Chapter 44 Fiorella
I watched Vincent storm off, attempting to set his suit right as if doing so would restore his bruised ego. Fool. The guy had always had a big mouth and no fists, bragging when he needed to keep quiet.
And Rocco?
Rocco was the kind of fellow who didn't bark, he bit.
I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms, looking at him. "What did he say this time?"
He didn't answer, but the icy glint in his eyes spoke volumes. Whatever it was, it had been uncalled for.
Classic Vincent.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "I'll deal with him."
Rocco smiled. "I already did."
His voice had that edge of smile, like he enjoyed putting my cousin in his place. And maybe he did.
My mouth curved before I could help it. I was not going to smile. Not here. Not now.
"Come on," I growled instead, turning on my heel.
Rocco didn't protest. He fell into step beside me, silent but unyielding, a presence I so desperately needed.
The funeral had tired me out more than I had expected. Standing there, listening to people say empty things about my dad, pretending that their sympathy counted for something, it was exhausting. And now, to top it all off, I had to deal with my uncle's looming arrival and Vincent's ignorance.
I was exhausted.
So goddamn tired.
When we were getting near the parking lot, I slowed down, fingertips on my temples. There was a creeping pain that had built up behind my eyes all day.
"You good?" Rocco asked in a low tone.
I nearly made a joke about it.
Good?
What did the word even mean anymore?
I took a deep breath. "I need a minute."
Rocco didn't push. He just stood there, watching, waiting.
And for some stupid reason, that made my chest tighten.
Everyone had been telling me what I needed to do ever since my dad died. They all had an opinion. They all thought they knew best.
But Rocco?
He just waited.
As if he realized I needed to get it together on my own terms.
I blinked twice before reopening my eyes. "I've got a lot to do."
"I know."
"I need to go to the reception for the funeral."
"I know."
"I need to put my father's business straight."
"I know that too."
I swallowed. "I need to get myself together."
Rocco fixed me for a moment before he said anything. "You don't need to do it on your own, Fiorella."
I looked at him, really looked at him. The hard lines of his face, the direct manner in which he met my eyes.
I had been waging war inside me since the moment my father passed away. A storm of grief, anger, obligation. But in this moment, with Rocco present, I had the tiniest corner of steadiness.
As though I wasn't completely drowning underwater.
I exhaled, standing across from my car. "I need to go home."
"I'll ride behind you," he replied, without doubt. "Make sure you get home safely."
I didn't resist it. Maybe a part of me ached for that comfort.
So I pulled into my car, started the engine, and left.
Behind me, Rocco's vehicle followed through in my rearview mirror.
The nighttime air cooled against my flesh as I stood on the balcony, watching the reception down below. Guests strolled through the garden, dressed in dark, fashionable attire, talking quietly as they ate and drank. The rings of glasses and murmurs of conversation permeated the air, but all seemed distant, muffled, like I was watching everything transpire behind a wall of glass.
My father's funeral reception.
It should have felt final. A closure.
But it wasn't.
More like a performance, a staged play with actors aware of their part. The allies offering condolences with polite, sympathetic grins. The business partners discreetly asking what was next for the D'Angelo clan. The enemies standing in the shadows, ready for vulnerability.
And me?
I was just the new leading lady in a story and battle for the next Don.
I hugged myself, gazing out over the crowd of people below. My uncle stood by the main table, speaking to a group of older men, his back rigid. Leo stood a few steps away, talking to some of my father's inner circle men, his face expressionless.
And then my gaze drifted out across the garden, focusing on Rafael.
He had stood with Rosalia, her hand through his, pressed against his side, as he spoke softly to her. She said something to him, and Rafael smiled, shaking his head , the slightest glimmer of amusement crossing his normally serious face. Rosalia struck him lightly on the stomach, laughing, and Rafael, the infamous De Luca, ruthless family head, softened.
Something inside my chest tightened.
It was strange to see a man like him that way—unguarded, at ease. He had built his life in blood and violence, and yet here he was, standing with his wife, hand in hand, as if none of it mattered.
Would I ever have that?
That quiet understanding, that unspoken connection?
Would I ever be able to let my guard down the way Rosalia did with Rafael?
Would Rocco ever—
I swallowed, cutting the thought before it quite had a chance to form.
That was not my life.
I wasn't Rosalia, and Rocco wasn't Rafael.
What was going on between Rocco and I, if there was anything there at all, was distorted in blood and in loss. He wasn't that kind of man to offer comfort with soft words and gentle reassurances. And I wasn't that kind of woman who stood in need of them.
But lately he has been there for me like no one ever has been and I have found myself wanting it, needing his comfort, soft words and reassurances.
I shoved my eyes away from Rafael and Rosalia, gripping the cold metal railing tightly as I took slow breaths.
This was not the moment for such thoughts.
I had a family to hold together, a legacy to protect.
I could not allow myself to be distracted.
Even if that distraction was in the shape of a sharp jawline and an even sharper eye that seemed to see right through me.
The sound of footsteps behind me pulled me from my thoughts.
I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
I could feel him.
Rocco.
He didn’t say anything right away, just stepped closer until he was at my side, his broad frame a steady presence beside me.
“You’ve been out here a while,” he said eventually, his voice low.
I kept my eyes on the crowd. “Needed some air.”
He didn’t argue, didn’t tell me to go inside, didn’t try to force conversation. He just stood there, watching the same people I had been watching, silent but solid.
And somehow, that was enough.