Chapter 49 Rocco
The casino was alive, pulsating with the aura of thrill, muffled mutterings of words, burst of laughter every now and then, the crisp rustling of cards. The scent of fine cigars and fine whiskey filled the air, thick and reassuring.
I leaned against the second-story balcony railing, gazing down at the ground floor where businessmen in suits handled stacks of money as if they were trivialities. There were women draped across their shoulders, spouting sweet nothings they didn't mean.
My focus was not on the high-rollers tonight.
At the bar downstairs, Riccardo was all in pursuit mode.
I grinned more or less in reflex. He'd been bragging about this girl non-stop for two entire days now, going on and on about how gorgeous she was, about how she had "the softest, most angelic face, but eyes that could destroy a man." I'd zoned out halfway through his blabbering.
And here I was, waiting while he strode in, his signature cocky grin pasted on his face, confidence radiating from him in waves.
And the woman?
She did not even look at him.
She was drinking her cocktail, something dark, straight up, no ice, and checking her phone, completely unimpressed by whatever charm Riccardo thought he was making.
Riccardo tried talking to her. She shot him a glance, impassive, and went back to her drink.
I could already picture it, his pride hurt. But, of course, he was never one to back down.
Riccardo crept closer, flashing what he no doubt thought was his most devastating smile. He gestured towards her glass, no doubt trying to volunteer to purchase her a new one.
She raised an eyebrow, set the glass aside, and finally stood in front of him face to face.
And then she laughed.
Not the flirty, amused kind. No, this was the kind of laugh that said you’re ridiculous.
I laughed shaking my head.
Riccardo, persistent as ever, was still talking, gesturing, trying. But the woman just shook her head, said something short, and turned away.
A brutal rejection.
I couldn’t resist anymore.
I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message:
Me: You’re falling hard.
Riccardo's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, read the message, then glared at me.
I toasted him with my drink.
The girl stood up, throwing a couple of bills on the counter, and left without a glance.
Riccardo remained there, looking dazed.
I was going to have a great time teasing him about this afterward.
I moved away from the railing, allowing Riccardo to bask in his embarrassment, and headed up to my office. The casino was operating well tonight —no fights, no cheating rings, no idiots making nuisances of themselves. Yet, something was bothering me.
Fiorella.
I hadn't seen her in a while. Since the weight of leadership had been placed upon her shoulders, forcing her to take on a responsibility she had not had the time to fully prepare for.
I made it to my office, pushing open the door and sliding inside. The room was dark, the only real source of illumination, the city skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I shut the door behind me and unbuttoned the first few buttons on my shirt. .
The silence hung heavy.
I hadn't realized how long I'd been waiting for her to call. She was stubborn, always insisting on showing she could do everything herself. But I knew better. The way her uncle had been buzzing around like a vulture, the way the alliances had started to realign, the Marchesi threat—it was too much, all at once.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled to her number, and called.
It rang. Once. Twice.
I sat against the desk, fingers wrapped around the edge, waiting.
Five rings.
My jaw clenched.
She always answered immediately unless she was in a meeting. And even then, she would send a text message.
I rang it all the way through before calling again.
Still nothing.
That gnawing feeling in my stomach coarsened to something more painful.
I looked at the clock—after midnight.
Was she blowing me off? Trying to do everything by herself? Or was something wrong ?
I let out a slow breath, drumming my fingers against the desk.
Fiorella was smart, capable, and more ruthless than people gave her credit for. But she was also in the middle of a war zone, whether she admitted it or not.
If she didn’t call me back soon, I’d have to check on her myself.
The phone vibrated in my palm, and the moment her name flashed on the screen, I picked up.
"Fiorella," I said, rising from my chair.
She breathed. It wasn't shaking, but it wasn't even. "Hey."
I heard the exhaustion in that single word. The weight behind it.
" Took you long enough," I growled, leaning against the window. The city lights stretched out below me, but I was focused on her. "I was going to send out a search party."
A soft huff. Almost a laugh. "I've been busy."
I knew that. I also knew how busy she'd been—how much stress was crushing her. "I figured. You don't sound like you've slept much."
"I haven't."
Of course not.
I let a beat of silence fall between us before I asked, "Tell me."
She breathed, and this time I could imagine her rubbing her hand over her face, struggling to think. When she finally did speak, her voice was softer, stripped.
"People are pulling away."
My grip on the phone tightened. "Because you're in charge now.".
"Yes." She hesitated. "Because I am a woman. Because I am not my father. Some deem me unfit to reign, and others—" she trailed off, gasping, "—others are being pushed away."
I saw quite clearly.
"Vittorio," I said bluntly.
Her silence was evidence enough.
"He's gotten into people's ears," she admitted. "Getting them to doubt me. Getting them to wonder if I'm capable. Some of the families I might have depended upon, they're gone.”
I dragged a hand through my face, getting my anger in check.
"He wants the throne," I snarled. "He wants to depose you and put himself and that idiot son of his upon the throne."
"I won't let him."
There was steel in her tone, but beneath that, something else.
She was tired.
It was one thing to battle an enemy you could see. It was another to battle whispers, doubts, betrayals—that was a war on its own.
I took a deep breath. "You don't have to go through this alone, Fiorella."
She didn't respond right away.
"I mean it," I pressed. "You don't have to do everything alone."
Another silence. And then, softly, "I don't know how else to deal with it."
The authenticity in her tone released something inside my chest.
I pushed off the window, my fingers tightening around the phone. "You call me," I told her. "Day or night. Whenever you want. You hear me?"
She didn't answer right away. But when she did, her voice was softer than before.
"…Okay."
It wasn't much. But it was something.