11. Betrayals Uncovered

CHAPTER 11

BETRAYALS UNCOVERED

The tension in the VIP lounge was thick enough to cut with a knife as Rocco revealed his hand. Four of a kind—queens. A strong hand, but not unbeatable. Rocco's heart pounded in his chest as he met Bianchi's cold stare across the table.

For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, with agonizing slowness, Bianchi laid down his cards.

A royal flush.

Rocco's world tilted on its axis, the blood rushing in his ears drowning out the triumphant whoops of Bianchi's men. This couldn't be happening. The odds of a royal flush were astronomical. Unless...

"You cheated," Rocco snarled, surging to his feet. "You fucking cheated!"

Bianchi's laugh was cold and cruel. "Prove it, boy. Or are you just a sore loser?"

Before Rocco could respond, Victor's hand clamped down on his shoulder, yanking him back. "Enough," Victor growled, his voice low and dangerous. "We're done here."

Bianchi's eyes glittered with malicious glee. "Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Kovac. Young Rossetti here made a deal. And in our world, a man's word is his bond."

Rocco's mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this nightmare. But he knew, with sinking certainty, that Bianchi was right. To back out now would destroy what little credibility the Rossetti family had left.

"Give us a moment," Victor said, his tone brooking no argument. Without waiting for a response, he dragged Rocco into a secluded corner of the lounge.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Victor hissed, his grip on Rocco's arm painfully tight. "Gambling away your family's territory like some green recruit?"

Rocco jerked free, anger and shame warring in his chest. "I had to do something! You weren't exactly offering any brilliant solutions."

Victor's eyes flashed dangerously. "My job is to keep you alive, you spoiled brat. Not to indulge your half-baked schemes."

The words stung, reopening the raw wound of their earlier argument. Rocco opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention.

One of Bianchi's men was slipping something to the dealer—a thick envelope that looked suspiciously like a payoff. And the dealer...

Rocco's blood ran cold as recognition dawned. It was Frankie, one of their own lieutenants. The same Frankie who'd briefed them when they first arrived at the casino.

"Son of a bitch," Rocco breathed, the pieces falling into place. "It was an inside job."

Victor followed his gaze, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Frankie," he spat, like the name was poison on his tongue. "I always knew that weasel couldn't be trusted."

Rocco's mind whirled with the implications. If Frankie had been working with Bianchi, feeding him information... No wonder the attack had been so well-coordinated. No wonder Bianchi always seemed to be one step ahead.

"We need proof," Rocco murmured, more to himself than Victor. "If we can expose the betrayal, maybe we can invalidate the deal."

Victor's hand tightened on Rocco's shoulder, a silent warning. "Don't do anything stupid," he growled. "Let me handle this."

But Rocco was already moving, slipping away from Victor's protective grasp. He approached Bianchi with all the confidence he could muster, channeling every ounce of Rossetti arrogance.

"I'd like to examine the deck," Rocco said, voice steady despite the fear churning in his gut. "To ensure everything was... above board."

Bianchi's smile was sharp as a blade. "By all means, Mr. Rossetti. We wouldn't want any doubts about the integrity of our little game."

As Rocco reached for the cards, he felt Victor's presence at his back—a solid wall of muscle and barely contained violence. It was oddly comforting, knowing the older man had his six even after their heated exchange.

With practiced ease, Rocco began to shuffle through the deck. At first glance, everything seemed normal. But as he neared the bottom, his fingers caught on something—a slight irregularity in the texture of the cards.

"Well?" Bianchi drawled, impatience coloring his tone. "Satisfied?"

Rocco's heart raced as he carefully extracted the anomaly. It was a card, identical to the others at first glance. But when he held it up to the light...

"Marked," Rocco said, triumph surging through him. "The entire deck is marked. You can see the subtle impressions if you know what to look for."

The room erupted into chaos. Bianchi's men reached for their weapons as Victor surged forward, putting himself bodily between Rocco and the threat.

"Now, now," Bianchi's voice cut through the din, cold and controlled. "Let's not do anything hasty. After all, there's no proof I had anything to do with this... unfortunate discovery."

