Chapter 72 Fiorella
The words had slipped out before I could grab them.
I think I love you.
The moment they were on my lips, I felt like the world had stopped, like I'd jumped off a cliff without knowing where I was going. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't even known if I was ready to admit it, not to Rocco, but to myself.
But the instant I noticed how his eyes closed, the manner in which his hold on my hand became even tighter by just a fraction, I realized that there was no going back.
And then he told me that he loved me too.
My heart had grown so hard and tight inside my chest that I feared it would break, but instead, it seemed to have found its home at last.
I just sat there, staring at him, my head trying to catch up with what had just happened. The day had been flawless already—a dream I would never want to wake up from—but now it was something else. Something permanent.
This was the best birthday ever.
Not because of the gifts, though the diamond and gold jewelry Rocco had given me was beautiful. Not because of the location, though this isolated estate felt like its own world, a world separate from the insanity we normally existed in.
But because of him.
Because of the way he had planned this day, just for me. Because of the way he had watched me, as though it was important to him that I was happy. Because the way he looked at me when I told him the words I love you, as though I had given him something precious, something he thought he would never possess.
I swallowed, my heart still racing as I shifted a little, turning to him fully.
He watched me, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something rough, something that made my stomach flip.
I reached out, my fingers tracing his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin. He didn't jerk away, just let me touch him, let me linger as I traced the rough line of his stubble.
I loved him. I had said the words out loud, and he hadn't run. He hadn't shut down.
He had replied to me.
And I wanted to kiss him.
Not the wild, hot sort of kiss we had exchanged before, when our bodies had taken over. Not the sort born of hunger, of need.
I wanted to kiss him slowly. Intensely. I wanted to kiss him in such a way that he'd grasp this was more than just passion. This was more than just desire.
This was genuine.
I moved closer, my lips parting barely as I drew my mouth up to his. The moment our lips touched, warmth coursed through my chest, a burn that developed itself around my heart.
His lips were warm, soft but firm against mine. He didn't rush, didn't take over the way he always did. Rather, he allowed me to lead, allowed me to set the pace as I kissed him—slow and deep, as if I was transferring all the emotions I couldn't verbalise into this moment.
His hand came up, sliding into my hair, his fingers interweaving in the strands as he bent his head a little, deepening the kiss.
I breathed on his lips, my body shifting closer to his, my hands sliding up onto his shoulders. His muscles tensed under my touch, but not in restraint.
In surrender.
I could feel the rhythm of his heart, pounding and steady against my hand as I pressed my palm on his chest. He was letting me in, showing me the part of him that not many people got to see.
And I never wanted to let it go.
The kiss hung between us, slow and soft, unhurried. His lips brushed mine in a movement that tightened my belly, not just from desire, but for something else.
I was in love with him.
I was in love with Rocco De Luca.
And as I pulled away slightly, forehead against his, I knew—I couldn't wait to spend more days like this one with him.
I longed for more days of laughter, of silence, of just being near him.
I longed for more days of waking up to him, hearing his voice in the morning.
I wanted more.
“I still have one last surprise.”
He had already done so much—more than I ever could have imagined. The day had been perfect. The moment we shared a little while back had been perfect.
And yet, when he led me outside with his hand around mine, I knew he wasn't done.
What stretched out before me left me breathless.
A beautifully set table sat at the centre of the large garden, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. Fairy lights were strung between the trees, their golden hue creating a fairy-tale type of ambiance about the entire setting. Fresh roses, bright red and soft pink, lay scattered on the table and lawn, their intoxicating aroma wafting through the air. A gentle breeze carried the aroma of something delicious, teasing my senses as I drank it all in.
It was beautiful. It was romantic. It was intimate.
It was perfect.
I turned to Rocco, my mouth dropping in awe. "You did all this?" I breathed.
He smirked, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I had some help setting it up, but yes.” His fingers brushed against mine, grounding me in the moment. “I wanted to end your birthday the right way.”
I shook my head, still in disbelief. “This entire day has been beyond perfect. You’ve already done so much—”
“Not enough,” he cut in, his voice gentle but firm. “You deserve this. All of this.”
Emotion swelled up in my chest, my heart overflowing with something so warm, so powerful, that I believe I may have cried. No one had ever done anything like this for me before. No one had ever made me feel this special, this loved.
I squeezed his hand, unable to speak to let him know how much this meant to me.
He led me to the table, sitting me in my chair before sitting across from me. A waiter—someone I hadn't even noticed before—emerged with a bottle of wine and poured us each a glass before disappearing again.
I raised my glass, my hand following the fine rim as I looked at Rocco, love shining in my eyes. "You've thought of everything."
He raised his own glass. "Only the best for you, Fiorella."
We clinked glasses, and I took a sip, the rich, smooth taste of the wine lingering on my tongue.
The food was just as tasty. This gourmet feast of Italian cuisine—wonderful pasta cooked to perfection, grilled fish, fresh bruschetta, and a divine dessert to follow. Each bite was divine, and I couldn't help but smile.
