5. A Crack in the Ice

DIANA

I stared at the road stretching ahead while Rocco drove, that serious expression glued to his face. Two hours on the road. Not a single word from either of us. I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but truth was—my ego was still bruised.

I glanced at him. The way the muscles in his arm flexed when he turned the wheel. Couldn't deny it—he was hot. Really hot. Those tattoos only made it worse.

But Jesus. What an ice king.

Since we met, he'd been nothing but a wall. Not one laugh. Not one casual comment. Just orders. Orders. Orders. So annoying.

I tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept circling back. Does he ever relax? I'd pushed enough to know something was there—a spark he refused to acknowledge.

I sighed, thinking about this morning. When he pulled my hand off his chest and told me to be ready in twenty minutes? My pride took a hit. Who did he think he was? The Cosa Nostra's answer to Brad Pitt? And why did it bother me so much?

Another glance at him. Jaw tight. Eyes fixed on the road.

I needed something—anything—to break this weird tension. Opened my bag, pulled out the wine bottle. Quick move. Opened it. Took a long swallow.

He cut his eyes at me. Eyebrow up.

“Why do I get the feeling you drank at the convent?”

I smiled. He wasn't wrong.

“'Cause you're not.” Another sip.

I used to steal the communion wine. Get wasted on Jesus juice.

He kept his eyes on the road, but I saw curiosity there.

“Doesn't sound like you've had an easy few years.”

Another sigh. The weight of it all pressed down. He was right again. Wine was my escape. Even now—the only thing that helped me forget. Forget that day. Forget that everyone I loved was dead.

Rocco stayed quiet. But I felt it—he understood. At least partly. Maybe he had his own demons. And somehow, that made me feel less alone.

I looked back at the road. But now? There was a thread between us. Even if he was an ice king. Maybe—just maybe—this trip wouldn't suck as much as I thought.

I held out the bottle.

“Want some?”

Surprise—he took it. Then, before I could feel victorious, he rolled down the window and tossed it onto the shoulder.

“HEY! What the hell?”

“Alcoholism isn't a joke, Diana. Don't be stupid enough to ruin your life like that.”

I sank into the seat, processing. Anger bubbled. But underneath it—something else. A weird feeling that he actually cared. Didn't know what to do with that.

“You don't understand.” Mumbled. More to myself than him.

“I understand more than you think.” His voice softened. “Everyone's got demons. Drowning them doesn't help.”

I closed my eyes. Felt the sting of tears. Would not let him see me break. But his words landed. Heavy.

“Don't need a lecture from some guy I met yesterday. Who I know nothing about.”

He sighed. Long. Tired.

“Talk to me.”

“What?”

“Talk to me. Forget the drinking.”

He glanced away from the road—just for a second—and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Understanding. It caught me off guard. Until now, every conversation had been surface-level crap. Him reinforcing that I was just some spoiled brat he had to deliver. But this? Different. He actually seemed willing to open up.

“Ask me something.” He nodded. “Something you want to know?”

I bit my lip. Drew blood. Didn't know where to start.

He murmured, low:

“There's a lot you don't know about me.”

“Like what?”

“I used to be a Camorra capo.”

My head whipped toward him. Almost choked on air.

“What did you say?”

Side-eye glance. Then repeat.

“Yeah. I was a Camorra capo.” All the blood drained from my face. He finished: “But that's in the past.”

“How? When did that happen... before or after my father—” I stumbled.

“Not long ago.”

Eyes on the road. Explained flat:

“When Cosa Nostra took control of the Camorra, our territories got absorbed. The remaining capos allied with Cosa Nostra to keep some influence. Some fought it. Most joined the new regime.”

Of course. Made perfect sense. I'd never seen him in my family's house, and now I knew why. He wasn't part of our circle until after the Camorra dissolved.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Didn't think it was the best introduction. Didn't want to scare you. And honestly? You've got no reason to be scared. Your brother trusted me with this because he knows my experience.” He cleared his throat. “And he knows the chance of me rebelling is zero. At this point, he knows my motivations pretty well.”

I sat with that. Then:

“Why tell me now?”

Hesitation.

“Because I need you to understand why I can't touch you. Giving in to your games? That'd be disrespecting your brother. Worse—it'd be signing my death warrant. It was decided in one of the assemblies—Camorra capos are strictly forbidden from relationships with Cosa Nostra bosses' daughters. Keeps us from rebelling against your brother's sovereignty.”

My throat went dry. Remembered last night. Every move I made. God, could the ground just swallow me now?

“Oh. About that...” Nervous smile. “I was joking. Don't worry... I didn't know you'd actually be in danger. I'm sorry.” Clumsy. Awkward.

He smiled. Tension broke.

“It's fine. I forgive you. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You don't tell anyone you snuck out at night, broke into my room, and hit on me all night.”

Hit on him all night? Men and their egos. One drop of attention and they think you're in love.

“Deal. I also won't tell anyone about the way you looked at me. Like you wanted to say yes.”

He smiled.

“You like playing with fire, little girl.”

“Specialty of mine.”

“I'm starting to think you couldn't handle it. All smoke, no heat.”

“Wanna test that theory?”

He glanced at the shoulder. Smirked.

“Think you'd better behave until Barcelona.”

Now I smiled. He actually got my humor. I liked that. Enough that the urge to drink faded. We kept talking—roads, trees, urban legends. Random crap. He'd given me something else to focus on. And honestly? It worked.