Chapter 85 Fiorella
You'd think after sending my enemies to their graves and being proposed to by the man of my dreams, life would at last be a bed of roses. But the mafia lifestyle doesn't offer roses, it deals in blood and thorns. There is no peace, no calm. For every enemy sent to the grave, there's one more lurking in the shadows, picking up their gun, waiting to attack.
The evening wind still had the iron sting of blood from last week's war. My nephew and uncle were nothing more than rotting corpses now, and yet, even as I stood in the penthouse balcony, looking out over the city that bent to my desire, I could feel eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.
Behind me, the doors creaked open, and I did not need to turn around to know that it was Rocco. We were the only ones here and besides, his presence a shadow that always followed mine. Rocco, second son of the De Luca empire, my fiancé now, though the word had seemed too flippant , too ordinary for what he stood for. He was not a man who sent me flowers and empty promises at midnight. He was a man who bled for me, who murdered for me, who entered my shadows willingly.
"You're nervous. You should rest," he said, his deep voice gravel weighted with heat.
"Rest is for corpses," I breathed, fingers wound tight around the railing. My diamonds flashed under the moon, and there was a harsh reminder of the engagement ring my finger wore. "And we both know, my love , that corpses are never silent in this world."
He moved to stand beside me, towering and ominous in his rolled-up black shirt. The lights of the city spun in his eyes, but he wasn't staring at me. "You don't trust it."
"Trust?" A snort, bitter as gall, escaped me. "I've learned trust kills. I trusted my own blood. My own uncle. My own cousin. They meant to slit my throat, take all my father earned. They paid with their lives. And still—" I gestured toward the horizon, to the city that never slept. "The whispers never die. They're already buzzing around like vultures, Rocco. Asking how long before the new Queen takes a fall."
His jaw tightened. He hated the word “falls” when it was tied to me. “Let them circle. I’ll cut their wings before they ever touch you.”
I turned around, my eyes locking with his. He was stunning the way storms were stunning, deadly, unpredictable, and crackling with raw power. Sometimes I questioned whether he loved me or if he was hooked on the heat between us. But then he'd look at me like this, as though there was no queen, no empire, no crown, just me, Fiorella, the woman who tortured him.
"You think you can protect me from everything?" I whispered, provoking him, taunting him.
"I don't think," he said, taking a step forward, voice dropping into something feral. "I know."
Fire writhed in my chest. I should have been immune by now, against his words, against him. But with Rocco, there was no immunity, surrender or war.
I lifted my chin. "So tell me, who do you think it'll be this time? Our new enemies because I sure as hell know we’ve pissed off some people by killing my uncle and nephew”
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the railing beside me, our arms touching, his warmth seeping into my skin. "It doesn't matter who it is. Whoever comes next will realize what the others learned, that going against you is signing their own death warrant."
There was silence between us, thick with unspoken truths. He was right. I had blood on my hands, much more than most men who played this game. I was ruthless, untouchable to most, but not to all. And Rocco… he was moving deeper into my flames with every breath, binding himself to me with no assurance of surviving.
I spun back towards the city, but softened my tone this time. "You know they'll come for us. For me. Perhaps even for you.”
His hand folded over mine, rough fingers rubbing against the diamond studded knuckles of my hand. He drew my hand to his mouth and kissed it, slow and even, his eyes never leaving mine. "Then let them try it. Because they'll find there's only one Queen."
The words wrapped around me like armour, like chains, like a vow. My heart thumped against my breast, but I stayed impassive. That was the game, anyway. A Queen never gets frightened. A Queen never shows her cracks.
And for the first time since I'd said yes to his proposal , a shiver of uncertainty crept down my spine.
Not of him. Never of him. But of us, whether even love might hold against the mafia's constant brutality.
Rocco's phone buzzed against his pocket, the metallic hum piercing the thick stillness between us. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and I caught the flash of smile dancing over his lips.
"Rafael," he growled, then spoke. His voice softened in a way it was rarely like this, a fire shattering through the steel. "Yeah, fratello… she said yes."
I stood rigid where I was, my chest tightening at the raw pleasure emanating from him. Rocco never laughed, and tonight there was a lightness in his voice, almost boyish. I'd never heard it before and something raw stirred within me.
"Of course I'm not kidding," he laughed softly. "You should've seen her face. She nearly killed me with that look before she said it.".
I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to suppress a smile. He was speaking of me as if I were the best thing that he'd ever possessed, as if all of his wars, all his wounds, were worth it because I had accepted his ring.
"I know, Raf," he continued, pacing himself a little, his back to me. "It won't be easy. Nothing with us ever is. But she's mine now, and I'll set this city on fire before I let anyone steal her away from me."
Every syllable wrapped around me, a rope tightening, plunging me deeper into him. For the first time ever, the presence of shadows wasn't frightening. Not when I had this guy walking next to me.
He slammed the phone back into its cradle and shoved it back into his jacket pocket, his back to me as he waited until finally he turned. His eyes met mine. The barest blush, honest, unadulterated, spread across his cheek. "They didn’t believe you’ll say yes.”
I laughed. I went to him, laid my hand on his chest, feeling the hard thump of his heart under my hand. For one fleeting, golden moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we might have this. Happiness. Peace.
But then the sudden loud ring of my own phone shattered the quiet. I pulled it out of my pocket, frowning at the number displayed on the screen. Unknown.