Palazzo Rocco You Are My Antidote Novels & Stories

The wood creaked softly under my steps, and the smell of fresh coffee got stronger with every stair. When I got to the kitchen, I almost stopped in the doorway. Rocco had his back to me, just in his boxers, moving something around on the stove. The tattoos on his back seemed to dance with his muscles, and the sun streamed in through the giant window behind him, lighting up every curve, every line. He turned his head a little, like he’d felt me there. “Looks like the princess finally woke up.” His voice was rough, with that accent that did something to me.

“Depends. Am I trespassing?” He shrugged. “Probably. But I won’t tell. Antonello Mastrandrea. You must be her.” I blinked. “Her?” “The one who dumped Rocco Marcossi like spoiled milk. Damn near half the town’s in love with you for that.” I raised an eyebrow. “And the other half?” “Jealous.” His grin was crooked. Dangerous, but not like Romero. Where Romero was composed rage and slow-burn intensity, Antonello was wildfire with a match in his teeth.

"Dorian said the biometric link is tied to her heart rate. If she’s distressed, the Nespola trust locks down permanently. Silvio can’t afford to hurt her." "He doesn't need to hurt her to break her, Rachelle. He’s been her 'benefactor' for a decade. To that little girl, Silvio Santoro is the man who saved her from the fire. You and I? We’re the monsters who let her burn." The Palazzo Santoro sat on a ridge overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was a fortress of limestone and marble, draped in purple bougainvillea that looked like bruised veins against the white stone. As we entered the grand hall, the air was cool and smelled of incense.

he stated softly, but the sheer rasp in his voice was enough to freeze the entire coastal square. Rocco didn't take a single step back. Instead, he smirked with that insufferable, aristocratic ease. "If her man leaves a woman this beautiful all by herself to faint under the scorching sun, then I am going to wrap my arms around her waist," he countered. However, he emphasized the "wrap my arms around her waist" part with a heavy, deliberate dose of mockery, explicitly aiming to dig right into Matteo’s nerves.

" Eléonor exclaimed, not thinking too much about Crystal's weird suggestions. "Huh? You don't believe me?" Crystal asked unhappily. "Why would I?" Eléonor snorted, hanging her trash bag around her neck. Hearing that, Crystal frowned. "Haven't you heard of the Rocco clan?" She asked again. "Sure, who doesn't know of it?" Eléonor rolled her eyes at her. Crystal grinned. "BRBG Arena is under the Rocco Clan. I heard they often recruit their members from that place." She said,

Music pounds through the speakers, the bar is three people deep, and the air smells of expensive perfume, alcohol, and cigarette smoke drifting in from the terrace. I’d forgotten how loud this place gets. How alive it feels. Rocco spots me almost immediately. His eyes sweep over me from head to toe, and this time, I don’t feel the urge to tug my skirt down or cover the bare strip of skin above it. I let him look. “Cristo,” he mutters, breaking into a grin. “You’re gonna ruin lives in that outfit, mia cara.” I laugh. “Bit dramatic.” “You haven’t seen yourself from where I’m standing.”

"My company is being picked apart by vultures! My daughter is losing her mind! I know Alexander is behind the short-sells. Tell him to face me!" Rocco didn't move. He didn't even blink. "The Sovereign is currently... unavailable, Mr. Rossi. He is observing the Sabbath of his private interests." "Private interests? My family is being destroyed!" Harold lunged forward, but Rocco’s hand shot out, gripping Harold’s shoulder with bruising force.

it was amusing to see how composed she was looking knowing she was most likely silently cussing him out, maybe a little marijuana was the smart move after all. A young man in a white shirt approached Rocco offering the tray filled with champagne filled flutes. He took one and handed it to me and I gladly took the glass, mouthing the words thankyou as to not disturb Lorenzo’s speech “And I hope you can all share a glass with me to the strong women standing at our sides, to family and the power of strong allies” he raised his glass in the air before taking a sip as hoots and whistles filled the air.

At the bottom of the cliff lay mangled remains, battered by the waves until they were unrecognizable. Rocco clutched that ring and didn't sleep all night. On the surface, he acted as if nothing had happened, even arranging a trip for me to Sicily, telling me to go and relax. The night I landed, I was kidnapped by assassins from a rival family. I screamed for him to pay the ransom, only to hear him give the order himself over the phone: "Don't make her death a quick one. The Costello princess? She's nothing but a damn liability. Torture her. Break every bone in her body. "

"Aurelia." Rocco’s voice came from behind me. I turned. He was standing in the living room doorway, still in last night’s suit, dark circles under his eyes. "Do you like them?" He gestured to the window. "It took me all night to find them." I looked at his exhausted face, and a wave of sadness washed over me. "You forgot something, Rocco," I said, my voice flat. "I hate being the center of attention. I hate being a spectacle."