Chapter 53 Rocco
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the warmth against me.
For a second, my brain was sluggish, trying to make sense of why someone was curled up against my side, their breathing soft and even. Then it all came back—Fiorella, last night, the way she’d melted against me, the way she’d let herself rest in my arms.
I didn’t move yet.
Instead, I let my eyes trace over her, taking in the way her dark lashes fanned against her skin, the way her lips were slightly parted, the way her body fit so perfectly against mine. She looked peaceful, but there was still a trace of exhaustion on her face, like even in sleep, the weight of everything hadn’t fully left her.
God, she was beautiful.
I’d always known it—any man with working eyes could see that Fiorella D’Angelo was stunning. But like this, curled against me, soft and vulnerable, she was something else entirely.
She was mine.
At least, that’s what my instincts told me.
I hadn’t even realized I was staring until she stirred slightly, shifting against me, her brow twitching like she was on the verge of waking.
And that’s when my phone rang.
I cursed under my breath, moving carefully so I wouldn’t wake her, but she mumbled something incoherent, her fingers tightening against my shirt for a second before going slack again.
The screen flashed Rafael.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face before answering. “Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you?” Rafael’s voice was sharp, clipped. “I’ve been calling.”
I glanced down at Fiorella, still asleep. My voice lowered instinctively. “Busy.”
“Busy?” Rafael repeated, like he didn’t quite believe me. Then his tone turned impatient. “We have a problem. You need to get here. Now.”
I frowned. “What kind of problem?”
“One that can’t be discussed over the phone.”
I took a deep breath , already feeling the tension creeping back in. Of course, peace never lasted long in our world.
“Fine. Give me an hour.”
“Make it half.”
The call ended before I could respond.
I sighed, dropping my phone onto the couch.
Then I glanced back at Fiorella.
I should wake her. I should say something, let her know I was leaving.
But instead, I just watched her for a second longer, letting myself have this moment before reality crashed back in.
Then, carefully, I pulled myself away from her warmth, already missing it before I was even gone.
By the time I pulled up at the house, the tension in my shoulders had settled in deep. Whatever this was, it wasn’t small. Rafael wouldn’t have dragged me away otherwise.
I stepped inside without knocking, the familiar scent of coffee and wood polish filling the space. The house was quiet, but I knew where to go.
Upstairs, in his home office, I found Rafael standing near the window, arms crossed, staring out like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.
Riccardo was there too, lounging on the couch with his feet kicked up, tossing a knife between his fingers like this was just another day.
“Took you long enough,” Rafael muttered when he heard me enter.
I ignored him, closing the door behind me. “What’s going on?”
Rafael turned, his expression hard. “We got word that the Marchesi are making moves. And it’s worse than we thought.”
That got my attention.
“How bad?”
“They’re setting up alliances, gaining backers. And they’re not just targeting Fiorella. They’re targeting us too.”
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over my jaw. “So it’s war, then.”
“Not yet.” Rafael’s tone was clipped, measured. “But it’s coming. And we need to be ahead of it.”
Riccardo finally spoke up, his voice lazy but sharp. “The thing is, they’re not just going after power. They’re going after money. Influence. The families pulling out from Fiorella? Some of them are talking to Marchesi.”
That pissed me off more than I cared to admit.
I clenched my jaw. “So what’s the plan?”
Rafael leaned against the desk, his eyes flickering between me and Riccardo. “We start cutting off their resources before they can gain real power. And we make sure Fiorella knows what’s coming.”
I nodded. It wasn’t just her problem anymore. It never had been.
“Then we handle it,” I said simply.
Rafael assigned tasks to Riccardo and he left to go carry them out and then I decided to ask Rafael a question I’ve been thinking of
I did not look at him when I demanded, "How did you know?"
He tilted his head to the side. "Know what?"
"That you loved her. Rosalia."
The name fell from my lips as if I'd borrowed it. Because this was not something I talked about. Not with anyone. But Rafael had done things for her. Had died, nearly. If anyone knew what the devil was doing with me, it was him.
Rafael didn't answer right away. He fell back in the chair, staring as if giving the question some thought. Finally, he said, "I didn't know initially. I just… couldn't get her out of my head. Not like desire. Darker. Deeper. I wanted to fight for her. Protect her. End the world if she asked me to."
I stared down at the glass in my hand. "Yeah," I replied. "That sounds familiar."
He looked over at me. "Fiorella?"
I nodded once. My jaw clenched. "She's the most exciting woman I've ever met. Stubborn Independent. She used to glare at me like she wants to kill me half the time." I blew out a breath, chest tightened. "But I just can't get her out of my head. Every damn day. Every hour."
Rafael emitted a low chuckle. "That's how it starts."
"It's not funny," I growled, though a small smile crept across my lips despite myself. "I don't even know what to do with this. feeling. I don’t want to end up like you. I don't do soft."
"You don't have to," Rafael told me firmly. "Love doesn't mean weakness, Rocco. If anything, it makes you fight harder. Be smarter. Deadlier."
I looked back at him. "And what if she doesn't feel the same? What if I'm just another De Luca to her — one to resent, not love?"
Rafael's eyes turned icy, the way they always did right before he said something I could never take back.
"Then fight. If she's worth it, you don't quit. You present her to yourself, not the Don. Not the soldier. You. The man who'd blow up the world for her."
"I came close to losing Rosalia," Rafael continued softly. "Two times. Because I didn't tell her with what I felt soon enough. Don't repeat the same error."
I swallowed hard, throat dry. “You think it’s real? What I’m feeling?”
Rafael’s voice was low, certain. “If you’re asking me this? It’s real.”
We sat in silence after that. Two men bruised by the world, trying to make sense of hearts that didn’t come with blueprints.
I didn't know the answers. But I knew a name. A face. A woman who I had a big soft spot for
Fiorella D'Angelo.