Chapter 40 Fiorella
Rocco.
He slouched against his car, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes afire with an intensity that stopped my breath in its tracks. He didn't say anything, didn't run to me, didn't demand if I was okay, because he already knew I wasn't.
I wasn't.
The instant I saw him, something within me was twisted. The sorrow that had engulfed me since last night hadn't relaxed its hold, but now, in his eyes, it was heavier. Realer. As if going outside had made me realize the world still turned, even though mine had broken.
I knew I looked terrible. My face was tight with dried tears, my body heavy with exhaustion. I hadn't slept, not really . The cabin had gotten small after a while, but going out into the fresh air did not bring relief I expected.
Rocco did not look away.
His eyes roamed over me, savoring every wrinkle, every unspoken idea. The tight jaw, the quivering fingers on his forearm,I knew him enough to recognize restraint when I saw it. He wanted to say something to me. Maybe even touch me. But he didn't.
I was not sure if that was worse or better.
The stillness between us lay heavy and impenetrable.
And yet, for the first time in hours, I didn't feel utterly alone.
I stood a few feet back from him, arms folded around myself, not for warmth but for some kind of comfort. The silence between us was nearly choking, but then he spoke.
"Hey," Rocco said, his voice deeper, gruffer than normal.
It was such a simple word, and yet it made my chest tighten. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look at him—hard at him. He was tired. I could see it in the smudges under his eyes, in the tension around his jaw.
"Did you spend the night here?" I asked, my throat sore.
His lips pressed into a line before he nodded barely. "Yeah."
"How did you even know where I was?"
"Leo had a gut feeling." His eyes tracked me, as if he were deciding whether or not I was going to break again. "I needed to check up on you and make sure you were safe."
I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. "I am fine."
He wasn't buying it.
"You could've at least picked up, Fiorella." His tone wasn't harsh, but there was something weighty in the way he said my name. "We were all worried. I was worried."
I resented that. Not that he had cared, but that I had gotten him into worry. That despite all that is happening , he had still been out there the entire night, waiting.
"I just needed to be alone," I admitted, looking down at the dirty ground in front of me.
"I get that," Rocco said slowly. "But just getting up and leaving like that, after everything that had gone down, after your dad..." He shrugged, puffing out a breath of air from his nose as though catching himself. "I know why you left. I just..."
He cut himself off once more, running a hand down the plane of his face before refocusing his attention on me. "I just wanted to know you were okay."
I let out a dry laugh. "You and I both know I'm not."
He didn't argue it. Didn't try to offer some hollow comfort.
Instead, he inched closer, his steps slow and deliberate. "You don't have to go through this alone, Fiorella."
I stared into his eyes, seeking something, maybe a reason to shove him away, maybe a reason to leave him behind. But all I found was sincerity.
My throat tightened. "I don't know how to do this, Rocco." The words slipped out before I could catch them.
"Then don't do it alone," he said practically. "You have people. You have me."
Something inside me wavered, cracked a tiny bit. But I didn't know if I was ready to have that crack widen.
I breathed deeply, focusing, pushing my emotions into a small, hard box. There wasn't time to break. No time to allow despair to overwhelm me. There were things to be done.
“I have to plan the funeral," I said at last, my voice more even than I had hoped. "There's so much to see to."
Rocco looked at me for what felt like a long time, his face impassive. "You don't have to do it on your own, Fiorella.”
"I do." I turned, to my car. The weight of responsibility threatened to crush me, to smother. My father's name, his honor, it was my duty to protect now. And funerals don't plan themselves.
I extended my hand toward the door, but before I could open it, Rocco spoke once more.
"I'll drive behind you," he declared.
I frowned, turning to glance back at him. "I can drive myself home."
"Did not say you couldn't," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'm coming with you anyway."
I held my breath, too exhausted to argue about it. I lowkey appreciate his presence, him trying to be here for me. The unspoken guarantee of tranquility. Somebody simply being around me.
"Fine," I grumbled, climbing into my car.
As I started the engine, I caught sight of Rocco in my rearview mirror, already heading for his own car. He was stubborn. But maybe, just maybe, I needed someone stubborn right now.
The drive back took longer than it should have.
Rocco's car rode behind me the entire distance. He never drove up too close, never tried to make me feel squished, just trailed along, constant and unvarying, like a silent shadow making sure I arrived home in one piece.
When I got back to the estate, I pulled up to the driveway and held the steering wheel for a moment, as if letting it go would make everything come crashing down.
Behind me in the mirror, I saw Rocco pull up. He didn't get out, didn't beep or roll down his window. He just sat there, giving me space but still making it clear that he was waiting.
I finally took a breath and opened the door, venturing out into my reality. The estate loomed before me, quiet and still, the weight of all that was inside weighing on my shoulders.
Rocco's vehicle remained where it was, engine humming quietly. Catching his eye, he waved. Just a friendly goodbye. A silent I see you. I've got you.
I returned the wave.
And without another word, he shifted gears and took off, the car disappearing leaving me alone again.
I remained silent for a while, watching the house and the path he had taken.
Taking a deep breath, I went to the house, ready to face all that was coming my way.