Chapter 183 Rocco
It looked different from up here.
Not dangerous.
Not like a battleground.
Not like a place built on blood and deals and power.
It looked… quiet. Soft. Almost gentle.
The rooftop lights of the private lounge reflected onto the dark glass of skyscrapers, music echoing behind me in a low, steady hum as a warm breeze brushed against my neck. The kind that smelled faintly of citrus, leather, and expensive liquor.
The chilled surface pressed against my palm as I rolled a glass between my fingers, feeling the condensation gather and slide. Surprisingly, my pulse was steady.
Tomorrow , I was going to be a married man.
It still felt so unreal, like the time I used to wear a coat that belonged to another life.
“Are you going to stare at the skyline all night or are you finally going to admit you’re terrified?”
Riccardo's voice was behind me, familiar, teasing. I didn't have to turn to know that grin was already on his face.
“I'm not scared,” I said calmly. “I'm thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
I looked over my shoulder as Rafael stepped up beside him, dressed simply but sharply, sleeves rolled up. There was something incredibly grounding about seeing them like this. Alive. Together. Safe.
"We couldn't get a stripper," Riccardo added. "You owe us better answers."
“I didn’t ask for a bachelor party.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” said Rafael. “It’s tradition.
“What sort of tradition is this that has you two conspiring in hushed tones for three weeks, and then kidnapping me in a car with tinted windows?”
“A beautiful brotherly one.”
They moved closer, flanking me on either side, elbows nudging mine. For a moment, it felt like we were ten again, just kids standing on some balcony somewhere in Sicily, arguing over who had the strongest punch, who was Papa's favorite, who would inherit the empire one day.
A memory flashed,
Rafael's nose bleeding.
Riccardo's knuckles bruised.
My own hands wrapped around a broken wooden practice knife.
Our father's voice in the distance:
Again.
We had grown in a violent world.
And somehow, I was about to build a peaceful one.
“I’m not scared,” I admitted finally. “I just… never imagined I’d get here. Of all the endings my life could’ve had, this one wasn’t even on the list.”
“You deserve it,” Rafael said softly.
I looked at him, my eyes registering the softness there.
"I almost lost everything," I replied.
“That’s why it matters,” Riccardo said. “People like us don’t get miracles. We get fights. But sometimes… sometimes a blessing makes its way through the cracks.”
Behind us, the music picked up and the laughter echoed, the rest of the men trading stories and drinks. But here, on the edge of the world, it was just us again.
"Do you remember when Mama caught us sneaking out to the town fair?" Riccardo suddenly burst out laughing.
Rafael groaned. “She made us scrub the whole hallway.”
"With toothbrushes."
“You cried.”
“I did not!”
"You cried," Riccardo pointed at him. "Rocco, tell him he cried."
I smiled faintly. “You both did.”
They looked at each other and then burst into amusement.
“God,” Rafael muttered. “She would’ve loved her.”
I knew exactly who he meant.
Mama.
And he was right.
I could envision Fiorella, standing in the kitchen of that old house, sunlight wrapped around her, her laughter echoing along the once-empty hallways.
“She’d have adored her,” I confirmed.
A comfortable silence followed, the kind that tasted like memory and acceptance.
Then Riccardo cleared his throat.
“When we first met her…” he began, moving in front of me now. “I thought she was trouble. A beautiful disaster just waiting to bring the world down around your head.”
“I still am,” I muttered.
Rafael chuckled. "But she chose you. And that says plenty about the kind of man you've become."
Their teasing expressions faded, to be replaced with something stronger. Something heavy with meaning.
“You are not only our brother,” Riccardo said, “you are our leader. And tomorrow you're going into a new life. One that's not based on war.
Rafael had reached into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“We wanted to give you something,” he said quietly. “Not as your business partner. Not as our enforcer. As your family.”
He pulled out a small box, worn at the edges, the leather faded by age.
“This belonged to Papa.”
My breath caught.
“Oh… no…”
“Yes,” Riccardo murmured. “We know it’s cursed with too many memories. Too much blood. But that’s the thing…” He stepped closer. “You’re not becoming the man he was. You’re breaking the cycle.”
Rafael opened the box.
Inside, it was a plain, old silver chain , thick, slightly scratched, with a small metal ring attached to it. Plain to everyone else.
But not to me.
I recognized it immediately.
He had worn it every single day. Not for power. For luck.
“I used to think it made him untouchable,” I whispered.
“It didn’t,” Rafael said. “But maybe it kept him alive long enough to raise us.”
He picked it up slowly and motioned for me to turn around.
The coolness of the metal hit my skin as he draped it on my neck. His hands lingered at my back a second more than necessary before stepping away.
“This isn’t about power,” Riccardo added softly. “It’s about legacy. And you’re building a better one than he ever did.”
Something burned behind my eyes, stubborn, uninvited.
“Don’t,” I breathed, turning to face them again. “You’re going to make me soft.”
"That's her job," Rafael smirked.
Riccardo reached into another bag this time, pulling out a thin leather notebook and handing it to me.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
I did.
Inside were names, dates, and short notes in different handwriting: clean, messy, rushed.
"What is this?" I asked again, my voice rough now.
“It’s every moment where you protected someone,” Rafael said.
I flipped pages.
“You have spent so much time thinking you are a monster,” Riccardo said softly. “I wanted you to see the truth. Before you walk down that aisle.”
My chest caved in on itself.
"You are not the darkness," Rafael added. "You are the man who walks through it to get to the light."
I closed the book slowly, pressing it against my chest as the music around us faded into a soft blur. My brothers stood before me, not soldiers, not strategists-but the little boys who had once clung to my hands through the middle of storms.
"I promise you," I said, my voice in a low even tone as my gaze locked with them both. "I'll protect her with everything I have. I'll give her the world if it tries to break her. If I ever become what we hated…”
Riccardo put his hand on my shoulder.
“We'll drag you back,” he finished.
A deep breath left me. Something old and heavy, for the first time, loosened inside my ribs.
The night didn’t end in chaos.
It ended in memories.
In laughter. In promises whispered over clinking glasses. I felt it as the stars stretched across the sky, as the moon watched silently above. Not fear. Not fear. Just certainty.
Tomorrow, I was marrying the only woman who ever made me feel human. And nothing, neither enemy, nor shadow, nor ghost of the past, would take that away from me.