Chapter 69 Rocco
I woke up to her scent.
Soft. Sweet. Subtle traces of whatever perfume she'd worn the day before mixed with something that was completely Fiorella. It was in the sheets, on my skin, suspended in the air between us.
She was curled up against me, her black hair spread out over the pillow, her bare shoulder exposed where the blanket dropped over the curve of her back. Her breathing was slow, regular, her lips slightly parted in sleep.
I lay there and watched her for a long time.
Everything was different now.
I had desired her from the start. From the moment I first saw her, I had desired her. But this was not about desire anymore.
We had crossed the line, and there was no going back.
I ran a hand over my face, exhaling slowly.
Fiorella D'Angelo was mine now. Not in the way the world would see it—not yet. But last night, she'd given herself to me in a way that showed she wasn't going anywhere.
And I wasn't going to let her.
The thought ran through me on a wave of something new. Something more than possession.
For the first time, I caught myself wondering what it would be like to make it official.
Could I have what Rafael and Rosalia had?
I'd spent years telling myself I wasn't built for that kind of love, that kind of commitment. My life was built on violence, blood, and war. There was no space for softness, no room for the kind of devotion that Rafael had for his wife.
Then Fiorella had come into my life, and nothing had been the same.
I gazed down at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She had never been anyone's. Never let anyone stake a claim on her. She had gone her whole life proving she could do it by herself, that she didn't need anyone.
But last night, she had let me in.
She had trusted me with a part of herself no one else had ever touched.
Could I just let that go?
Could I pretend that I didn't want to wake up beside her every morning, witness that vulnerability on her face that she only showed when she thought no one was watching?
Could I pretend that I didn't want to put my ring on her finger and let the whole world know she was mine?
My jaw tightened, something unfamiliar settling in my chest.
I'd never thought about marriage. Never let the idea take root.
But now, with her asleep next to me, with the memory of last night still bubbling in my blood, the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
Could I have that?
Could I make a life with her—make something real?
Would she want that?
I touched her unthinking, tracing my fingers along her cheek, along the soft curve of her jaw. She stirred slightly, but she didn't wake.
Fiorella was still sound asleep, completely at ease.
With me.
That was all I needed to know.
Wherever this was, whatever this was—I wasn't letting her go.
I gazed at her for a long time, my mind slipping back to last night.
We'd crossed a boundary—one I hadn't meant to, one I hadn't planned to. But there was no going back now.
And the question was… did I even want to?
She stirred, her lashes fluttering before her eyes opened. Dark, still cloudy with the remnants of sleep, but keen the moment they met mine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Hey,” I whispered
Then, in a soft voice, she whispered, "Stay.
My eyebrow arched a little. "You don't have any meetings you have to go rushing off to?"
"I'll get to them later," she said, her fingers brushing against my wrist.
Something settled in my chest, something I did not anticipate. She was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite place, something I wasn't sure I was prepared to face.
But I nodded nonetheless. "Okay, princess."
A small smile pulled at her lips, satisfied. She tossed aside the covers, sat up, and reached for the silk nightgown she'd discarded last night.
I tracked her movement, my eyes tracing the curve of her spine, the soft hollow of her waist. She was lovely—lethal, brilliant, stubborn as hell.
And she was mine.
The thought came before I could stop it.
I brushed it off as I followed her out of the bedroom, my legs moving on autopilot as we headed towards the kitchen.
She hesitated slightly when we got there, standing in front of the fridge as if unsure of what to do now that we'd arrived.
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. "You cook breakfast too?"
She turned her head to look at me. "Do you?"
"Not at all."
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Figures."
She faced the fridge once more, perusing the shelves, muttering under her breath. "I'd have to stock up the fridge. I want to experiment with cooking and you're going to be my guinea pig.”
I smiled. "I'm looking forward to them."
She let out a deep sigh, grabbing eggs, butter, and bread, and heading to the stove. "Alright. I'll make something simple. It's the only breakfast I know how to make."
I laughed as I watched her move, the way she tied her hair back, the way her hands efficiently worked. She was graceful in everything she did, even in something as mundane as fixing breakfast.
But then I noticed something else.
She was blushing.
I smirked. "You're getting shy."
Her shoulders tensed. "I am not."
I pushed off the counter, stepping closer until I was standing directly behind her. Reaching out, I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the warmth of her skin.
"Cute," I whispered.
She snorted, turning back to the pan, her hand a little too tight on the spatula. "Eat your damn eggs."
I laughed but didn't object.
A few minutes later, she dished out the eggs, toasted and buttered some bread, and poured us each a cup of coffee. She moved with the same efficiency she did with everything else, yet there was a softness to her now—a vulnerability.
We sat across from one another, morning light filling the room with warmth.
The conversation came easily, naturally.
We talked about things we never had before—old stories, childhood memories, little things we cherished.
And I sat there, watching her, listening to her, I felt something within me change.
Something I was not ready to name.
Something dangerous.
Because for the first time in a long time, I wanted more.
Not just her body. Not just her loyalty.
I wanted this.
This soft, easy warmth.
And I wanted it with her.
I wanted to let go of everything and live a peaceful life with her.