Chapter 172 Rocco
The house was quiet, too quiet for the tension simmering under my skin. De Luca mansion nights used to hold a kind of cold elegance, but these days there was warmth buried somewhere in the walls: Rosalia's giggles drifting from the hall, Fiorella's soft voice when she visited, Rafael humming without realizing he was doing it.
Tonight wasn’t warm.
Tonight, the air felt like it was made of steel.
The door to the study clicked shut behind me as I entered. Riccardo was already there, pacing like a caged panther. Rafael sat stiffly in Father's old leather chair, his jaw clenched, looking every inch the eldest brother who never asked for the position but carried it like a soldier.
“Finally,” Riccardo muttered. “We can begin.”
I sat down and stretched my shoulders. "You two look like you're waiting for an execution."
“That’s the problem,” Rafael said, tapping a pen against the table. “We are. Ours.”
He wasn’t exaggerating.
The Valenti name was surfacing again, because of that idiot father-in-law of his, Rosalia’s father, a man who had the survival instincts of a dying fish.
Riccardo dropped into a chair opposite me. “Camillo’s alive. The Valentis are stirring. Rosalia’s dad has his head up his ass, again. This family has the worst luck.”
“Not luck,” I said. “We just haven’t finished cutting off every loose end.”
Rafael exhaled through his teeth. “I swear if that old bastard drags the Valentis back into our lives again, I—”
The door creaked, and three of us immediately fell silent.
Rosalia poked her head in.
“Raf?” Her tone was soft, as it usually was with him.
Rafael almost jumped to his feet. “You shouldn’t be walking around, Rosa. I told you to rest.”
“I was resting,” she said, stepping in with that gentle smile. “I just missed you.”
Dramatically, Riccardo gagged.
Rafael threw a paper at him.
Then he softened again, going to Rosalia and touching her face like she was made of spun sugar. It was subtle-but only because he was trying. His thumb lingered on her cheek. His other hand hovered near her waist like he was afraid the air might bruise her.
“You okay?” he murmured.
She nodded. "I'm fine, Raf. Really. Just thirsty."
“I’ll get it,” he said.
“Rafael,” she laughed. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”
"You're pregnant with my child," he corrected, dead serious. "If you need a glass of water, I'll get you the ocean."
Rosalia blushed bright red. Riccardo turned blue holding in laughter.
“Raf, go,” I said quietly. “We’ll be here.”
Rafael hesitated for a moment, almost as if leaving the room would expose her to danger, but then he kissed her forehead softly, turning to leave.
The instant the door was shut, Riccardo leaned in and whispered, "The man is whipped. Completely. Utterly. Fantastically."
Rosalia giggled. “I like him that way.”
And just like that, the room warmed up again.
Until she turned to me.
“Please be careful,” she said softly. “Whatever you’re planning tonight… don’t let it follow you home.”
My chest tightened. She meant Fiorella.
She always understood more than she said.
“I won’t,” I promised.
She smiled and squeezed my hand before she slipped out. The moment the door closed behind her, warmth disappeared, replaced by the cold scent of responsibility.
Rafael returned in a moment, setting a glass of water on the table as if it were an artifact of great value. She must have drank out of it because it was half empty and he looked like a man that had been lovey dovey with his wife seconds before.
He sat and cleared his throat, and all three of us shifted back into the people we were raised to be.
Predators.
Brothers.
De Lucas.
“Let’s start,” Rafael said.
Riccardo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We need Camillo out of hiding.”
“He won’t come out unless he thinks he’s cornered,” I added.
Riccardo smiled wryly. “So let’s corner him.”
Rafael leaned back, tapped his pen again. “He’s smart. Desperate. Dangerous. And he hates us more than he loves living.”
“He’s wounded,” I said. “Might have healed now though and that’s why he’s showing his face again.”
Rafael's jaw tightened. "What do you have in mind?"
"We leak intel," I said. "We make him think we're vulnerable. That Fiorella and her mother left town. That we moved ammunition. That Riccardo's running a shipment alone."
"Use me as bait," Riccardo said, not hesitating a beat.
I looked him dead in the eyes. "There's volunteering, and then there's stupidity. You walk into this wrong, he'll put a bullet through your remaining good leg."
“Leave Camillo to me.”
“He shot you,” I reminded him.
“And I'd like to return the favor,” he snapped.
"Enough," Rafael said sharply.
The silence that followed was heavy.
“We'll lure him out,” Rafael decided. “But we choose the battlefield. Not him.”
I nodded. “I’ll choose the place.”
Riccardo smirked. “You always do.”
This wasn't just strategy.
This was personal.
Camillo had tried to kill my brothers.
He'd shot Riccardo.
He'd nearly killed Fiorella.
He'd threatened my mother-in-law.
He'd turned my nights into blood-soaked nightmares.
And I was done.
Rafael slowly exhaled. “And the Valenti?”
My jaw clenched instantly.
“Rosalia’s father made a mess,” he said, continuing. “A big one. Old debts, owed favors, whispers of alliances.”
Riccardo groaned. “We should've buried that man alive.”
I said nothing.
Not because I didn’t agree.
But because the anger coiled in my stomach like a blade.
The name Valenti wasn’t only trouble.
It was a ghost.
A storm.
A shadow crawling closer day after day.
“We’ll handle them,” I said finally.
"How?" asked Rafael.
“By finishing the Camillo problem first.”
Rafael nodded. “One enemy at a time.”
But I didn't agree.
Not fully
Because every threat to us…was a threat to Fiorella. A threat to Rosalia and her baby.
And as the brothers returned to arguing strategies, my mind drifted, again, to her.
Her laugh.
Her strength.
Her soft smile, when she thought nobody noticed.
Her fingers tangled in mine.
Her sleeping on my chest.
Her whispering "I love you" like she was confessing a sin she wanted me to absolve.
I wanted her.
As my wife.
As the mother of my children.
As the future I'd die to protect.
The world needed to be cleared of the chaos, all the threats so nothing could touch her.
Camillo had to go.
The Valentis had to go.
Rosalia’s father had to be managed.
Then…us.
Rings.
Vows.
A life.
“Earth to Rocco,” Riccardo said sharply, tossing a pen at me.
I blinked. "What?"
"You were smiling like an idiot," rafael said said
"Disgusting. Must be Fiorella again." Riccardo snorted.
“Love suits him. You should try it Riccardo.” Rafael muttered. I rolled my eyes, but a small grin tugged my mouth anyway. Because they weren't wrong.
By the end of the night, the plan was set. The selected bait. The location secured. The trap set. But as we stood to leave, Rafael's phone buzzed.
One message. From an unknown number. With the symbol seared into our memory: A silver serpent.
The Valenti crest. Rafael's expression hardened.
Your wife now owes us.
Riccardo straightened. My heart turned to ice. “They’re back,” said Rafael quietly.
The room went still. I slowly exhaled, my pulse steadying, my mind sharpening like a blade.
“Then we finish this,” I said. “All of it.” The war wasn't over. It was beginning.