Chapter 176 Fiorella
Leo's name flashed across my phone, while I was in the middle of sorting documents on the dining table. I almost didn't answer, assuming it would be about checking in on my mother or reminding me of a delivery I'd forgotten. But the moment I picked up and heard his voice, everything inside me dropped.
“Fiorella…” His breath hitched. “It’s Rocco. He’s…he’s in the hospital. He’s losing a lot of blood.”
The room spun so fast, I had to grip the edge of the table.
"W-what?" The word scraped out of me. "No… Leo, what happened? What do you mean he's bleeding? What-where-"
“I found out ten minutes ago. The doctors are working on him. Just get here, okay? Hurry.”
He hung up.
My knees buckled, and suddenly my bones dissolved. A second later, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't hear anything except the rush of my own pulse drowning every thought. Then the fear erupted-hot, sharp, suffocating.
I took my bag with shaking hands, didn't even tell my mom where I was going, didn't bother to lock the door. I just ran. Out of the house. Down the steps. Into the waiting car. One thing just kept playing in my mind over and over again, like a prayer, like a scream.
Not him. Not him. Not now. Please, God, not him.
The drive to the hospital felt like a nightmare. Every red light stretched into eternity. Every slow driver felt like an insult to fate. My fists wouldn't stop shaking. My throat burned from holding back sobs because if I cried, if I let myself even think too deeply about what might be happening, I knew I would fall apart.
And I couldn't fall apart. Not when he needed me.
We have not gotten married yet.
We haven’t even planned our dates properly.
We have not relocated to our permanent home.
We haven't started the life we've whispered about in bed at night-the one with children and laughter and quiet mornings tucked under warm sheets.
There was still so much I wanted to do with him.
So much I needed to tell him.
So much future left untouched.
And the thought of losing him now…my chest twisted painfully, like someone was prying my ribcage open with their bare hands.
When the car screeched to a stop in front of the hospital, I didn't wait. I ran. My heart hammered so hard, I could feel it in my ears. The automatic doors slid open, and the cold hospital air slapped me in the face.
"Rocco De Luca," I gasped to the nurse at the reception. "Where is he? He was rushed in. Please-I'm his-"
Her eyes softened in sympathy. "He's in surgery. Third floor. Trauma wing."
I didn't wait. I sprinted to the elevator, hitting the button so many times it hurt my thumb. Finally, the doors parted and I flew out the instant they did, practically stumbling down the hall.
First I saw Raff, pacing, running his hands through his hair. Then Riccardo sat in one of the chairs, his elbows on his knees, eyes dark and locked on the floor. Leo stood at the door with his arms crossed and a clenched jaw.
They all looked up when they heard my footsteps.
“Fiorella…” Riccardo stood at once.
I didn’t let him finish. “Where is he? What happened? Is he…”
"He's alive," Riccardo said-the words so sudden, so deliberate, tears pricked the back of my eyes. "He's alive, Fio. He lost blood but he's strong. He's fighting."
Weak relief washed through me, but it wasn't enough. "Fighting" didn't mean stable. "Fighting" didn't mean safe.
Rafael walked toward me, his face stern, his eyes filled with worry. “Camillo tried to shoot him. We got him first. Bastard’s done for. But Rocco took a hit to the side. The doctors say it missed his lung..barely.”
"Barely" sounded like a knife twisting.
"How long has he been in there?" My voice quivered.
"Forty minutes," Leo said. "He should be out soon.
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to breathe. The smell of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights, the quiet murmur of nurses-everything felt unreal. Like I wasn't actually here, like the ground under me wasn't solid.
They offered me a seat, but I couldn't sit. I paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Each minute clawed deeper into my nerves. I glanced at the clock so many times that I started to hate the sound of its ticking.
I kept replaying his smile.
The warm weight of his hand holding mine.
The way he whispered amore mio right before I fell asleep.
The way he kissed me like he had all the time in the world.
What if I never got any of that again?
What if tonight was supposed to be our last conversation, and I didn't even know that?
No.
No.
I refused that reality.
He promised he would never leave me.
He promised me a life.
He promised me forever.
He couldn't break that promise, not him.
It felt like an eternity, but finally the surgical doors swung open.
