12. The Heart of the Matter

CHAPTER 12

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

The Rossetti compound felt like a prison, its opulent halls suffocating Rocco as he paced restlessly. Three days had passed since the disastrous night at the casino, and the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

Victor had been conspicuously absent, throwing himself into shoring up their defenses and rooting out any remaining traitors. Rocco's shoulder ached, a constant reminder of his failure and the growing distance between them.

A soft knock at his bedroom door pulled Rocco from his brooding. "Come in," he called, expecting another faceless guard with an update.

Instead, his mother glided into the room, her usual grace tempered by worry. "Rocco, darling. How are you feeling?"

Rocco forced a smile, not wanting to add to her concerns. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little sore."

Lucia's eyes narrowed, seeing through his facade as easily as she always had. "Don't lie to me, tesoro. I know you too well for that."

With a sigh, Rocco sank onto the edge of his bed. "What do you want me to say? That I fucked up? That I nearly got myself killed and put the entire family at risk?"

Lucia sat beside him, her hand coming to rest on his uninjured shoulder. "I want you to tell me the truth. About Victor."

Rocco's head snapped up, heart racing. "What about Victor?"

His mother's gaze was piercing, searching his face for answers. "I've seen the way you look at him, Rocco. The way he looks at you. It's more than just bodyguard and charge, isn't it?"

Heat flooded Rocco's cheeks, equal parts embarrassment and defiance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lucia's sigh was heavy with disappointment. "Don't insult my intelligence, darling. I may be your mother, but I'm not blind. Something's changed between you two."

Rocco stood abruptly, pacing to the window. He stared out at the manicured grounds, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "It's... complicated."

"I'm sure it is," Lucia said, her voice gentle but firm. "But Rocco, you need to be careful. Men like Victor... they're dangerous. Not just physically, but emotionally."

Rocco's jaw clenched, a surge of protectiveness rising in his chest. "You don't know him like I do."

"Maybe not," Lucia conceded. "But I know men like him. I've seen what they can do to people who love them. The way they twist loyalty into control, affection into ownership."

Rocco whirled to face her, anger flaring hot in his veins. "Victor's not like that. He's... he's good to me. He sees me for who I am, not just as the boss's son."

Lucia stood, crossing to him with measured steps. "Oh, tesoro. That's what I'm afraid of. Victor Kovac is a skilled manipulator. It's what makes him so valuable to your father. But it also makes him dangerous to you."

"You're wrong," Rocco insisted, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his certainty. "Victor wouldn't... he cares about me."

His mother's eyes softened with sympathy. "I'm sure he does, in his way. But Rocco, you have to ask yourself—is it you he cares for? Or the power you represent?"

The words hit Rocco like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He wanted to deny it, to rage against the implication. But a small, traitorous part of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, his mother had a point.

"I need to talk to him," Rocco said, already moving towards the door. "I need to know the truth."

Lucia caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful, Rocco. Whatever you decide, remember that your loyalty must always be to the family first. We can't afford any more... distractions."

The warning in her tone was clear. Rocco nodded stiffly, shrugging off her hand. "I know where my priorities lie, Mom. You don't have to worry about that."

As he strode out of the room, Rocco's mind whirled with conflicting emotions. He needed answers, needed to confront Victor and clear the air between them once and for all.

He found Victor in the security hub, surrounded by monitors and tense-faced guards. The older man's eyes snapped to Rocco as he entered, a flicker of something—concern? guilt?—crossing his face before being swiftly masked.

"We need to talk," Rocco said, lifting his chin in challenge. "Now."

Victor's jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly. "My office. Five minutes."

The wait was agonizing, each second stretching into eternity as Rocco paced the length of Victor's spartan office. When the door finally opened, Rocco's heart leapt into his throat.

Victor looked exhausted, dark circles marring the skin beneath his stormy eyes. But even rumpled and weary, he exuded an aura of barely leashed power that made Rocco's knees weak.

"What is it, Rocco?" Victor asked, his voice gruff. "I'm in the middle of?—"

"What am I to you?" Rocco interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Is this... are we... real? Or am I just a job to you?"

Victor's eyes widened, genuine surprise breaking through his usual mask of control. "What are you talking about?"

Rocco advanced on him, frustration and need bubbling over. "Don't play dumb, Victor. You know exactly what I mean. The way you touch me, the things you say... is it all just part of your assignment? Keep the boss's brat in line by any means necessary?"

Understanding dawned in Victor's eyes, followed swiftly by anger. "You think I'm playing you? That this is some kind of game to me?"

"Isn't it?" Rocco challenged, chin lifted in defiance. "The big bad bodyguard, seducing the naive little prince. It's a classic move, isn't it? Get close, gain his trust, use him to cement your position in the family."

Victor's growl was pure animal as he surged forward, backing Rocco against the wall. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, little boy."

Rocco's breath caught at their sudden proximity, arousal warring with indignation. "Then enlighten me, Daddy," he purred, deliberately provoking. "Tell me what this is really about."

