Chapter 43 Rocco
I didn't see him come over.
One moment, I was watching Fiorella disappear into the crowd, her head held high despite the storm gathering behind her eyes. The next, a huge shadow loomed beside me, weighted with power and hidden anger.
Vittorio D'Angelo.
He was older than her father, built like a man who had spent his youth commanding rooms and breaking kneecaps. His grey hair was slicked back, his suit expensive but outdated, and his dark eyes sized me up with a mixture of scrutiny and thinly veiled disdain.
"You must be Rocco De Luca," he said, his voice smooth, like a snake slithering over glass.
I stood relaxed, hands in pockets, but upright back. "That's me."
He nodded slowly, deliberately. "I've been watching you the last few weeks. You seem… committed."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Fiorella and I are allies."
Vittorio smiled, but his eyes did not. "Allies." He spoke the words twice, as if he were testing them out, balancing them on his tongue. "Let me give you a piece of advice, son." He leaned in a little, just close enough to cut into my space. "Stay out of family business."
I left his words suspended between us, dense and deliberate.
"She's family business," I responded, evenly.
His smile shrank, narrowed, but he nodded.
“She is a woman in a man's world. No matter how she tries, there are forces at work here she will not overcome. And if she involves you?" His sneer grew wider. "You will not overcome either.".
I tilted my head, watching him. I’d been around enough power-hungry men to know when one was laying out a warning disguised as a lesson. Vittorio wasn’t just speaking for himself—he was speaking for whatever alliances he had forged behind Fiorella’s back.
I leaned in slightly. “Sounds like you’re worried.”
Vittorio smiled. "I don't worry. I plan. And I assure you, De Luca, I have plans." His tone was even, but his eyes were heavy with meaning. "This is bigger than you. Bigger than her. And if you know what's good for you, you'll leave."
I let the words wash over me, anticipating that they would sting, that they would disturb me. They didn't.
I grinned, hard enough to be sarcastic. "You don't look like a man who wastes time on warnings."
His face flashed, but he hid it in a hurry. "Consider it a courtesy," he said to me. Then, with one final glance at me, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up by black-clad mourners.
I exhaled a breath, my jaw tightening.
The boundaries had been drawn. And Vittorio D'Angelo had just made it very, very clear that if I didn't step aside, I'd be considered an enemy.
But the thing is, he had no idea just how little I cared.
I barely had time to process Vittorio's threat before another D'Angelo began sauntering over, one I had even less patience for.
Vincent.
Fiorella's cousin had been cut from a different cloth than his uncle. While Vittorio conducted himself as an old-fashioned puppet master, Vincent was just a brat pretending to be something important. He wore a smug grin that was stitched onto his face, his suit picture-perfect but ill-fitting, his cologne so heavy a man could suffocate on it.
"Ah, well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous Rocco De Luca," he drawled, stopping in front of me like we were old buddies. "I was just telling some of the boys about how funny it is about you still creeping around my beautiful cousin."
I didn't bat an eyelid, didn't give him the satisfaction of any response.
He sneered. "You just enjoy playing the watchdog, don't you? Shadowing her everywhere like some lovesick moron, protecting her when everyone knows she doesn't need excuses." He jeered mockingly. "Or maybe she does. Now that Daddy's gone, anyway."
My jaw braced.
Vincent laughed as if he'd just made the century's best joke. "Hey, calm down, De Luca. You know, I always wondered what kind of woman Fiorella's type was. Never thought I'd say lapdog, though."
I moved before he could react.
One step closer. One hard shove to his chest.
He stumbled back, his sneer wavering as he regained his balance.
"Oh?" He blinked in affected surprise, laughing again. "Did I touch a nerve?
I tilted my head, voice firm. "Say something else. Continue."
His smile faltered, his confidence shaken for an instant.
I took another step forward of him, my voice dropping. "You think you're safe because we're at a funeral?" I left that hanging before continuing. "If you had half a brain, you'd know when to shut your mouth."
Vincent chuckled, but now there was a tense catch to it. "You're taking this far too seriously, De Luca. No need to get all..."
I moved again. This time more rapidly.
A sharp tug at his collar, bringing him in just close enough that he would feel the power of what I could do.
The joke drained from his face, giving way to something harder.
Fear.
Good.
"You want to run your mouth?" I said to him, my tone low and threatening. "Fine. Do it somewhere I won't be able to hear. Because the next time you talk about her like that, I won't just warn you."
I shoved him off with a quick push, and he stumbled, his hand shooting up to his collar, trying to act cool even though he was embarrassed.
For a second, he looked like he was ready to lash back, fists closed, jaw set. But then his gaze flickered to someone behind me—to something, or better, someone, standing behind me.
Fiorella.
She was a few feet away, her expression unreadable, arms crossed as she took in the scene.
Vincent's face paled.
I smiled. "Go ahead. Say another thing."
He swallowed thickly, straightened his suit, then somehow willed a scoff out. "Not worth my time."
And with that, he turned and walked off, his shoulders a little stiffer than before.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders before turning to Fiorella.
She studied me for a moment, then sighed. “What did he say this time?”
I didn’t answer, just gave her a look.
She sighed again. “I’ll deal with him.”
I smirked. “I already did.”
Her lips twitched, like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.
"Let's go," she said
And just like that, we left the funeral, but I knew one thing for sure, this wasn’t the last I’d be hearing from Vincent or her uncle.