Chapter 20 Fiorella

Chapter 20 Fiorella


I was warm as I stepped away from him.

My heart was racing.

Not because I was afraid.

But because I was angry.

Angry that Rocco De Luca thought he could grab me, touch me, and expect that I would crumble under that weight.

I wasn't one of his women.

I wasn't someone he could command with a rough kiss and superior haughtiness.

I was Fiorella D'Angelo.

I had commanded men twice his size, half his sense.

And still…

As I got into the back of the black SUV, my wrist still burning from where his hands had wrapped around it…

I could feel the weight of his stare even now, the implied threat in his eyes.

My driver noticed my glance in the rearview mirror.

"Everything okay, boss?"

I nodded, forcing my breathing to steadiness. "Drive."

We drew away from the piers, and I leaned back, gaze fixed on the blur of city lights.

My father had cautioned me against men like Rocco.

Cold.

Calculating.

Deadly.

But he hadn't cautioned me about the heat.

He hadn't cautioned me that the danger would attract me, that the battle would be like foreplay, that the clash of power would ignite my blood.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

Control.

I recalled who I was.

I was not some naive girl trapped in a fantasy.

I had shattered bones for power. I had watched men twice my age tremble in fear when I entered a room. I didn't let people push me around.

Not even him.

Especially not him.

But he was testing me.

And I had to decide — did I let this charade continue?

Or did I remind him exactly whom he was playing with?

By the time we pulled up to the estate, I had my answer.

The gates groaned open, and I stepped out ahead of the driver's making a circle of the car.

My father was in his study.

I didn't knock—I never did.

He looked up from his ledgers, his face unreadable.

"Well?"

"The deal went through," I said, shoving off my jacket. "De Luca's crew is professional."

He leaned back, looking at me. "And Rocco?"

I poured a glass from the side table before answering.

"He's alright," I said flatly.  “Still arrogant, annoying and Impossible."

My father smiled. "You like him."

I stopped, glass suspended in mid-air.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

I drank slowly, his eyes locked on mine over the rim. "This has nothing to do with like or dislike. It's business."

"Business," he murmured. "Just keep it that way."

I left his study, his wariness echoing behind me.

My room was dark when I pushed open the door, only the soft gleam of the city illuminating the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I dropped back onto the edge of my bed, kicking off my heels and letting out a slow breath.

I hated how easily Rocco could get under my skin.

I hated how every interaction with him seemed like a dance, a battle of wills that left me breathless and wanting more.

I hated that part of me did wonder what would happen if I just let the fight with him slide — for one night.

But that was never going to happen.

I didn't surrender .

I asserted my authority.

I won.

And if Rocco De Luca thought he could conquer me, like one of his little prizes, he had another thing coming.

I lay out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

The ring of his voice was still echoing in my mind.

You push me once. Okay. But don't think for a second I won't keep coming after what I want.

I clenched my fists.

Let him try.

I'd be waiting.

And he'd learn the hard way, some fires burn too hot to touch.

I took my phone and sent a message.

Fiorella:

I hope you didn't think grabbing me made you stronger.

His reply came up almost at once.

Rocco:

I didn't do it to prove I was stronger.

I looked at the screen, my heart pounding.

Another message came through in:

Rocco:

I did it to prove you're not untouchable.

I sneered, the excitement building in my chest.

Fiorella:

Go on, De Luca. Try again. See what happens.

I put down the phone and stood, walking over to the balcony.

The city stretched out below me, shining and deadly.

Out there, he was planning the next fight.

And I couldn't wait to run into him headfirst.

Because I didn't want easy.

I wanted war.

I wanted destruction.

I wanted him to fight me tooth and nail — and lose.

——-

The night was too quiet.

I felt it before I heard it.

A shift in the mood.

The way shadows stole where they shouldn't have been.

The silence hugged my flesh.

I stepped out of the blacked-out SUV following the rushed meeting at the dock, my driver waiting by the door.

"Home?".

