Chapter 179 Rocco
The scar along my ribs still burned when I breathed too deeply, a low, constant reminder of how close Camillo had come to ending everything. The doctor had called it "good progress." I called it tolerable. Pain was easy to live with. Silence wasn't.
And the house had been far too quiet lately.
The De Luca mansion was never supposed to be quiet. It was built for chaos: for raised voices, clinking glasses, arguments that meant love, laughter that echoed through the halls like music. Lately, it had felt like a church with no one praying.
I stood by the tall windows of the study, looking down toward the gardens, hands clasped behind my back. From this height, the world seemed so much simpler. Smaller. People moved about like pieces on a chessboard. Orderly. Predictable.
If only real life worked that way.
Behind me, the door creaked open.
“You ready for this?” Fiorella’s voice was soft, but there was iron beneath it.
I turned slowly. She stood in the doorway like she belonged there. Because she did. My house. My world. My life. She was finally whole again-healed, stronger even than before everything had happened. Her hair was down, thick and dark, falling over one shoulder. She wore one of my shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows. The sight of her shouldn't still do things to my chest, but it did. Every time.
“You’re the one on trial,” I murmured.
She gave me a small, crooked smile. “I've faced worse than your brothers."
“That confidence is exactly what annoys them.”
“And what you love.”
I held her gaze. “Don’t test that in front of them.”
She crossed the room, stopping inches away from me. I could feel her warmth, could smell her, citrus, ink, and something wild. “You’re still on my side though, right?”
"There is no side where I exist that you're not standing next to me on."
Something in her eyes softened at that. But before she could say anything, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Heavy. Purposeful.
Rafael.
Riccardo.
And then the soft murmurs of Aria and Rosalia beyond the doorway. A family meeting meant everyone, blood or soon-to-be blood.
Rafael came in first, as he always did. Shoulders squared, jaw tight, that unreadable expression he wore when he thought he needed to be a king instead of just a man. Riccardo followed, a glass of something dark in his hand, eyes immediately flicking to where Fiorella was standing.
There it was.
The tension.
The unwritten history.
The almost-loss. The almost-betrayal. The real danger.
"Sit," Rafael said, motioning to the chairs as if he commanded the furniture itself.
Fiorella didn't move.
I stepped forward instead, hand resting lightly on the back of her chair, and pulled it out. An unspoken message across the room: she sits because I want her to, not because you told her to.
She sat, and I sat beside her.
Instead, Riccardo leaned against the desk, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s stop pretending we’re here for tea and cookies.”
Silence.
Rafael folded his arms. "What you did," he began, eyes finally locking with hers, "nearly destroyed this family."
He didn’t raise his voice. That was worse.
Fiorella's jaw firmed but she did not look away.
"It nearly got my brother killed," he continued. "It tore apart an operation we spent years building. It reopened wounds we buried a long time ago."
“I know,” she said quietly.
Riccardo snorted. “You had us thinking you’d switched sides. That you’d chosen blood that wasn’t ours. Do you have any idea what that does to men like us?”
“I didn’t choose them,” she replied, her voice strong again now. “And you know it.”
“We know now,” Rafael snapped. “We didn’t then.”
I felt her hand curl slightly into mine below the table. She didn't look at me. But she was grounding herself there. And God help anyone who tried to take that away from me again.
"You should have told us," Riccardo said. "You should have trusted us."
“You think I don’t regret that?” Her eyes flashed now. “You think there isn’t a single night where I don’t relive it? Where I don’t replay every step I took, every lie I told, every moment you three looked at me like I was the enemy?”
The room quieted.
Even Rafael shifted slightly.
“I did what I did because I thought it was the only way to keep my mother safe,” she went on, her voice shaking but unbroken. “I thought it was the only way to break out without any of you getting hurt. I was wrong in the way I did it. But not in the reason.”
Silence crashed into the room.
Riccardo dragged a hand down his face. His anger was tired now, less sharp, more wounded.
"You scared the hell out of him," he grumbled, gesturing toward me.
Then she looked at me.
Pain flickered in her eyes. Guilt. Love. And fear. Not of the roo, but of losing me.
“I'd die for him,” she whispered. “I think that's what none of you understood at the time.”
"You don't die for someone by leaving him in the dark," Rafael said.
She nodded slowly. "I don't ever plan on making that mistake again."
The truth in her voice was heavy, real, unshakable.
I leaned back in my chair. "You’re both done?"
They looked at me.
“I'm the one she betrayed, remember?” I said calmly. “I'm the one who watched her walk away. I'm the one who thought the woman I love had chosen another world over mine.”
The words tasted like old blood.
“And I'm also the one who dragged her out of hell. I'm the one who saw her fight. Bleed. Survive. So if there's anyone who gets to decide whether she belongs here… it's me.”
Nobody spoke.
"My mind was made up a long time ago."
I slid my hand over hers, threading our fingers.
"She's not just 'part of the family soon.' She is my family." I looked straight at Rafael now. "Whether you agree to iit or not."
A long moment passed.
Then Rafael exhaled.
“You always did have terrible taste,” he muttered.
Fiorella blinked.
Riccardo huffed a laugh.
Then Rafael stepped forward. Right up to her. She didn’t flinch.
"Next time you think about martyrdom," he said quietly, "you come to us first. No more secrets. No more solo missions."
“Yes,” she said. “Deal.”
“And if you ever break his heart again,” Riccardo added, “I will personally bury you where even your ghost can’t find peace.”
She smiled slightly. "Noted. Also, I sincerely apologise for the damages I caused, physically and emotionally and I promise to not repeat the same mistakes.”
“Good, because while my brother might forgive you again. We might not.” Riccardo added.
“You’re a nice addition to the family, don’t ever make us regret it.” Rafael warned.
“I won’t, I promise.”
And just like that… it was over.
Family business, De Luca style.
Later, after the house had quietened and the last echoes of the meeting had disappeared down its corridors, Fiorella and I were alone in the garden. The sun was sinking low behind the trees, turning the sky to gold and blood-orange.
“You’re okay?” I asked, my fingers brushing the back of her hand.
“I thought they were going to actually kill me,” she admitted.
“They considered it.
She laughed softly, leaning her shoulder against mine.
The warmth of her against my side was surreal. Like borrowed time. Like a miracle that kept on going.
“You know what the real question is now?” I said.
She looked up to me, leaning her head. “What?”
"When are you finally going to be my wife?
Bright, terrifying, and beautiful, the words hung between us.
Her breath caught.
“Are you asking me,” she teased softly, “or telling me?”
"I'm giving you a date to choose from."
She grew serious now, eyes scanning my face as if memorizing it.
"I want it to be soon," she murmured. "After everything, I don't want to wait anymore. I don't want a world where I'm not officially yours."
“You already are.”
“Still,” she said. “I want the day. The moment. The beginning of the rest.”
I nodded slowly. “Two months.”
Her eyes widened. “Two?”
“Enough time to prepare. Enough time for your body and my bones to stop complaining. But not long enough for fate to get ideas.”
She smiled. Not the playful one. The real one. The one that undid me.
“Then two months,” she repeated.
I lifted her hand, pressing my lips lightly to her knuckles.
"Date set. No turning back." “No running,” she added. “No more secrets.” “No more almosts.” I pulled her into my chest, just standing there in the fading light, holding her like the world could try all it wanted, it wasn’t taking her away from me again.