A doctor stepped out.
We all snapped to attention, hearts in our throats.
“Family of Rocco De Luca?” he asked.
All of us stepped forward.
"He lost a dangerous amount of blood, but we were able to stabilize him. The metal was deep in the side tissue, but it didn't touch the vital organs. He's weak, but he's out of immediate danger."
My knees nearly gave way; a sound escaped me-half sob, half relief.
"You can see him once we move him to recovery," the doctor added gently. "He'll be asleep for several hours."
I nodded fast, not saying a word.
My heart splintered the moment they wheeled him past us. He was pale, much too pale. His jaw was slack, his breathing shallow, and his dark hair was damp with sweat. He looked nothing like the man who had held me last night with a lazy smirk and soft hands.
He looked breakable.
And that terrified me more than anything.
—
They moved him to a private recovery room, and I stayed at his side, dragging a chair close enough that my knees touched the bed frame. The brothers went off to talk to security and make arrangements, leaving Rosalia-soft, gentle, worried Rosalia-to sit with me for a moment.
"He's strong," she whispered, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Rocco is the strongest out of all of them. He'll be okay."
I nodded, even though the tears slipped down silently.
When they were all gone, the room seemed impossibly quiet. Machines hummed in steady rhythms, and the soft beep of the heart monitor became the only sound anchoring me.
I curled my fingers around his hand.
Warm.
Alive.
I lifted it to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “Don’t scare me like this again,” I whispered against his skin. “Please. I can’t… I can’t breathe without you.”
I laid my head gently against his arm and listened to him breathe. Minutes turned into hours. I did not sleep. I did not move. I didn't even blink too long. Instead, I watched him, memorizing every part of him like he might disappear if I looked away.
Sometime around dawn the next morning , his fingers twitched.
I jerked upright, my heart racing.
“Rocco?” I whispered.
His brows pinched faintly; his breath hitched. And then, slowly, painfully slowly, his eyes opened , heavy, dazed, but focused right on me.
His voice was rough, barely there. “Amore…”
A sob tore out of me as I rushed to him. “Oh God…Rocco, you scared me. You scared me so much.”
He tried to lift his hand to my face, but it rose only halfway and fell weakly. I caught it quickly, cradling it between mine.
“You’re here,” he muttered, staring at me as if he still wasn’t quite convinced I wasn’t a hallucination.
“Of course I’m here.” Tears blurred everything. “Where else would I be?”
His lips tugged into the softest, most exhausted smile. “I’m not dead?
"No." I choked out a laugh-sob. "And you're never allowed to be. Do you hear me? Never."
He winced as he tried to shift, pain shooting across his eyes.
“Easy,” I whispered, pressing my hand to his chest gently to keep him still. “Don’t move.”
He looked at me, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes-an emotion I rarely saw in him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't want you to see me like this."
“I don't care how you look,” I said fiercely, “I just want you alive.”
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Rafael barreled in first, Rosalia behind him, Riccardo and Leo right after. Relief washed across their faces the moment they saw Rocco awake.
“Finally,” Rafael breathed, raking a hand through his hair. “Bro, you scared the shit out of us.”
Rosalia flung herself forward, taking Rocco’s hand as shimmering tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank God you’re okay,” she whispered.
Rocco gave a tired smirk. “I told you all…I'm hard to kill.”
Riccardo huffed. “We know, we just need your internal organs to believe that too.”
Rocco chuckled, and immediately hissed in pain.
The brothers exchanged glances-part relief, part adrenaline still wearing off, part satisfaction.
Riccardo leaned against the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Camillo is dead. And I mean dead. There's no coming back this time."
A heavy silence fell, not of fear, but of victory. One threat. One monster. Gone.
Rafael exhaled deeply, almost collapsing into a chair. “Finally. One obstacle down.”
My shoulders loosened, for the first time in months. Rocco squeezed my hand weakly and looked at me, his eyes soft, dark, tired but safe.
“We're okay,” he whispered. “You and me… we're okay now.” I bent down and gently kissed his forehead.
"Yes," I whispered back. "We are." But as those words hung in the air, a faint chill seeped into the room, not from anything visible, but from a shared intuition.
A final enemy had fallen. But the war wasn't over.
Two still remained.