Chapter 93 Rocco
The morning started with blood, as most of mine did.
By afternoon , gunpowder and grease odor clung to me like a second skin. The warehouse work had been clean, efficient, brutal. A handful of turncoat thieves who'd tried to loot De Luca shipments were now finding out that betrayal in our world meant an one-way ride to hell. I dried my hands on a rag that had lost its colour long ago, observing my men load the final body into the van.
Business conducted. Message delivered.
By the time I returned to the De Luca estate, the adrenaline had bled out, leaving a lethargic contentment thrumming under my ribs. I craved nothing so much as a shower, a drink, and perhaps a moment to catch my breath before I call Fiorella.
On walking in, I found my brothers in the lounge.
Rafael was at the poker table, sleeves rolled high, a glass of whiskey dripping with sweat in his hand. Riccardo slumped in his seat, piles of chips neatly ahead of him, sneering like the self-conceited sod he'd ever been. The air was thick with the smell of cigars and past turmoil, the kind of quiet we did not have often.
"Aha, look who is visiting the land of the living after taking some people to the land of the dead ," Riccardo slurred as I took my seat. "You're appearing like the devil himself, brother. What did you do this time, bury another rat?"
"Two," I said, fitting into the empty chair between them. "Couldn't decide which to make an example of."
Rafael gave a low chuckle, shuffling the cards. "Always the go-getter.".
I tossed my jacket onto the back of the chair and leaned forward, taking my hand. “Don’t be jealous, do I sense jealousy Raf?”
“Never,” he muttered, smirking. “Some of us prefer handling business with words rather than bullets.”
Riccardo scoffed. “Still surprising that Rocco has got himself a fiancée .”
That earned him a sharp look from me, but the grin on his face only widened.
"Oh, don't glare, big brother. We're glad for you," he said, with each word heavily weighed. "Fiorella's the only woman who's ever been able to get you to smile without threatening someone first."
I picked up my glass, swirled the amber liquid. "She's got that effect."
Rafael raised an eyebrow. "Finally done denying it?"
"No use," I answered flatly. "When you find something, someone, you'd kill to defend, there's no denying it."
They did not say anything for a moment. Teasing gave way to warmth, to something deeper. Then Rafael set down his cards with a grin. "Then it is time we celebrated in style."
Riccardo groaned. "Here we go."
But Rafael was already half lying back, yelling, "Rosalia!"
A moment later, she stood in the doorway, all calm grace and soft smiles that sat even the turmoil in this house. Her golden hair was loosely tied up, and her eyes sat shining up to catch the light as she looked between us.
"What are you boys planning now?" she asked, her voice as soft as it was teasing.
Rafael wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "You decide, amore. Doesn't Rocco and Fiorella deserve an engagement party?"
I grumbled under my breath. "That's not required—"
"Oh, it's so required," Rosalia interrupted, her eyes shining with excitement. "You and Fiorella deserve to have an evening that isn't spent with guns or blood or whatever you men call work."
Riccardo raised his hand in mock surrender. "She has a point.".
"I second that," Rafael said, his lips touching her hand. "It's been a while since this family's had a reason to celebrate."
Rosalia switched her attention back to me, her tone playfully demanding but with a hard edge. "You'll let me plan it, won't you, Rocco? Please?"
I sighed, glancing from her begging face to my brothers' grins. I'd defied competing dons under less pressure than this.
Finally, I exhaled and growled, "Fine. But keep it small."
"Small?" Riccardo laughed. "You do realize that Fiorella will probably come in diamonds that will blind the entire city, don't you? There is no 'small' with that woman."
I couldn't help a smile on my lips. "That's my woman you're talking about."
"And a scary one," Rafael added. "I like her."
Rosalia smiled softly, tracing her fingers over his chest. "We all do. She's strong… fierce. You two balance each other out."
"I'll tell her tonight," I said, setting down my cards.
"Good," Rosalia said smiling warmly. "Hopefully she’ll love that."
Riccardo leaned forward, wicked grin. "And maybe she'll finally start calling herself a De Luca."
