Chapter 171 Fiorella
The mirror reflected a girl I was still getting used to being again, one who wasn't bruised, hunted, or afraid. One who laughed. One who healed. One who loved.
I slid my pearl earring into place, smoothing a hand over my hair. My fingers trembled, not from nerves but from excitement. Tonight wasn't just any dinner-it was a celebration. Rosalia was pregnant. Rosalia, the gentle mafia wife. Now she glowed. Truly glowed.
A baby. A new life with the De Luca family after months of chaos, blood, and fear. Something pure for a change.
A soft knock came at my door.
“Fi?” Rocco’s voice slipped through, warm as smoke and honey.
“Come in.”
He stepped in, wearing a navy shirt and dark slacks, the faintest hint of cologne following him. His eyes slid over me slowly, widening just a touch before his mouth curved.
“You’re going to kill me before dinner even starts,” he murmured.
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s just a dress.”
“It's the woman wearing it.”
He came behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, fitting as if made to rest there. His lips brushed my shoulder, slow and soft. “Ready?”
I nodded, though my chest fluttered as always when he touched me. Weeks together hadn't dulled it-if anything, it had grown sharper.
We drove to the family mansion, the home of Rafael and Rosalia, and even from the gates, I could see that lights warmly glowed through the windows. No tension tonight. No guns hidden under jackets. No guards flanking every door. Just… peace.
The front door swung open before we could knock.
Rosalia stood there barefoot, in a soft cream dress that hugged her gently rounded belly, cheeks flushed with happy embarrassment.
“You’re early,” she said, smiling so brightly I felt it in my chest.
“We wanted to help,” I said.
“You just wanted first dibs on dessert, ” came Riccardo’s voice from inside.
We laughed and stepped in.
The air was thick with the aroma of roasted vegetables and garlic butter and fresh herbs wafting from the entry. There was soft jazz playing somewhere deeper in the house. And there she was, Aria, curled up on the couch with a glass of sparkling juice, her hair spilling everywhere, her grin practically splitting her face.
“There’s my girl!” she exclaimed, jumping up and embracing me so tightly she almost lifted me.
“Aria!” I laughed. “You saw me three days ago.”
"Too long! I have too much to say."
“You always do,” Rafael teased, entering from the dining room and wiping his hands on a towel.
He was healthier now, stronger, but still softer around the edges, like surviving death had melted something hard inside of him.
“Dinner is almost ready,” he said, kissing Rosalia’s temple. “Set the table?”
"On it," Rocco said, dragging me along with him.
We were halfway through setting cutlery when Rocco leaned in close.
“You’re okay?” he murmured, eyes scanning me as if checking for invisible wounds.
I nodded, smiling. "More than okay."
“You've been quiet.”
“I’m just… happy,” I admitted.
Something softened in his gaze, something deep, reverent, almost disbelieving. He took my hand right there among the forks and napkins, lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it slowly.
“I like seeing you like this,” he said, “relaxed, safe.”
“I like it this way.”
He smiled, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Laughter kicked off dinner.
Aria recounted a very dramatic story of a man at her gym who fell off a treadmill trying to impress her.
Riccardo almost spat his drink.
Rafael groaned.
Rosalia kept turning bright red from unnecessary guilt.
Rocco sat beside me, thigh brushing mine, fingers grazing my knee under the table. Not trying anything, just keeping me close. Always close. Like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.
"How far along are you again?" I asked Rosalia softly.
“Nine weeks,” she said, beaming. “It’s still early but… I had to tell you all. I couldn’t keep it.”
“We’re gonna have a baby in the house,” Riccardo said with drama. “God chose me to be the favorite uncle.”
Rafael rolled his eyes. "You have to earn favorite status."
“Please. I’m cool. You’re… serious.”
Rosalia was laughing; she had to hold her belly.
“See? The baby already loves me,” said Riccardo proudly.
“You're insufferable,” Rafael muttered, but he was smiling.
I watched them, feeling this warmth settling deep in my chest. Family. A future. Peace.
Rocco leaned close, whispering in my ear, “You’re thinking something.”
“What gives me away?” I teased.
"That tiny smile you get when your mind goes far.
“I was thinking…” I hesitated, chewing my lip. “It’s beautiful. All of it. Your family. This night. How much love is in this room."
He stared a moment, his gaze softening. “It could be us one day, you know.”
My heart jumped.
But he wasn't teasing.
Not playful.
Not casual.
His fingers curled around mine under the table.
“We'd be good parents,” he said quietly. “You'd be… incredible.”
My breath caught.
“And you?” I whispered.
“I'd kill for my family,” he said. “I'd live for them too.”
Warmth spread through me so deep it almost hurt.
"Rocco." I whispered.
He kissed my cheek. “No pressure. No rush. Just… thinking.”
“I'm thinking too,” I said honestly.
He smiled so tenderly, it nearly broke me.
Dessert came, tiramisu and rosé. Aria and Rosalia shared the couch, hands on Rosalia's belly as they whispered excitedly. Rafael watched them with this half-amused, half-awed expression.
Riccardo paced the room, pretending to practice his cradle techniques with a pillow until Rosalia screamed at him to stop before she choked on her drink from laughing.
And me?
I stood at the window with Rocco's arms wrapped fully around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, soft music playing in the background.
“This is good,” I whispered.
“This is perfect,” he corrected.
And for once, I agreed.
The night wound down slowly. Warmly. Beautifully.
No gunshots.
No threats.
No ghosts of the past knocking at our door.
Just family.
Just peace. Just love. The moment we were outside, Rocco laced our fingers together, bringing them up to kiss my knuckles.
“Someday,” he whispered, “this kind of night will be for us too.”
I leaned into him, smiling softly. “Someday.” Behind us, Riccardo stuck his head out the door.
“Get a room! Actually…don’t. Because the next pregnant woman better be Aria, not you two! Give us a year before babies start popping out.” I choked laughing. Rocco flipped him off without looking back.
"Coolest uncle, my ass," Rocco muttered. But he was smiling. And so was I.
Tonight was just happiness. A soft, glowing bubble. A breath of peace we all needed.