Chapter 91 Rocco
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt longer than it ever had. My brain was a whirlpool of the day's chaos, Rafael's fury, the text from the ghost who should be six feet under and some other minor shopping issues. It wasn't until the elevator chimed and the doors slid open that my body was screaming for one thing. Not whiskey. Not blood. Not vengeance.
Her.
After a long day, what I had longed for was Fiorella in my arms, her scent in my lungs, her body grounding me like she alone could. Her gentle laughter against my chest rendering today's turbulence numb for a moment.
I took off my jacket, tossing it over the couch, when the door clicked closed behind me.
Few minutes later. Keys jingled. Heels clicked on marble. And then, standing there, Fiorella, hair wild around her shoulders, a bag of takeout dangling from her hand as if it were empty.
"You’re here first," she started, smiling up to her eyes, the kind of smile that softened the sharpness of her queenly demeanor into something more approachable, something I alone could witness.
"I wasn't sure if I would," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "But I couldn't be anywhere else."
She stood holding the takeout bag between us. "Good. Because I was starving. And I wasn't going to be sitting in this penthouse by myself eating noodles instead."
I chuckled deep in my chest. "You could've waited for me."
"You? I thought you’d be gone the whole night and I'd be waiting till the morning."
I stepped forward, took the bag from her hands, and brushed a kiss along her forehead before she could protest. "I’ll always communicate my movement to you.”
Her eyes gentled, and I swore I felt my heart slow.
We ate at the dinner table, city lights pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing her in silver and gold. I opened the containers, and the scent of garlic and spices wafted through the air. She slid into her seat, legs folding under her like she wasn't born to rule but to be loved.
"So," she said, piercing her fork into noodles.
"Tell me. How terrible was it today?”
I leaned back, letting out a harsh breath. "Rafael's attacker is back. The man who put my brother in a coma is back. Taunting us like children playing hide and seek. It's…" My fist tightened before I could control it. "It's eating away at me that he's out there alive. That he's going to have the audacity to attack my family again."
Fiorella's face did not flinch. That was the way about her, no shaking, no terror. Just fire. She chewed methodically, swallowed, then laid her fork down with a soft click.
"Then let him breath a little longer," she said softly to me. "Men who breathe make errors. Men who are dead don't. Soon enough he’ll show himself and you’ll end him.”
I stared at her, my heart tightening. God, I loved her head.
"You make it sound so easy."
"Oh, we both know it’s not.” she said, propping her chin in her palm. "But I’ve seen your family and I know no one has anything on you all. That type of loyalty and love, it’s rare. You guys fight for each other and protect each other. As long as you’re united I don’t think any family can come against yours.”
My lips curled into a smile. "I never knew you admired us that much.”
Her smile turned hard. "Who doesn’t, the De Luca’s, as much as you all are feared, you are also highly respected and admired.”
I smiled, fork forgotten in my hand, pride throbbing inside me so hard it ached. "It’s a good thing I have my brothers and I have you too. We’re a formidable force.”
She tilted her head smiling. "Yes. Anyone that tries us will suffer tge deadly consequences.”
There was a moment of quiet, comfortable, charged. And then she jabbed my leg under the table. "But I want to ask you something, love. How do we make this less hard? For you. For me. Because sometimes I feel that we are both trying to balance the world on our shoulders, and one day it might kill us."
I leaned across the table, took her hand in mine, placing my thumb on the knuckles. "We don't let it. We make nights like this a rule. We eat together. We talk. We remind ourselves that we're not fighting battles,we're building something worth bleeding for. You. Me. Us."
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes glinting in the city lights.
“That's what I wanted to hear," she panted. "Because I can fight every family, but there is one thing that I cannot do and that is lose this."
"You won't," I swore, leaning in closer, my grip on her hand tightening. "Not while I'm still around.".
She smiled at me again then, that lovely, smile, before shaking her head. "We're both ridiculous. Sitting here with takeout, plotting the killing of our enemies like it's normal."
I grinned. "Would you rather champagne and caviar while threatening lives?"
"No," she said, laughing softly. "This is perfect. Because it's ours."
I leaned across the table then, brushing my lips over hers, soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that promised we’d survive whatever storm was waiting tomorrow.
The food was long gone, the containers shoved aside and forgotten, but she was still there, her hand in mine, her eyes searching me like she could strip every hidden scar from my soul if I’d let her.
The city outside our windows thrummed with life, headlights blurring into darkness, sirens humming softly out there. But in here, just us.
I stood, hauling her out of her chair. "Come."
Her eyebrows went up. "Where?"
"Does it matter?"
Her mouth curled up, mischievous, but she didn't fight. I tugged her to the couch, bringing her over into my lap until she fit against me like she was tailored for no other. The scent of her shampoo remained on my shirt, her warmth seared into my chest, and for the first time today, the tightness in my muscles began to let up.
She curled herself around me, her cheek against my shoulder. "You always sense when I need it," she whispered.
I kissed her hair, breathing in her scent. "That's because I need it too."
We didn't speak for a long time. I rubbed slow patterns on her back, her fingers tracing absent circles on my arm. The quiet wasn't quiet, it was heavy, weighed down with all the things we hadn't said between us. The proposal weight. The ghosts in her family history. The shadows surrounding mine.
But here, with her heart firm against me, that didn't mean anything.
"See," she breathed, tipping her head back, eyes flashing with the faint light, "I never knew I needed a personal masseuse and teddy bear.”
I laughed, “So I’ve been reduced to that?”
Her hand went up, cradling my jaw, thumb tracing the dip of my cheekbone. "No baby, I’m just exploring all the benefits of being with a big bad man that’s soft for me.”
The ensuing kiss was sweet, slow, the sort that sank deep instead of scorching hot. Her lips brushed mine, tasted, remembered, as though she desired to imprint me in ways no ring could.
I held her tighter, swallowing the ache of wishing to keep her safe in a world that did not forgive softness. My Fiorella, my queen, my ruin, my salvation.
We tore apart only when breath demanded, foreheads together, her smile against mine.
"Promise me something," she whispered.
"Anything."
"That we won't let them take this away from us. Whatever storms are on the horizon. Whatever war is brewing. Promise me we'll fight to keep this."
I looked at her, at the fire burning behind her eyes and the vulnerability lurking just beneath. And I kissed her again, a promise without words.
"I promise," I panted against her lips. "On everything I am."
Her eyes went soft, but as she relaxed back into me, snuggling up into my chest again, I caught it, just for an instant.
A shadow in her eyes.
Secrets.
She was hiding something from me.
And though I wanted to believe love alone could protect us, I knew better.
The world outside waited to test us.
And maybe, just maybe, the initial storm would be the one that started within our walls.