Chapter 96 Fiorella
The afternoon sun pours languidly in through the high windows of my study, bathing the edge of the mahogany desktop in a warm, amber light. Papers cover every surface, estates, contracts, letters, but they are not the focus of my attention. They've run together hours ago into a blur of indistinguishable pages.
The only thing that is sharp in this moment is the letter folded on the edge of my coffee cup.
The same letter that's been there since sunrise.
I've read it so many times the ink has practically branded itself into my mind. The paragraphs, the signatures, the subtle threats scrawled in my dad's lawyer's careful handwriting. The lists of everything I inherited, and every condition that went along with them.
Including the one that I've not even told Rocco about yet.
I trace the rough edge of the paper with my finger, its weight. It isn't fear, exactly, that prevents me from telling him. Something less, something nearer. Guilt.
Rocco is not an intimidating man. But this… this would hurt. That my name, my empire, my title—all of it—must remain with me following marriage. That despite the fact that I carry his ring, I do not carry his last name.
It is not a matter of possession. It is a matter of legacy. The world left behind my father. The name which built it.
But still….
I rest my hand on my forehead and take a shaky breath. What am I scared of?
Rocco isn't brutal. He could be possessive, I admit , but never in a way that imprisons me. He's always informed me that he admires my strength, that I'm unique compared to everybody else. He'd know, wouldn't he?
I close my eyes and picture him, broad shoulders, calm eyes, that sulky smile that never quite covers the hunger in his eyes when he looks at me. The way he says my name as a promise and an invitation.
And suddenly, I feel my chest tighten.
Because he deserves the truth. The same truth he gives me every single day without hesitation.
So why am I hesitating?
The clock ticks away in the silence. Outside, the muffled noises of the guards patrolling the grounds, the distant rumble of an engine. All so normal. Peaceful. The kind of quiet I worked too hard to achieve to let guilt spoil.
I pick up the letter, fold it once more for the final time, and slide it into the drawer. Out of sight. Not out of mind.
"Okay that’s enough," I exhale gently, settling back in the chair. "You've fought tougher than this. It’s not even that deep.”
And it's true. I've fought men who sought to kill me, relatives who betrayed me, an underworld that would prefer to see me in a grave rather than on a throne. This, telling my fiancé about an inheritance clause, needn't be such a fight.
But it does. Because it's not a piece of paper. It's what it represents: power, pride, and the one thing I swore to myself that I would never allow anyone else to steal from me again, control.
Rocco's surname might shake the underworld, but mine built half of it. And somewhere inside me, I think I know exactly why this scares me. Because love can smooth out even the hardest edges. And I can't afford to lose myself, not even to him.
I stand up, stretching, the ache in my back reminding me just how long I've sat. The estate is quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears. I go over to the window and look out into the garden, my father's garden, now mine. The roses have grown uncontrolled since spring, thorny and beautiful, just the way he liked them.
"I wish you were here," I say softly, my own image faint in the mirror. "You'd tell me what to do. You'd tell me not to be afraid of a man's response, no matter how much I care about him."
A small smile tugs at my lips. He'd likely say that love doesn't make you vulnerable, it makes you clever. You just have to determine who's worth bending to.
And Rocco. he's worth bending for. Not breaking. Just bending.
I move away from the window, determination surging like embers in my chest. Enough circling in my brain. Enough questioning how to break the news to him. The longer it waits, the heavier it grows, and I'm tired of carrying secrets.
Tonight. I'll do it tonight.
Whatever happens, happens.
If he's truly the man I believe him to be, the man who regards me as his equal and his ruin,then he'll understand. And if he doesn't.
Then I'll take care of it. As I always do.
I leave the study, the soft sound of my heels ringing behind me along the marble hallway. For the first time today, my footsteps are lighter. My chest does not ache as much. I am able to breathe again.
I can picture his face as I talk to him, the surprise and annoyance that will cross his eyes, followed by that throaty laugh he gives when he doesn't want to get angry. He will scoop me up in his arms, tell me I'm trouble, and tell me he knew that when he began.
I'm smiling by the time I reach my room.
Yes. Tonight. After dinner. No more secrets. No more letters in desks.
I'll make him aware of everything.
Because if we're really going to create a life together, create an empire together, it has to start on truth, not shadows.
And love, as dangerous as it can be in this world, is worth nothing less.
I reached for my phone. Maybe I'd text Rocco, something simple. Dinner at my estate tonight. I need to talk with you.
My thumb remained ready over the keys. The phone rang before I could send.
Incoming Call: Uncle Phillipe D'Angelo.
My heart plummeted.
Uncle Phillipe called only if it was bad news, or manipulation disguised as family concern. I hedged a few seconds, then answered. "Uncle."
"Fiorella ." His tone contained the same smoothness I remembered, the one that always came before something stinging. "You sound good. Congratulations, cara mia. I hear you're getting married. The De Luca prince, ah?"
“Thank you," I breathed. "We're happy."
"I'm sure." He chuckled, dry and low. "But tell me, my dear, when do I get my invitation to your engagement party? It would appear others have theirs already. You wouldn't forget relatives, would you?"
I rubbed my forehead. "The list isn't complete. Rosalia's handling most of it. You'll get yours shortly."
"Ah, Rosalia." He smiled softly. "So sweet. Remind her not to forget about us D'Angelos when she's busy polishing the De Luca crown."
"Is there something you need, Uncle?" I asked, already tired.
There was silence. I heard the quiet click, his lighter, probably, the one he'd had since I was a child. He used to snap it when he wanted to intimidate people.
"I called because I've heard… interesting things," he said at last, his voice softer now. "About the wedding. About you."
My stomach twisted in knots. "What things?"
"Like your father's letter, you know how we composed it together. He did not want his legacy to die because he bore a daughter. Poor fellow, your mother never bore him sons and he would not bed another."
The air in my body left. "What?"
“Oh, don’t sound so surprised,” he said with that mock amusement. “The clause is not a secret, word is, you’re keeping both names. Fiorella D’Angelo-De Luca. A powerful name , no doubt. But one that might not sit well with your soon-to-be husband or his family.”
“How did you—”
He interrupted me, the sound of his smile audible in his voice. "Family lawyer, cara. People who chatter. And I have… an opportunity. An offer that would put the D'Angelo name where it should have been, if you're willing to assist me."
"Assist you?" My tone was strained. "With what?
"Support. Influence. A seat back at the table," he continued calmly, as if making reservations for lunch. "We both know your father's legacy has suffered since his passing. You can turn it around."
My heart thudded against my ribcage. "If this is about money—"
“It's power," he interrupted, voice hardening by a degree. "And names. You think the De Lucases will let yours match theirs forever? You're not as stupid as that. But I can make them respect it."
I felt a knot of rage bind deep in my stomach. "You're wasting your time, Phillipe. Whatever it is you think I owe you or this family, I don't.".
There was a hush, a soft sigh that ran shivers down my back. "Beware, Fiorella. Secrets have a way of leaking to the wrong ears. And if Rocco finds out what's inside that little letterof yours… I just hope this engagement party goes on."
My blood ran cold. "What did you say?
He smiled gently. "You heard me. Greet your fiancé for me. And don't forget, I'm always a phone call away if you need to… renegotiate."
The line went dead.
I just sat there, the screen dimming out in front of me, my hand frozen around the phone. The room was suddenly too quiet. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it bounce off the walls.
He knew.
And so help me God that he doesn’t spill before I tell Rocco.