “Take care of her.”
They wheeled her away right after Fiorella disappeared behind emergency doors.
Leo came to stand beside me, both of us breathing hard, covered in smoke and dust. For a moment neither of us said anything. The world felt suspended-too quiet compared to the chaos we'd just escaped.
Then I saw Riccardo and Rosalia running down the hallway toward us.
Rosalia grabbed me first, hugging me tight enough to squeeze the breath from my chest. “Thank God, thank God you’re alive,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Riccardo clapped my shoulder, his jaw tight, his eyes ablaze. “I thought we lost you.”
I shook my head. "Not yet."
Rosalia drew back, peering at my face. "Fiorella… how is she?"
“They’re working on her,” I said, my voice roughening. “She lost a lot of blood.”
Rosalia swallowed hard, and her eyes welled up with tears. She turned to the emergency wing and whispered a silent prayer.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
She frowned and checked the screen; her jaw tightened.
Riccardo noticed right away. “What is it?”
She clicked her tongue in irritation. “It’s my father. He wants something.”
The words dropped like a stone.
She tucked the phone back into her shoulder bag, shaking her head. "He says he needs my help with something urgent and that I should come home.”
Riccardo stiffened. “What does he want you to help with?”
Rosalia's eyes flashed; annoyance, anger, and something taut beneath it. "I don't know, and to be frank, I don't care at the moment. I told him no."
I exchanged a look with Riccardo.
A heavy, uneasy silence fell over us.
I ran a hand over my face. “I pray this isn’t another Valenti mess.”
Rosalia let out a sharp breath. "My father is… unpredictable. If he's asking for help now, it's never good."
I stared down the hallway where Fiorella was being treated, my fists clenched.
Of all things, for the Valentis to cause trouble now would be the worst that could happen. And knowing Camillo… Knowing what he had left behind… This wasn’t over. Not even close.