For a heartbeat, the world stood still. Then Victor's mouth crashed down on his, all teeth and tongue and bruising intensity. Rocco moaned into the kiss, surrendering completely to the onslaught.

Victor's hands were everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He gripped Rocco's ass, kneading the firm flesh as he ground their hips together. Rocco could feel the impressive length of Victor's cock pressing against his stomach, a promise of exquisite pleasure to come.

"Is this what you wanted, baby boy?" Victor rasped, breaking the kiss to trail bites down Rocco's throat. "Wanted Daddy to show you how real this is?"

"Yes," Rocco gasped, tilting his head to give Victor better access. "Please, Daddy. Need you so bad."

Victor growled, the sound vibrating through Rocco's chest. In one fluid motion, he spun Rocco around, bending him over the massive oak desk. Cool wood pressed against Rocco's overheated skin as Victor blanketed him from behind.

"Such a naughty little thing," Victor murmured, his hands sliding under Rocco's shirt to caress the planes of his back. "Always pushing, always testing. I think it's time Daddy taught you a lesson in trust."

Rocco whimpered as Victor's fingers found his nipples, twisting the sensitive nubs until they ached. "Please," he begged, beyond shame or pride. "I'll be good, I promise. Just need you inside me."

Victor chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Rocco's spine. "Oh, I'll give you what you need, baby. But first, you're going to listen. Really listen."

With agonizing slowness, Victor began to strip Rocco bare. Each brush of his calloused hands against Rocco's skin was electric, building the tension to a fever pitch.

"You want to know if this is real?" Victor growled, his breath hot against Rocco's ear. "If you're more than just a job to me? Then pay attention, little one," Victor growled, his breath hot against Rocco's ear. "Because I'm only going to say this once."

Victor's hand snaked around to grip Rocco's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze in the reflection of the office window. The intensity in those stormy eyes made Rocco's breath catch.

"You drive me fucking crazy," Victor said, voice low and raw. "Your stubbornness, your recklessness, the way you push every goddamn button I have. But you also make me feel things I thought I'd buried a long time ago."

Rocco's heart raced, hope and fear warring in his chest. "What things?" he whispered.

Victor's grip tightened, his other hand trailing down Rocco's spine. "Things like pride when you show that brilliant mind of yours. Protectiveness that goes way beyond my job description. And a hunger that scares the shit out of me."

As if to emphasize his point, Victor ground his hips against Rocco's ass, the hard line of his cock unmistakable. Rocco whimpered, pushing back instinctively.

"If this was just a job," Victor continued, his voice rough with emotion, "I wouldn't lose sleep worrying about you. I wouldn't want to tear apart anyone who looks at you wrong. And I sure as hell wouldn't be risking everything by doing this."

With that, Victor spun Rocco around and claimed his mouth in a searing kiss. It was different from before—less frantic, but no less intense. Rocco melted into it, pouring every ounce of his own confused feelings into the connection.

When they finally broke apart, both panting, Victor rested his forehead against Rocco's. "I can't give you pretty words or grand gestures, baby," he murmured. "But I can give you this. All of me, for as long as you'll have me."

Tears pricked at Rocco's eyes, overwhelmed by the raw honesty in Victor's voice. "Victor, I?—"

But before he could finish, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. They sprang apart, hastily straightening clothes and hair.

"Come in," Victor called, his professional mask sliding back into place.

One of the guards entered, his face grim. "Sir, we've got a situation. Bianchi's men have been spotted near the east side warehouse."

Victor cursed, all business once more. "Gather the team. We move in ten."

As the guard hurried out, Victor turned back to Rocco. The tenderness of moments ago was gone, replaced by the cold efficiency of a trained killer.

"Stay here," he ordered, voice brooking no argument. "I mean it, Rocco. No heroics this time."

Rocco wanted to protest, to insist on coming along. But the memory of his recent failures held him back. "Be careful," he said instead, hating how small his voice sounded.

Something softened in Victor's eyes. He cupped Rocco's face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "Always am, baby. We'll finish this conversation when I get back."

With one last, bruising kiss, Victor was gone. Rocco sagged against the desk, his mind whirling with everything that had just transpired.

Victor's confession had soothed some of his fears, but new ones rose to take their place. What did this mean for their future? For Rocco's place in the family? And could they really build something real in the midst of all this chaos and violence?

As the sound of engines roaring to life reached his ears, Rocco made a decision. He couldn't sit idly by while Victor and the others risked their lives. He was a Rossetti, dammit. It was time he started acting like one.

Slipping out of the office, Rocco made his way to the garage. He'd follow at a safe distance, ready to provide backup if needed. And maybe, just maybe, he'd finally prove to everyone—including himself—that he was more than just the boss's spoiled son.

As he gunned the engine of his sleek sports car, Rocco's mother's warning echoed in his mind. But he pushed it aside, focusing on the road ahead.

Whatever came next, he and Victor would face it together. Of that, at least, Rocco was certain.