Chapter 187 Rocco
Winter welcomes us the instant we touch down.
Not gently -but with whetted air that cuts through coats and wakes every sense. Snow dusts the runway like a warning and a welcome all at once. Fiorella's hand slips into mine as we descend the steps, her fingers cold, her smile warm enough to make me forget everything else.
Home.
Now the word feels different. Heavier. Better.
She leans in as the wind bites, at a murmur: "I forgot how dramatic winter is here."
I smile and pull her close. "It likes to remind you who's in charge."
She laughs, soft and real, and the sound settles something in my chest. Weeks ago, we were waking to the sea, salt air, sun on bare skin, no guns, no schedules, no blood. Just us. Slow mornings. Long nights. Learning each other again without fear pressing in from every corner.
Marriage didn’t alter us the way people warned it would.
That explained everything.
Already, the lights are on in the estate, warm against the snow. The guards nod as we pass-respectful but smiling. They look at Fiorella different now. Not just my wife. But someone who belongs here without question. Someone earned.
Inside, the house smells of rosemary, wine, and something rich simmering low. Family dinner. Rafael doesn't do casual when it comes to gathering people he loves.
Riccardo's voice carries down the hall before we even reach the dining room. "I'm telling you, if the kid cries like Rafael did as a baby, we're doomed."
Rosalia laughs, bright and unguarded. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I am not,” Riccardo insists.
“Look at this child talking like he witnessed it.” Rafael walked in laughing.
We step in together, and Riccardo spots us first. “Look who survived married life,” he says, grinning. “Barely a scratch.”
“Disappointed?” I ask dryly.
“Deeply.”
Rosalia rises with deliberate care, one hand already finding its way to her belly instinctively. She embraces Fiorella first, then me. “Welcome home.”
Rafael follows, clapping my shoulder none-too-gently before hauling me into a quick hug. “Good to have you back.”
His eyes flick briefly to Fiorella, weighing and approving. He nods once. That's all he needs to say.
Dinner is loud, in that uniquely familial way. Plates clattered, wine poured, Riccardo stealing off everyone else's plates despite protests. Fiorella's seated beside me, relaxed, her knee touching mine under the table. Every now and then she looks up at me, as though to check I'm real.
I do the same thing.
“So,” Riccardo says finally, leaning back in his chair. “Honeymoon. Details. Or at least confirmation that you didn’t kill each other.”
Smiling first is Fiorella. “We didn’t.”
“High praise,” Rafael mutters.
“It was quiet,” she continues. “Soft, peaceful.”
I raise my glass. "No gunfire. No threats. No one tried to poison us."
Riccardo whistles. “Romantico.”
Rosalia's eyes go soft. "Good that you had that. You both deserved it.
The word deserved heaves in my chest. We have paid for peace in blood. I don’t argue.
But conversation drifts-to plans, to renovations at the estate, to Rosalia's cravings, which Riccardo immediately exploits, promising to bring her every pastry in the city. Laughter fills the room, and for a time, the world narrows to this table. To warmth. To normalcy.
After dinner, as Fiorella disappears upstairs with Rosalia, Rafael pours two glasses of whiskey and points into the study.
We can tell, without words, what is coming.
The fire's already lit-low and steady. Rafael hands me a glass, waiting until we're both seated before speaking.
“How is it?” he asks.
“Marriage?” I take a sip, considering. “Blissful.”
He contemplates my face. “You’re not exaggerating.”
“No,” I say softly. “I didn’t know life could be this… settled.”
Rafael nods slowly. “She’s good for you.”
"She's everything," I say, without the slightest hesitation.
A corner of his mouth lifts. "I thought so."
The silence stretches out, comfortable yet loaded. Rafael's gaze shifts to the fire, his jaw tightening just slightly.
“There’s a problem,” he says finally.
Of course, there is.
“The Valenti,” he continues. “They’re pushing again. Old debts. Old threats. They think we’re distracted.”
My grip tightens on the glass. "They always think that."
"I won't have Rosalia-or the baby-living under that shadow," Rafael says, his voice low and dangerous. "This ends soon. One way or another."
I lock eyes with his, cold and familiar fitting into place like a key in a lock. “Then we end it.”
He nods once. Brothers. Nothing more needs to be said.
Upstairs later, Fiorella is waiting for me, curled against the pillows, hair loose, eyes heavy with sleep. She reaches for me, without opening her eyes, and I slide in beside her, pulling her close.
“Everything okay?” she murmurs.
"For now," I say, planting a kiss on her forehead.
She hums softly, trusting.
As she drifts back to sleep, I stare at the ceiling, listening to the winter wind outside.
We’re back home, it’s time for some action.
———
Morning brings cold and sharpness.
The estate is quiet in that watchful way it gets when something is wrong, guards moving with purpose, voices kept low, the kind of silence that isn't peace but restraint. I'm finishing my coffee in the kitchen when my phone buzzes.
Rafael.
I don't wait for a greeting upon entering the study. He's there, already by the window, phone clasped in his hand so firmly that his knuckles have turned white.
“Read,” he says.
He turns the screen toward me.
Congratulations on the baby!
Shame, if something happened before it arrived.
Mama bear owes us a debt by default.
My jaw locks.
“They sent it at dawn,” Rafael says, voice controlled but trembling beneath the surface. “From a burner. But the words…” He cuts himself off, breathing sharp. “It’s Valenti.”
"They're testing boundaries," I say. "Seeing how far they can push."
Rafael gives a short, mirthless laugh. “They mentioned my child.”
The room seems to shrink suddenly, as if the air thickens. Rafael doesn't pace-he never does-but his stillness is worse. It is the kind that precedes violence.
"This started with her father," he continues. "His debts. His weakness. I warned him."
I nod. I remember the man, greedy, careless, convinced the De Luca name would clean up his messes.
“We’re paying him a visit,” Rafael says. A statement not questioned.
“When?” I ask.
“Now.”
I do not hesitate. "I'll come with you."
He finally turns from the window, eyes dark and burning. "Good. Because if he's still protecting Valenti interests after this-" His jaw tightens. "I won't be merciful."
After that, we move fast. Coats on. Weapons checked. Orders given in quiet tones so Fiorella and Rosalia overhear no more than they must. As I pass into the hall, Fiorella's door is closed, light spills faintly from beneath it. I pause half a second, then move.
Some things are better handled before it reaches the women we love.
The drive is silent. There's snow lining the streets, our tires crunching softly in the quiet beneath us, but there's nothing soft within the car. Rafael's hand grips the steering wheel, like to snap it in two.
“He thinks he can hide behind us,” Rafael says suddenly. “Use my family as leverage.”
“He forgets the kind of family this is,” I reply.
A sharp smile crosses Rafael's face. "Not for long."
The house comes into view, modest, and for a man who owes powerful enemies, poorly guarded. Rafael doesn’t slow as we pull up. Outside, the chill greets me, but it does not compare with the weight that settles heavy in my chest now that the Valenti threat is a reality. Again.