Chapter 9

Rocco

The second the front door shut behind me, I discarded my jacket, stained with blood that was not my own, and tossed it over the armchair.

The house was quiet.

Not for long, though.

Footsteps echoed down the marble hallway. Riccardo was the first to appear, always the first to sniff out turmoil before it could make an entrance. His sharp eyes swept over me, hovering on the dark smudges on my shirt.

"You look like hell," he said as a matter of fact.

"You should've seen the other guys."

Rafael wasn't far behind. He strolled in slow, calm, calculated, but I knew that calm was always a cover. A storm brewed inside, one only Rosalia could seem to calm.

"What happened?" Rafael's voice was quiet but authoritative.

I collapsed into the leather armchair and stretched out my legs. "My lovely meeting with the D'Angelo princess turned into a goddamn war zone."

Riccardo’s eyebrows furrowed. "Explain."

“Her house was attacked, As we were leaving. Bullets through the windows. Men inside the house. We barely escaped."

Rosalia's hand paused on Rafael's collar. His face darkened, but he didn't interrupt.

"We drove away in one of her cars. Went to a warehouse near the east docks."

"And?" Riccardo's voice was curt.

"Tore the place up. Left a body behind. Dead, face down. 'You're next'Fiorella on the wall in his blood."

"By whom?" Rafael's voice darkened.

"No idea yet. But it was neat, organised, and they were there for her." I looked up. "Fought like she's fought a hundred times. We took out most of them."

Riccardo cursed under his breath and slumped against the bar, pouring whiskey into a glass.

"I don't like this."

"I didn't ask you to," I said.

He gave me a glass anyway. I took it.

"Rocco," Riccardo started slowly, "maybe we shouldn't get involved with the D'Angelos. You know their rep,  ruthless, secretive, always in somebody's crosshairs. This kind of heat? It's not worth it."

I swallowed half the glass in one gulp, the burn searing and grounding. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then why even think about it?"

Rafael's voice interrupted before I could answer. "Because power doesn't come without risk. And I want to know if that girl is as deadly as they say."

I turned to my brother, shocked.

"You agree with this?" Riccardo asked, his frown growing deeper.

"I didn't say that," Rafael said mildly. "But I do think there is value in unlikely alliances. Alessandro D'Angelo taught his daughter how to rule. That makes her more dangerous than half the men in this city."

He glanced at me. "You got close enough tonight. What do you think?"

I swirled the glass slowly. “She’s impressive. Cold but calculated. Doesn’t flinch under fire. Handles herself better than most men I’ve worked with. And…”

“And?” Riccardo pressed.

I smirked faintly. “There’s fire in her. She likes control. Doesn’t like being told what to do.”

"Sounds familiar," Rafael said under his breath, and Rosalia's laugh drifted from the kitchen. He smiled at her briefly, something warm and soft passing over his face that still surprised me every time I saw it.

My brother,  the coldest of all of us, totally undone by one woman.

I rolled my eyes. "You two make me sick."

Rafael didn't say anything. He just kept looking at me.

“So what do we do now?" Riccardo asked, his voice strained with tension. "We wait and hope their problem doesn't spill into our own?"

Rafael's features hardened. "No. We find out who's after her. If they can get to the D'Angelos, they might be coming for us next."

"And if we do find them?" Riccardo asked.

I smiled, slow and dark. "We remind them that coming after one of ours, even a potential ally, has a price."

Riccardo exhaled sharply. "You're both insane."

"No," I said quietly. "We're hungry."

I stood up, rolling my shoulders. "I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, we dig."

Riccardo finished his whiskey. "This will blow up in our faces."

I didn't even bother to answer.

Because deep down… I was already wondering what she was up to at that exact moment.

And whether I'd ever get to witness that fire in her eyes once more,  in battle, or in bed.

Either way, I hungered for the rush.

And I wanted her to live up to every rumour

"So now," Riccardo spat, "we're officially in the middle of someone else's blood feud. Fantastic."

“We were involved in it the moment they hit the club," I shot back

"Names, Rocco, I need names," Rafael pushed. "What do we have on our hands here?"

“We don't know yet," I admitted. "But whoever they are… they're not small-time. This was too orchestrated. They're trying to make a statement."

Riccardo scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. "And you think we should continue to be involved in this debacle?

“ I think if somebody's got the balls to shoot up the D'Angelos in their own home and leave bodies in warehouses, they're gonna come for us next whether we like it or not."

Rafael was silent for a long while, thinking. Calculating.

"And Fiorella?" he finally asked.

I hesitated a beat too long.

Riccardo picked up on it. "Oh for fuck's sake, Rocco! You want her."

I said nothing. I didn't have to.

"You wanna screw the girl, okay," Riccardo sneered. "But don't drag us into her war."

"It's not her," I retorted. "It's about whoever is trying to destroy both of our families."

"It's always about the girl," Riccardo muttered.

Rafael’s voice was calm but absolute. “Find out who’s behind this. Riccardo, tap into our London and Berlin contacts, see if anything’s moving through their channels. Someone this loud can’t stay hidden for long.”

“And you?” Riccardo asked.

Rafael’s eyes darkened. “I’ll make some calls. Old debts. If this is the start of something bigger, we’ll see the ripples.”

Riccardo left the room, his anger hanging in the air like static.

Rafael turned to me. "And you, brother?"

I finished off my whiskey.

"I'll be seeing her again. We need to work together if we're going to survive this."

He studied me. "Be careful. Women like that… they don't let you go clean."

"Neither do I," I muttered.

I got up and left them in that room and went out onto the balcony, the night air biting at my skin.

Below, the grounds stretched out , guards patrolling their rounds, lights cutting through the night. But out there somewhere, somebody was hunting us.

And I was hunting them.