Rocco's eyes narrowed, fury burning hot in his veins. "No? Then perhaps you'd like to explain why one of my own men was seen accepting a payoff from your goon?"

All eyes turned to Frankie, who had gone deathly pale. The lieutenant took a stumbling step back, panic clear on his face.

"I... I don't know what he's talking about," Frankie stammered. "Mr. Bianchi, tell them?—"

But Bianchi's cold laugh cut him off. "Oh, Frankie. So eager to please, so painfully transparent. I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness."

Before anyone could react, Bianchi pulled a gun from his jacket and fired. Frankie crumpled to the ground, a neat hole in the center of his forehead.

For a heartbeat, the world stood still. Then all hell broke loose.

Victor tackled Rocco to the ground as bullets began to fly. They scrambled for cover behind an overturned table, the sounds of gunfire and shattering glass filling the air.

"Stay down," Victor growled, his body a solid shield over Rocco's smaller frame. "I told you to let me handle it, you reckless little shit."

Despite the dire situation, heat pooled in Rocco's belly at Victor's possessive tone. He couldn't help but push back, even now.

"Aww, were you worried about me, Daddy?" Rocco purred, adrenaline making him bold.

Victor's eyes flashed dangerously, his grip on Rocco tightening. "When this is over, I'm going to bend you over my knee and spank that sass right out of you."

The promise sent a shiver down Rocco's spine, arousal warring with the very real fear of their current predicament. But before he could retort, a fresh volley of gunfire peppered their meager shelter.

"We need to move," Victor said, all business once more. "On my signal, make a run for the service entrance. Don't stop, don't look back. Understood?"

Rocco nodded, heart pounding in his chest. Part of him wanted to argue, to insist on staying and fighting. But he knew Victor was right. They were outgunned and outnumbered.

"Now!" Victor shouted, laying down cover fire as Rocco sprinted across the room.

They burst through the service door into a maze of back hallways. Victor took the lead, navigating the twists and turns with practiced ease. Rocco followed close behind, the sounds of pursuit nipping at their heels.

As they rounded a corner, Rocco caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he shoved Victor aside just as a shot rang out.

White-hot pain exploded in Rocco's shoulder. He stumbled, vision blurring as the world tilted sideways.

"Rocco!" Victor's roar seemed to come from very far away. Strong arms caught him as he fell, cradling him against a broad chest.

"'M fine," Rocco slurred, fighting to stay conscious. "Just a scratch."

Victor's face swam into focus above him, etched with a mixture of fury and gut-wrenching fear. "You stupid, reckless, beautiful idiot," he growled, pressing a hand to Rocco's bleeding shoulder. "If you die on me, I swear to God I'll bring you back just to kill you myself."

Rocco managed a weak smile, even as pain radiated through his body. "Didn't know you cared so much, old man."

Victor's eyes flashed with an emotion Rocco couldn't quite name. "You have no idea, little one," he murmured, his voice surprisingly tender.

The moment was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. Victor cursed, gathering Rocco into his arms.

"Hold on," he growled. "This is going to hurt."

With that, Victor took off running, cradling Rocco against his chest. Each step sent jolts of agony through Rocco's injured shoulder, but he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He wouldn't give their pursuers the satisfaction.

They burst out of a fire exit into the cool night air. Victor's car was waiting, engine already purring. He shoved Rocco into the passenger seat before peeling away from the curb, tires squealing in protest.

As they sped through the darkened streets, Rocco's mind whirled. The betrayal, the shootout, the searing pain in his shoulder... it was all too much.

"How did we miss it?" he muttered, more to himself than Victor. "Frankie... he was right under our noses the whole time."

Victor's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. "We got complacent," he said, voice rough with self-recrimination. "Trusted the wrong people."

Rocco's heart clenched at the 'we.' Even after everything, Victor still considered them a team. But for how long?

"I'm sorry," Rocco whispered, the words catching in his throat. "For not listening to you, for putting us in danger. I just... I wanted to prove myself."

Victor was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and intense.

"You have nothing to prove, Rocco. Not to me, not to your father, not to anyone. You're brave and brilliant and so fucking stubborn it drives me insane. But that's what makes you... you."