“You're spoiling me," I muttered between bites, unable to suppress my joy.
"That's the plan." His deep voice caused a nice tingle to run down my spine.
I watched him for a second, my heart tightening with the tenderness in his face. Rocco wasn't that kind of guy who made grand romance gestures. Rocco wasn't that kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve. And yet, here he was, doing all of this for me.
"Why?" I asked softly.
His eyes met mine, unwavering. "Because you deserve to be celebrated.".
My chest had closed, fingers gripping my fork tightly as I drank in his words. I wasn't used to this. I wasn't used to somebody caring so very much about how I felt.
He'd covered my hand on the tabletop with his own. "You light up my world, Fiorella." His thumb massaged over mine. "I don't have a clue how, but I want to be the perfect man for you."
Heat coursed through me, erasing the last doubts.
I turned my hand over beneath his, fingers interlocking. "You're already doing more than enough."
His lips twisted and his grip became a fraction more rigid.
We continued eating, falling into easy conversation about nothing and everything. We shared memories, about funny things we had never before talked about.
Rocco explained how he used to drive off in Rafael's car when he was fifteen years old, just to prove he could do it. He'd crashed it into a fence after half an hour.
I laughed so hard I almost spilled wine. "You're terrible."
He smiled. "Riccardo was the worst. He challenged me.".
I shook my head, my laughter fading into something warmer. "I would have loved to see you then. I bet you were a handful."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I've changed?"
My smile grew. "A little."
His eyes flashed darker, his thumb making slow circles on my skin. "Maybe you bring out the best in me."
I took a deep breath , the heaviness of his words sinking deep into my chest.
The night crawled by, the air even sweeter, even more intimate.
Finally, as the candles burned low and the stars twinkled above, I leaned back in my chair, a happy sigh escaping my lips.
"Today was the best birthday I've ever had," I admitted.
Rocco's eyes warmed. "Good."
I bit my lip, my heart racing as I whispered, "Because you were the one who made it perfect."
His face altered, something inscrutable flickering in his dark eyes before he rose, going around the table to pull me to my feet.
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
He merely pulled me into his arms, his lips grazing softly against my forehead, sealing the night with something more than words.
Something real. Something that seemed like forever.
———
The ride back to the penthouse was quiet, though not unpleasantly so. It was the type of quiet that felt safe, like a warm cocoon wrapped around us after the perfect evening. Rocco's hand rested on my thigh as he drove, his fingers idly tracing circles through my dress. The gentle thrum of the engine mixed with the gentle music of a song being quietly played on the radio.
I gazed at him, my heart full of something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Love. Peace. A new kind of happiness that seemed almost too much to be real.
"You're quiet," he said, regarding me.
I smiled, leaning back against the back of the seat. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"How I wish tonight didn't have to end."
His lips curled into a smile, a smirk spreading at the corner of his mouth. "It doesn't have to."
I huffed dramatically. "Unfortunately, life doesn't permit us to stay in immaculate moments forever."
"Then we'll make some more," he breathed, his voice smooth certain.
The weight of those words settled thick in my chest. More nights like this one. More moments. More of us.
I didn't want to lose this. I didn't want to lose him.
The thought hadn't even come together in my brain yet when the brutal bar of light blinded my eyes from the corner of my vision.
A truck.
Going too fast.
Too close.
My heart froze.
Time froze as the massive vehicle hurtled toward my side of the vehicle, its horn screaming, its metal body enormous and unstoppable.
"Rocco—"
Metal shrieked. Glass exploded.
Impact.
The force was brutal—whipping me to one side, my body slamming against the door as a nauseating crash exploded around me. The sound was thunderous. A mixture of destruction and mayhem. My breath caught in my throat, the air torn from my lungs as the car spun, tires shrieking.
Pain.Excruciating pain.
I gasped, sight blurring, the world twisting into a knot of sound and motion. The car skidded—once, twice—the brutal jolting whipping me around like a rag doll.
And then. Silence.
For a moment, I heard nothing but a piercing ringing. The distant, muffled shout of Rocco's voice calling my name.
I tried to get up.
Couldn't.
Something hot dripped down my face, gathering at my lips, coppery and heavy. Blood.
I blinked, the darkness creeping in on the edges of my vision. The shattered windshield. The shattered glass. The mangled metal. The smell of gasoline.
"Fiorella!"
His voice was raspy, panicked.
I tried to answer him. I tried to tell him I was okay. But my lips remained still. My body remained still.
A burning ache tore through my chest, each gasp laboured, constricted.
I turned my head—slow, laborious—looking at Rocco struggling, face bloodied, panic written across his face as he flailed for me.
His fingers made contact with my shape, but I couldn't feel them.
More screaming. More fear.
My eyelids grew heavier, the blackness swallowing more and more of my sight.
I fought to hang on.
Fought to stay.
But the world was torn away.
And all I heard before the world went dark.
Was Rocco screaming my name.