Chapter 35 Roc

I was still gripping the steering wheel too hard when I pulled into the driveway behind Letta. My sister slammed her car door like a child throwing a tantrum and stomped toward the house, heels stabbing the concrete with every step. I got out slower, breathing hard through my nose. I wasn’t just pissed, I was embarrassed. For her. For me. For our family.

Letta had always had a crush on Salvatore. Fine. Everyone knew it. But it was harmless. A phase. Something she’d grow out of. Except she didn’t. And now she’d crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

Salvatore was my best friend. Matteo was like a brother, sure, but Salvatore… he was different. He was the one who knew my secret. The only one I trusted with it. The only one who didn’t look at me differently afterward. In our world, that meant something. That meant everything. And Letta had put me in the middle of something I never asked for. I followed her inside.

Our father, Bruce Hale, was standing in the foyer, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. He wasn’t a man who yelled. He didn’t need to. One look from him could level a room.

Letta froze. “Dad...” she started, already slipping into that fake little‑girl voice she used when she wanted out of trouble.

“No,” Bruce said. “Not tonight.”

Her eyes filled with tears instantly. “I didn’t do anything wrong. They were rude to me, and Salvatore...”

“Salvatore,” Dad cut in sharply, “is family. And you disrespected him. In his own home.”

She blinked, stunned that her performance wasn’t working.

I stepped beside Dad, arms crossed. “You embarrassed us. You embarrassed me. And you insulted a child, Letta. A child.”

She glared at me. “He’s not even...”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t say it again.”

Dad stepped forward, voice low and final. “Give me your cards.”

Letta’s mouth fell open. “What? No! Dad, you can’t...”

“I can,” he said. “And I am. Until you learn how to behave with respect toward the Ricci family, and toward your own brother, you’re cut off.”

She looked between us, betrayed and furious. “You’re taking their side?”

Dad didn’t blink. “I’m taking the side of what’s right.”

Letta let out a strangled sound, half‑cry, half‑scream, and stormed down the hallway toward her room, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. Silence settled. Dad exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Thank you for texting me.”

I nodded. “She needed to hear it.”

He looked at me then, really looked, and I knew he could see the tension still in my shoulders, the anger simmering under my skin.

“You okay?” he asked.

I swallowed. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He nodded once, the way he always did when he knew I wasn’t telling him everything but wasn’t ready to talk.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll deal with her in the morning.”

He walked away, leaving me alone in the quiet hallway. I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. Letta had no idea how much damage she could’ve caused tonight. And she had no idea how close she was to becoming a danger, not just to herself, but to all of us. Because in our world, disrespect wasn’t just rude. It was deadly. And I wasn’t sure how many more chances she had left.

My phone buzzed. Salvatore. I opened the message.

Salvatore: She home?

I sighed and typed back.

Roc: Yeah. Dad’s dealing with her. She’s still acting like she’s the victim.

A moment passed before the bubbles appeared.

Salvatore: You okay?

He always asked. Always noticed.

Roc: I’m fine. Just pissed. She put me in a bad spot.

Salvatore: You didn’t do anything wrong. She did.

I leaned against the wall, letting out a slow breath.

Roc: Still feels like I’m stuck between two worlds.

Salvatore: You’re not. You’re my brother. That’s your world.

My chest tightened. He was the only one who knew the truth about me. The only one who didn’t treat me differently.

Roc: Thanks.

A beat. Then another message popped up.

Salvatore: You should get out of your head for a bit.

Roc: How?

Salvatore: Go see that bartender you pretend you don’t stare at.

My face heated instantly.

Roc: Shut up.

Salvatore: I’m just saying… he’s easy on the eyes. And he likes you.

I rubbed a hand over my face, half‑annoyed, half‑grateful.

Roc: You’re an ass.

Salvatore: And you need a distraction. Go get a drink. A real one. From him.

Despite everything, I snorted.

Roc: Goodnight, brother.

Salvatore: Night. And Roc? Stop overthinking. You deserve something good too.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, the tension in my chest easing just a little. He always knew how to pull me back from the edge, with honesty, with loyalty, with a joke sharp enough to cut through the noise. I finally pushed off the wall and headed to my room. Tomorrow would be a mess. But tonight, at least, I wasn’t alone.