Rocco's breath caught, warmth blooming in his chest despite the pain. "Victor, I?—"

But before he could finish, Victor's phone buzzed. He answered with a terse greeting, his expression darkening as he listened.

"Understood. We'll be there in ten." He hung up, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Change of plans. Your father's calling an emergency meeting."

Reality came crashing back, the weight of everything that had happened settling heavy on Rocco's shoulders. "How bad is it?"

Victor's silence was answer enough. They spent the rest of the drive in tense quiet, the gravity of the situation hanging between them.

The Rossetti compound was a hive of activity when they arrived, armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Rocco's mother met them at the door, her usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled.

"Oh, tesoro," Lucia gasped, taking in Rocco's bloodied state. "What happened?"

Before Rocco could respond, his father's voice boomed from the study. "Bring him in here. Now."

Victor helped Rocco to the study, supporting most of his weight. Giovanni Rossetti sat behind his massive desk, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chairs before him. As they settled, Giovanni's eyes raked over Rocco's injured form. "Report."

Rocco took a deep breath, steeling himself. He recounted the events of the night—the ambush, the poker game, uncovering Frankie's betrayal. With each word, his father's expression grew darker.

When Rocco finished, silence hung heavy in the air. Finally, Giovanni spoke, his voice deceptively calm.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," he said, each word precise and measured. "You gambled away our territory, exposed a traitor in our midst, and nearly got yourself killed. All in one night."

Rocco swallowed hard, fighting the urge to shrink under his father's withering gaze. "I was trying to protect our interests?—"

"Protect?" Giovanni's fist came down on the desk with a resounding crack. "You've jeopardized everything we've built! Years of work, of sacrifice, all hanging by a thread because you couldn't follow simple orders."

Shame and anger warred in Rocco's chest. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Victor's hand on his arm stopped him.

"With all due respect, sir," Victor said, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from him. "Rocco's actions, while reckless, did uncover a significant threat to the family. Without his intervention, we might still be in the dark about Frankie's betrayal."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, flicking between Rocco and Victor. "And you, Kovac? Where were you while my son was playing Russian roulette with our livelihood?"

Victor's jaw clenched, but he met Giovanni's gaze unflinchingly. "I take full responsibility for any lapses in security, sir. It won't happen again."

Rocco's heart clenched at Victor's words. Even now, after everything, the older man was trying to protect him.

"See that it doesn't," Giovanni said coldly. He turned back to Rocco, his expression hardening. "As for you... consider yourself on probation. You'll work directly under Kovac until further notice, following his orders to the letter. Step out of line again, and you'll be cut off. Permanently."

The dismissal was clear. As they left the study, Rocco felt hollowed out, raw. He'd known his father would be angry, but the cold disappointment in Giovanni's eyes cut deeper than any wound.

In the hallway, Victor pulled Rocco aside, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Come on," he murmured. "Let's get that shoulder looked at."

As they made their way to the infirmary, Rocco couldn't shake the feeling of utter isolation. He'd alienated Victor, disappointed his father, and put the entire family at risk. And for what? To prove he was more than just the boss's spoiled son?

Victor's hand on the small of his back should have been comforting. Instead, it just reminded Rocco of everything he stood to lose.

As the doctor began cleaning his wound, Rocco caught Victor's eye. The older man's face was a mask of professional detachment, but beneath it, Rocco could see the swirling emotions—anger, worry, and something deeper, more tender.

In that moment, Rocco had never felt more alone. He'd pushed away the one person who truly saw him, who challenged him to be better. And now, with enemies closing in from all sides, he wasn't sure he'd get the chance to make things right.

The sting of antiseptic in his shoulder was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. As Victor turned to leave, presumably to brief the security team, Rocco wanted nothing more than to call him back. To beg forgiveness, to plead for another chance.

But pride and fear held his tongue. He watched Victor's retreating form, each step feeling like another nail in the coffin of whatever they'd been building between them.

Alone in the sterile infirmary, surrounded by the trappings of his family's power, Rocco had never felt more lost. The road ahead loomed dark and uncertain, fraught with danger from without and within.

And for the first time since this whole mess began, Rocco wasn't sure he had the strength to face it alone.