12. Rocco
12
Rocco
“Rocco Parada.” Behind me, a familiar voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I don’t have to turn and look to see who has joined our chat.
Curling my fingers into fists, I try not to grit my teeth.
“I’m truly surprised to see you here. Even more so that you brought friends with you.” Santino appears, donning a vest and slacks that make him stand out.
“Renato.”
Ren pulls Aurora closer to his side, not bothering to hide his protective side.
Turning toward her, I fight to keep my voice steady.
Expecting to be mocked, teased, or threatened, Santino does none.
Instead, he moves his hands to his hips and sighs as he takes me in.
“You look far better than the last time we spoke. Camellia will be relieved.”
He looks relieved by the thought.
“I want to speak with her,” I tell him calmly.
I don’t want to make a fight out of this.
For once, I’m tired of being the bad guy.
“If you think you can talk her out of this–” Santino begins, his smile growing tight.
“I won’t.” Looking away from him, I jerk when fingers slide around my arm in a grip.
Eliza nods at Santino, already tugging me away.
“I’ll make sure he’s good. As badly as I am sure you’re looking for a reason to see her early, I’ve got this.”
Looking at Ren and Aurora, I think of asking to bring them with me, but I know that might be a bit much.
“We’ll be fine,” Ren calls behind me, using that false confidence again.
As my sister guides us back to the house, going as far as leaving Urzo behind to entertain Ren, she gives me a side glance.
“Why did you come? I know you got an invite, but why did you come?”
Squinting ahead, my fingers twitch at my sides as I struggle to do something with my hands.
“I wanted to talk to her. Make sure she—you both—weren’t being harmed.”
Eliza scoffs, her laugh humorless.
“And if we were? Fewer problems for you to deal with. You could move on without us.”
I think back to the state I was in.
All those nights, Ren pulled me from bars.
The mornings I woke up in alleyways when he was busy.
“No—” I clear my throat because it feels like I’ve got an entire fist shoved into my throat, “—I couldn’t.”
For the first time, her mask cracks—just a sliver.
Something fragile flickers in her gaze before she steels herself again.
But it’s enough.
Enough to hope.
I could make this easier for myself by telling them the truth.
Tell them about our mother, and what I had to do.
Maybe they’d pity me over giving me their hatred.
At the same time, some secrets are made to stay that way.
I’d never want my sisters to hurt the way I have.
The betrayal to that extreme is enough to break someone.
Steadying my breathing, Eliza leads me up the blocked stairs.
Tugging me along, I realize my steps have started to slow.
Dread fills my stomach, and sweat collects against my brow.
Reaching the door, Eliza doesn’t let me enter.
Not straight away.
“She’s been wanting to see you. For whatever reason, she still loves you, Rocco. When you go in there, you can’t crush her like you did before. She’s our sister, and you can’t pretend she isn’t. For once in your life, you need to look at her. Acknowledge her. After today, she won’t be a Parada, she’ll be a Bertelli. It’s not enough for her. She wants to keep ties with you. Wants peace. So for once, don’t fuck this up.”
Most of her words are hardened over, some wavering.
Even when she tries to be strong, there are always cracks in her armor.
Despite the throb of my cheek from her earlier hit, I don’t fear getting close to her.
Even if she’s not happy about contact, I tug her into my arms and hug her.
“I know you’ll never forgive me, Eliza. And I know it’s hard to believe, but I do love both of you.” Sighing in her hair, I grunt when her fingers dig into my chest.
Just when I think she’s trying to get away, I realize she’s clinging to my shirt.
It’s almost like she can’t decide what she wants to do.
“Thank you for taking care of her in all the ways I failed.” Pulling away, I give her the best smile I can.
A small curve, but enough to make her brows lift.
“I’ll be a better man. Whatever it takes.”
If it means becoming best fucking friends with Santino Bertelli, I’ll do it.
Or treating Camellia the way Eliza wants me to.
Turning away from her, I push open the door.
Feeling the heavy thump of my heart, I can’t remember the last time I felt so nervous.
Two steps in and I see her.
Sitting on a bench, her back is to me.
While an older woman picks and pokes at her hair, she uses her finger to spread something along her lips.
All at once, her eyes lift in her reflection, and those blue eyes meet mine.
Just like the cloudless sky outside, they part wide in surprise before she jerks to look over her shoulder.
“Rocco!” Her voice is so soft, so melodic as she moves to her feet.
“You came!”
It feels like I have claws sinking deep into my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
As much as my body demands I look away from her, my eyes remain.
The memory hits like a backhand.
Our mother’s face, flushed crimson, her lips purpled with rage as she spat curses at our own blood in her fleeting last moments.
Her hatred was a living thing—twisting her features, poisoning the air between us.
Then, Camellia steps forward, pushing past the images forming before me like a hallucination.
Alive.
Not just breathing, but vibrant.
Her smile is soft, her eyes bright with warmth—no trace of the pallor or stillness I’d feared.
The relief is so sharp it nearly doubles me over.
Here, now, she’s nothing like the ghost of our mother’s fury or her death.
Standing in a wedding gown whiter than snow, I can see that my sister looks…
beautiful .
Once more, I can’t help but think I don’t deserve this.
To be forgiven by those I’ve wronged.
Camellia is at the top of the list. If she can forgive me, then others can as well.
“You look…” My words shake as I take her in.
“Like a freaking bombshell,” Eliza finishes off for me, her lips forming into a smirk.
“Santino is going to drop to his knees at the altar.”
The older woman in the background chuckles at her comment.
When she looks my way, I don’t recognize her, but she seems to recognize me.
She moves toward me, and I don’t need an introduction.
The curve of her brow, the sharp cut of her jaw—it’s all Urzo, all Santino.
Their mother.
“You’re Elio’s son, alright.” She drags my father’s name over her tongue like a relic, her eyes crinkling at the edges.
“I always wondered who inherited his face. You’re nearly his mirror.”
My throat tightens, but Camellia’s fingers suddenly wrap around mine, pulling me back.
“You look… healthy,” she says, scanning me with palpable relief.
“I expected a ghost. Instead, here you stand.”
Eliza snorts.
“Probably has everything to do with his fiancée.”
Camellia’s breath catches—sharp, audible.
She doesn’t jerk at the thought of my happiness.
Rather, she beams .
I’m blinded so much that I grow dizzy.
It hurts to look at her for a whole new reason.
“You’ll get to meet her soon enough,” I promise.
“Hell, you might like her. You both have some things in common.”
Locked away because their brother has an ulterior motive.
Fell for the first man to save them.
Ecetera ecetera.
I’ll let them discover the similarities themselves.
Camellia’s hands grasp my arms, her grip warm and anchoring.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, and there’s something fragile in her voice—like hope held too tightly might shatter it.
“I hope you’ll be the one to introduce me to her.”
It’s almost jarring, this shift.
I remember her in fragments—shoulders hunched under the weight of our name, eyes shadowed with the same bitterness that twisted our mother’s face into something unrecognizable.
Back then, the resemblance had been unbearable.
But now?
Now she stands tall, her smile unguarded, her joy so present it rewrites her entirely.
This isn’t the ghost of our mother’s rage.
This is just Camellia.
Something thick lodges in my throat.
All I can do is nod.
This isn’t how I expected to see her, but now that I have, there’s no other way I want her to be.