Chapter 73 Rocco
Blood. Metal. Smoke.
Everything was spinning, the edge of my vision coming in and out as I fought to get my head around what the fuck had just happened. One minute we were driving back to the penthouse after the night of our lives, and the next minute a truck had come out of nowhere, colliding with Fiorella's side of the car with fatal force.
The force had been vicious, one that had overturned the car. One that had left me gasping for breath, the seatbelt biting into my ribcage. One that had left her slumped over, bleeding.
My fingers were trembling as I reached out for her. "Fiorella!"
She didn't budge.
Didn't even flinch.
Her head was cocked to the side, blood streaming down her temple, her lips slightly open as if she had tried to say something but never got the chance.
I was thrown into a paralysing fear, my chest tightening like a steel claw.
No. No. No.
I shoved the pain in my own body aside, ignoring the cut above my eye and the stabbing pain in my ribs. I didn't have the time to care about myself.
I had to take her out. I had to—
My fingers wildly hunted for my phone, nearly letting it fall from my fingers as I dialled emergency services.
"Emergency response, where are you?"
"An accident. Massive wreck. I need an ambulance fucking now!" I bellowed, raw and shaking as I gave them our coordinates.
My heart pounded so fiercely I could barely think at all.
Whoever had been behind that truck hadn't just been careless. It had been intentional. The way they had approached us head-on, the way they hadn't even tried to swerve—
Someone had planned this.
Someone had tried to kill us.
But now, I couldn't care about that.
Now, all I could think about was her.
I hung up and called Rafael immediately. My hands were slick with blood—mine or Fiorella's, I couldn't even tell anymore.
He picked up on the first ring. "What's wrong?"
"Get the fucking helicopter!" I yelled, attempting to unbuckle Fiorella's seatbelt. "Now, Rafael! I don't care how you do it—just get it here!"
There was a pause, and then Rafael cursed. "How bad?"
"She's bleeding, Rafael! She won't wake up—" My voice caught, my breathing ragged. "I need to get her to a hospital. I need to get her out of this car before—"
Gasoline fumes drifted into my nostrils.
My body tensed.
I rolled my head, and my stomach churns.
Flames crested the crumpled hood of the car, spreading with deadly speed.
No. No. No.
Not now.
Not when I hadn't been able to get her out yet.
"Rocco?" Rafael's voice was a whisper.
"I have to go!" I slammed down the phone, shoving it into my pocket and giving all my attention over to Fiorella.
I held her face, voice barely above a whisper. "Baby, wake up. Just—just a little. Give me something."
Nothing.
The fire grew hotter.
I snarled and tore at her seatbelt, cursing when it refused to budge. My hands were damp, but I tightened my grip, using every ounce of strength I had to fight at the latch.
Finally, it let out.
She slumped forward, and I caught her, wincing at how loose she felt in my arms.
"Fiorella," I breathed, scooping her up as carefully as possible.
She wasn't breathing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I pulled myself out through the shattered windshield, my entire body screaming in pain, but I didn't care. All that mattered was getting her the fuck out of here.
I landed on the gravel, wrapping my arms around her tighter and hauling her away from the wreckage. Every step was agony, my ribs aching, my head spinning, but I kept moving.
I had only made ten feet when the car ignited in a firestorm.
Flames from the blast scorched my back, the explosion threatening to knock me off course. I staggered but was able to retain Fiorella beside me, holding her body across me to protect her.
I looked down at her pale face, her blood on my hands, my shirt, my conscience.
"Stay with me," I begged, my voice strained. "Just stay with me, Fiorella. You need to wake up. Oh Christ!”
I set her gently on the ground and grabbed the phone again, dialling emergency services for the second time.
"Where the hell are you !" I yelled before they could get a word in. "The car just exploded—she needs a medic now!"
"We have units on the way—"
"Too slow!"
I clenched my jaw, staring down at Fiorella, her breathing laboured, her eyelashes not moving.
This was no accident.
This was a threat.
Someone had tried to kill her.
And they would pay.
I'd burn the whole goddamn world to ashes if I had to.
The sirens cut through the darkness like a blade.
The blue and red lights flashing illuminated Fiorella's blood-stained face in ghoulish tones as I crouched beside her, holding her hand like it was the only thing that kept her grounded in this world.
"Stay with me, baby," I whispered, my voice filled with pain.
Her skin was too cold. Her breaths too shallow.
I had never experienced such fear ever before—not as a kid when facing the first barrel of a gun, not as I battled to survive in the streets, not even as I witnessed the death of my father.
Nothing had ever come close to the pure horror of watching the woman I loved slip away from me.
The paramedics rushed over, their voices murmuring together into a blur of medical terms and orders. I didn't hear much of them.
"Sir, you've got to move back." One of them reached out to push me aside and take my arm, but I pulled it out of his path.
"I'm not stepping away from her."
"You're hurt—"
"I don't fucking care!" I yelled, my voice echoing in the darkness. "Help her! Do whatever the hell you have to, but help her!"
The paramedics did not argue any further. They worked quickly, securing her to a stretcher, an oxygen mask on her face, IV tubes in her white arm. I stayed glued to her side, holding her fingers, unwilling to let go.
"Her pulse is weak," one of them complained. "BP dropping."
I clenched my teeth so hard I was afraid they would break.
The ambulance doors swung open. "Get him in, too," another medic ordered. "He's losing a lot of blood."
That was the first time I actually noticed my own injuries.
My shirt was soaked, not just with Fiorella's blood but with my own as well. My forehead cut was still bleeding, and there was a ragged laceration on my side that white-hot pain ripped through me with every gasp.
But it didn't fucking matter.
The only thing that mattered was her.
"I'm riding with her," I muttered, climbing into the ambulance before anyone could catch up with me.
They put her on machines, the beeping too sluggish, too arrhythmic.
I sat beside her, my hand entwined in hers, softly murmuring in her ear. Lies she might as well not hear. "You're gonna be fine, Fiorella. I promise. You're not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever."
The trip to the hospital was a whirlwind of blaring lights and the distant thrum of medical readings.
By the time we arrived, a group of doctors was already waiting for us. They rushed her in, and I tried to follow, but someone grabbed my arm.
"Sir, you need to get medical attention, too. You're bleeding—"
"Take your goddamn hands off me!" I tried to push away from them, but my body let me down, my head reeling from the loss of blood at last.
"Sir, you'll faint if you don't—"
"I don't care! She needs me!"
"She needs doctors."
I struggled, but I was weakening by the second. My body was shutting down, whether I liked it or not.
I vaguely remembered being dragged into another room, my wounds cleaned and bandaged, an IV inserted into my arm. None of it mattered. I didn't care about anything.
All that mattered to me were the closed doors at the end of the hall.
Where they were operating on her.
Where her destiny was being finalised.
Time disintegrated.
Minutes. Hours. I didn't know.
All I knew was that I was still stretched out on a hospital bed, my body wrapped in bandages, my brain screaming at me to get the fuck up and go find her.
Then the door creaked.
A nurse walked in, her face serious.
My heart stopped.
I sat up so quickly my stitches pulled, but I didn't care.
"Tell me," I ordered.
She hesitated.
And in that moment, I knew.
Something was wrong.
Something bad.
"Mr. De Luca…" She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the medical chart a little too tightly.
"There's been a complication."