Chapter 82 Rocco
I watched her.
Fiorella stood over Vittorio, her expression neutral as his blood spread onto the ground. She had not said a word for the last couple of minutes, watching him twist, watching him break. There was no hesitating in what she did, no second-guessing. Just precision. Just control.
She was queen among her people.
And I was sure of one thing, I wasn't losing her again.
I stepped closer, resting a hand on her lower back, grounding her. "Come with me," I breathed.
She didn't turn, still staring down at Vittorio. "Where?"
"To the estate." I caught her gaze when she finally met mine. "Stay with me."
There was a moment of hesitation, but I saw the decision flash through her eyes before she'd even spoken. "Alright."
It was the only answer I needed.
The ride home was quiet, but not tense. She was lost in thought, I could tell from her tapping her nails on the car door, her eyes spaced out.
Then, as if she had made up her mind, she pulled out her phone and called.
"Leo," she said when the call went through.
I heard his voice on the other end, short and direct. "Fiorella, you good?"
"I'm fine," she said smoothly, but there was an edge to her voice. "What's the situation on the house?"
There was a brief pause before Leo answered, "Everything's going according to plan. Security's already been increased, and we should be fully operational within a week."
"Make it three days."
Leo exhaled. "Fiorella—"
"Three days, Leo." Her voice was glacial. "And I want Elio Marchesi dealt with in the next twenty-four hours."
That got my full attention.
Leo was silent for a second before he said anything. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
There was an undercurrent of tone, something cold and deadly, something I'd never quite heard in her voice before. It wasn't revenge—it was putting an end to this war before it got any worse.
Leo sighed. "Fine. I'll make the call."
She hung up without comment, stashing the phone back onto her lap.
I smiled. "You don't waste time, do you?"
She glanced at me, something explosive dancing in her eyes. "I almost died, Rocco." Her knuckles tightened against the leather seat. "And I'm not going to wait around for them to have another shot at it."
I placed my hand over hers, my fingers encircling hers, holding her steady. "Then let's finish it."
She tightened her fingers around mine. "We will."
I leaned forward, gently touching her fingers. She turned towards me, looking at me, and even though she said nothing, she interlaced her fingers with mine.
By the time we reached the estate, night had fallen, casting the giant house into inky shadows. The gates moved smoothly open and as I reached the top of the long drive, the comforting sight of home should have eased me. But my head was too tangled up with images of war, her safety, and what was coming next.
Rosalia had already stepped outside to wait at the door, arms crossed. Her blonde ponytail was loose and her piercing blue eyes scanned both of us searching for evidence of harm. She had on a soft sweater and jeans and should have looked at ease, but a rigidity to her posture revealed that she'd been on edge.
"You're finally back," she said, relief in her voice. "Are you two okay?"
Fiorella nodded slightly. "We're fine."
Rosalia raised an eyebrow but didn't continue the subject. Instead, she sighed. "I cooked. You both need to eat."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "After we freshen up."
Rosalia gave me a pointed look but didn't argue. "Fine. But don't take too long."
She turned, heading back inside, and I led Fiorella's hand again up the stairs. The mansion was still, too still, given all that had happened.
As we reached my bedroom, she stepped in like she owned the room.
I let the door close behind us, watching her stroll over to the dresser, fingertips running along the edge.
"I'll stay here with you tonight,"
I stepped in closer, tilting her chin. "You're staying with me every night."
A flash of smirk appeared at her mouth. "That so?"
I did not return it. Instead, I rubbed my thumb against the softness of her jaw, pulling her in. "You almost died, Fiorella." My words were lower, gruffer than I intended. "I want you everywhere with me."
Her smirk receded, leaving behind something softer, something mysterious.
"I don't want to lose you," I admitted, my voice clenched. "Not after everything. Not ever."
Her hands curved around the fabric of my shirt. "You won't."
I exhaled on a trembling breath, my forehead against hers. "This war has to stop. Now."
She nodded, her hands bunching in my shirt. "It will."
I drew back far enough to see her. To actually see her. "I want you at my side forever, Fiorella. Not just in this war."
Something flashed across her eyes—something raw. Vulnerable.
She swallowed hard. "Forever?"
I framed her face with my hands, my thumb sliding along her jaw. "Forever."
For the first time since that night on the road, something within me unraveled.
She was here. She was alive. She was mine.
And I was not letting her go.
Fiorella didn't shy away. Instead, she just looked at me, her black eyes surveying my own as if she was storing this moment for all eternity.
Forever.
It wasn't a word I said lightly. But with her, I didn’t have to question anything. From the moment she'd come back into my life, so obstinate and stubborn, I'd known—she was it. My partner, my ruin, my salvation.
She exuded slowly before she finally spoke. "Then let's finish the war."
Her words hovered between us, heavy with meaning. I saw it in her pose, in the determined set of her jaw—she was ready. But the battle ahead would not be simple. Elio Marchesi still lingered.
I nodded, running my fingers through her hair. "Tomorrow, we end this."