I nodded, but my hand stayed against the gun concealed in the waistband of my pants beneath my coat.

A flicker of movement to the left.

Scarcely a whisper.

"Get in the car," I whispered under my breath.

The driver did not hesitate.

But before I could act, lights.

Blinding. Bright.

A black van careened around the corner, tires screaming.

Doors flung open, masked men poured out like a tide.

I did not stand there.

I did not panic.

I pulled my gun before they touched ground.

First shot, dead centre into the first man's leg.

He screamed and fell.

They charged, but they were not anticipating me to fire back this fast.

My driver stepped in to stop them — a bad move.

A bullet to his chest, and he crashed.

I turned, dropped to one knee, fired two more.

Another man went down.

But they did not retreat.

One of them grabbed my arm, twisting, trying to disarm me.

I used his momentum, elbowed him in the face, the crunch of bone satisfying under my blow.

He stumbled, blood spouting from his nose.

A coarse hand yanked my hair out from behind —

I turned, kicked him up into his groin, shoved him off with feral strength.

Another man body-checked me onto the ground, and I tasted pavement.

I rolled fast, pinning his arm beneath my knees, twisting it until the dislocation snapped.

His scream was a melody.

I kicked him off, rolled to my feet, and ran for the alley.

They followed.

I knew these streets better than they did.

My boots thudded on pavement as I ran down an alley, jumped a rusty fence, and landed in a tight corridor between two warehouses.

I heard their footsteps, thudding behind me.

But they were clumsy, careless.

I was light.

I was smoke.

I descended the fire escape ladder two rungs at a time, struggling with the protest of my shoulder muscles.

On the roof, I crept low, panting for air.

They scattered below, baffled, bellowing commands in a language that I recognised but could not name.

Cowards.

I could have kept running.

But I do not run.

I fight.

I slipped down the other side of the building, dropping softly into the darkness.

They passed over me.

I allowed two of them to get away before I captured the third by the collar and smashed him into the brick wall.

His eyes grew wide behind the mask.

I tore it away.

"You think I'm prey?" I growled in his face.

He whimpered.

Weak.

I pressed the butt of my gun into his temple and let him fall.

Footsteps.

I wheeled, last of the men.

He grasped his gun in his hand.

I shot first.

His body struck the pavement at my feet.

The street grew quiet once more.

I pulled an unconscious man into the alley and zip-tied his wrists with the plastic cuffs I'd kept in the pocket of my jacket.

"You're going to tell me who sent you," I whispered in his ear when he moved.

"Or you'll wish you'd died in there.".

He groaned, blinking up at me in terror.

I dug my gun into his thigh.

He spoke.

Rapidly.

Too rapidly.

The Marchesi.

Of course.

I left him there.

Sirens howled in the distance.

I vanished before they could arrive.

I walked the final two blocks back to the estate.

Clothes torn.

Hair wild.

Adrenaline still burning through my veins like wildfire.

When I got to the gate, guards sprang to open it, eyes wide.

"Miss—"

"Don't ask," I said bluntly, pushing them aside.

Inside, my father stood near the sweeping staircase.

He braced himself when he saw me.

I could tell he had a question in his mind.

I responded first.

"I handled it."

He released a breath.

But his fists clenched.

"You're not invincible," he snarled.

"No," I nodded, meeting his eye. "But I'm not fragile either."

He dragged me in, kissing my forehead.

"I'll double the guards."

“I already took one of theirs. We’ll interrogate him at dawn.”

My father’s eyes glinted with dark pride.

“My daughter,” he murmured. “Una regina.”

I went to my room, peeled off the ruined clothes, and stood under the scalding shower, watching the water run pink from grazes on my arms.

I felt alive.

Buzzing with energy.

But there was one thought that wouldn’t leave me.

Rocco.

He would’ve lost his mind if he knew.

Would've demanded to intervene, protect me.

But I didn't need saving.

I was a force.

And the next time, I'd personally take it to the Marchesi's doorstep.