I bestowed upon him one of my stares, the type that made him laugh.
I like the sound of that though. Fiorella De Luca.
Still sounds powerful.
The game went on then, the shuffling cards and the clinking glasses filling the air, the moments of brotherhood between them that reminded me why it was all worth it, family, honor, love.
But even there, in warmth, a shadow crept around the edges of my brain. The same one that had called upon me since that message sat on Rafael's phone.
The ghost that wasn't done with us yet.
And as I stared at my cards, the laughter around me fading into a murmur, I knew one thing, peace, in our world, never stuck around.
The cards were nearly forgotten, whiskey glasses half-full, laughter percolating in the air. The seriousness of the day had altered, grown lighter, warmer, throbbing with the gentle pulse of family.
Riccardo leaned back in his chair, flipping his lighter open and shut with a carefree smile. "I don't get it," he said, glinting at me. "You all are seriously giving up the bachelor life for one woman? I thought we had a pact."
Rafael snorted, stacking his chips. "That was when we were idiots."
"Speak for yourself," Riccardo snapped back. "I'm still stupid, and I'm glad of it. Love's not on my agenda."
Rosalia rolled her eyes while returning from the kitchen with a plate of biscuits . "That's because no woman would survive your agenda, Riccardo."
He gave her a mock-offended look, hand slapped dramatically against his chest. "I'll have you know that I'm very attentive."
"To your guns," Rafael snarled.
"To my women," Riccardo corrected, smiling.
"Temporary women," Rosalia said politely, setting the plate on the coffee table. "And, incidentally, non-temporary stuff —" her blue eyes moved to me "— we need to schedule a date for this engagement party. It needs to be perfect. Elegant. Something worthy of the De Luca name and Fiorella's… unique vibe."
That latter statement made me chuckle. Fiorella did not "drop by" parties. She hijacked them.
"Beautiful night, huh?" Rafael smiled over his cards. "How about this weekend? The city's deserted. No respectable families are having parties. We'll have our night."
Rosalia's eyes glimmered. "Oh, yes. I can get the decorators and the best chef ! And I can have the ballroom restored. Aria said it’s been years since anyone used it."
I rubbed the back of my neck, half-listening to her whirlwind report of arrangements. "Rosalia," I smiled quietly, "I said small. You're planning something the papers are going to dub 'the engagement of the century.'"
"Would that be so awful?" she teased. "You and Fiorella are mafia royalty. People will expect to be impressed.".
Riccardo raised his glass. "Amen to that. Let them witness that love and power do blend."
Rafael nodded, his gaze reflective. "It's not to parade, Rocco. It's a message. A reminder that the De Lucases are united, and that no threat, no shadow of the past, can cause us to falter."
Rosalia felt the stillness, her smile wavering. "It'll be beautiful," she said quietly. "You'll see. Fiorella should have a night of her own… for all she's been through."
Her words tugged at something inside of me. The image of Fiorella danced in my head, the laugh, the stubborn refusal to give in, the way her eyes softened when I touched her cheek. She'd found peace. She'd found joy.
"Fine," I said finally, releasing a breath. "Do it."
Rosalia clapped her hands with excitement, turning to Rafael. "You'll help me call the florist?"
"Whatever you want, amore."
Riccardo groaned. "God save me when it's my turn."
“You'll be next," Rafael sneered.
Riccardo pointed at him. "Don't ever say that. The universe is listening."
We all laughed, but in the middle of the laughter, I saw an odd flash of silence. A moment when Rafael's phone buzzed on the table and his expression shifted.
He flipped it over face down without checking it, plastering a smile on his face.
But I saw it, the slight stiffness of his shoulders, the same look he'd worn when he told me about the man who had shot him.
The laughter and clinking of cards came around the room again, but my thoughts strayed far from it.
Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was the ghosts that never quite remained buried in our line of work.
All I had known was that somewhere behind the plans for Fiorella's "perfect evening," there was something more deadly underway, quiet, unseeable, waiting.
And as Rosalia babbled along and on about champagne and candles, I couldn't shake the feeling that our celebration. could be the opposite too.