8. Under Siege

CHAPTER 8

UNDER SIEGE

The warehouse loomed before them, a hulking silhouette against the inky night sky. Rocco's heart raced as he crouched behind a stack of crates, the acrid scent of gunpowder stinging his nostrils. Victor's solid presence at his back was the only thing keeping him from spiraling into panic.

"Stay close," Victor growled, his breath hot against Rocco's ear. "And for fuck's sake, try not to get yourself killed."

Rocco bristled at the condescension in Victor's tone. "I'm not a child, Victor. I can handle myself."

Victor's low chuckle sent shivers down Rocco's spine. "Sure you can, princess. That's why Daddy's here to hold your hand."

Before Rocco could fire back a retort, a hail of bullets shattered the relative calm. Glass exploded overhead as the warehouse windows splintered, raining shards down on them. Rocco instinctively ducked, pressing closer to Victor's broad frame.

"Fuck," Victor snarled, returning fire with deadly precision. "Looks like Bianchi's boys decided to crash the party early."

Rocco's mind raced, adrenaline surging through his veins. This was supposed to be a routine shipment, a chance for him to learn the ropes of the family business. Instead, they were pinned down in a goddamn war zone.

"We need to get to the office," Rocco shouted over the din. "The ledgers?—"

Victor cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "Forget the paperwork. Our priority is getting you out of here alive."

Anger flared in Rocco's chest, hot and fierce. "Those ledgers are worth millions. If Bianchi gets his hands on them?—"

"I said no." Victor's voice was steel, brooking no argument. He grabbed Rocco's arm, yanking him towards the rear exit. "Move. Now."

Rocco jerked free, defiance overriding his common sense. "You don't get to order me around, Victor. I'm not one of your grunts."

For a moment, the chaos around them faded away. Victor's eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and something darker, more primal. He crowded Rocco against the crates, one large hand wrapping around the younger man's throat.

"Listen to me very carefully, you spoiled little brat," Victor growled, his lips a hairsbreadth from Rocco's. "Your father put me in charge of keeping you alive. That means when I give you an order, you fucking follow it. Understood?"

Rocco's pulse thundered in his ears, arousal warring with indignation. He wanted to spit in Victor's face, to rage against the older man's dominance. But a larger part of him craved Victor's approval, ached to submit to that iron will.

"Fine," Rocco bit out, hating how breathless he sounded. "Lead the way, oh fearless protector."

Victor's grip tightened for a moment, a silent warning. Then he was moving, dragging Rocco through the maze of crates and machinery. They dodged bursts of gunfire, Victor's body a human shield between Rocco and danger.

As they neared the rear loading dock, a figure loomed out of the shadows. Victor reacted with lightning speed, shoving Rocco behind him as he engaged the attacker. Rocco watched in awe as Victor moved with brutal grace, disarming the man with a series of precise strikes.

But even Victor wasn't infallible. As he grappled with the assailant, another of Bianchi's men emerged from behind a forklift. Rocco's blood ran cold as he saw the glint of a gun aimed at Victor's exposed back.

Time seemed to slow, clarity crystallizing in Rocco's mind. Without conscious thought, he snatched up a length of pipe from a nearby workbench. The metal was cool and heavy in his hands as he swung with all his might.

The sickening crunch of steel meeting flesh echoed in Rocco's ears. The gunman crumpled, weapon clattering to the ground. Victor whirled at the sound, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Then Victor was on him, large hands cupping Rocco's face as he checked for injuries.

"Are you hurt?" Victor demanded, his voice rough with an emotion Rocco couldn't quite name. "Did he touch you?"

Rocco shook his head, still dazed from the rush of violence. "I'm fine. I just... I couldn't let him hurt you."

Something softened in Victor's gaze, a fleeting tenderness that made Rocco's chest ache. But before either of them could speak, another explosion rocked the warehouse.

"We need to move," Victor said, all business once more. He kept one hand on the small of Rocco's back as they sprinted for the exit, a possessive touch that sent sparks skittering along Rocco's nerve endings.

They burst out into the cool night air, gasping and stumbling. Victor's car was waiting in the alley, 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 adrenaline was fading, leaving him jittery and off-balance. He snuck glances at Victor's profile, admiring the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his storm-gray eyes.

"That was some quick thinking back there," Victor said, breaking the tense silence. "With the pipe. Not bad for a pampered prince."

Rocco preened at the praise, warmth blooming in his chest. "Maybe you're not the only one with hidden talents."

Victor's laugh was low and rich, sending heat pooling in Rocco's belly. "Is that so? And what other talents are you hiding, little one?"

The endearment slipped out, loaded with meaning. Rocco's breath caught, his body responding to the promise in Victor's voice. He licked his lips, hyper-aware of Victor tracking the movement.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Rocco purred, channeling every ounce of bravado he possessed. "But good boys don't kiss and tell, isn't that right... Daddy?"

The car swerved sharply as Victor's hands tightened on the wheel. He shot Rocco a dark look, desire warring with annoyance. "Careful, brat. You're playing a dangerous game."

Rocco's smirk was pure sin as he stretched languidly, making sure his shirt rode up to reveal a tempting strip of skin. "Maybe I like danger. Maybe that's why I can't seem to stay away from you."

Victor growled, the sound sending shivers down Rocco's spine. "Keep pushing and you'll find out just how dangerous I can be."

The threat should have terrified him. Instead, Rocco felt a heady rush of power. For once, he was the one throwing Victor off-balance, making the older man lose that ironclad control.

But the moment was shattered as Victor's phone buzzed. He answered with a terse greeting, his expression darkening as he listened to the caller.

"Understood. We'll be there in ten." Victor hung up, his jaw clenched tight. "Change of plans. Your father's calling an emergency meeting."

Reality came crashing back, the weight of responsibility 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 playful banter of moments ago a distant memory.

The Rossetti penthouse was a hive of activity when they arrived. Rocco's stomach churned as he took in the grim faces of his father's top lieutenants. This was more than just a failed shipment. This was war.

Giovanni Rossetti sat at the head of the long dining table, his gaunt face a mask of cold fury. Lucia hovered at his side, her usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Giovanni snapped as Rocco and Victor entered. "I trust you have a good explanation for why my warehouse is currently a smoking ruin?"

Rocco opened his mouth to defend himself, but Victor stepped forward. "It was an ambush, sir. Bianchi's crew hit us with everything they had. If it weren't for Rocco's quick thinking, we might not have made it out alive."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, skepticism etched in the deep lines of his face. "Is that so?" He turned his piercing gaze to Rocco. "And what exactly did my son do that was so impressive?"

Rocco straightened his spine, channeling every ounce of the confidence he didn't quite feel. "I neutralized a threat to Victor's life and ensured the safety of our team. The ledgers were lost, but our people made it out."

A tense silence fell over the room. Rocco could feel the weight of every stare, judging and assessing. His father's approval had always been a fickle thing, as elusive as smoke.

To Rocco's surprise, it was his mother who broke the standoff. "The ledgers can be replaced," Lucia said, her voice steady. "Our people cannot. Rocco made the right call."

Giovanni grunted, neither agreement nor dissent. "Be that as it may, we're now in a precarious position. Bianchi's bold enough to attack us openly. We need to retaliate, and quickly."

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, each lieutenant arguing for their preferred course of action. Rocco's head spun as he tried to keep up with the rapid-fire strategizing.

Through it all, he was acutely aware of Victor's solid presence at his back. The older man's hand rested on Rocco's shoulder, a steadying weight that grounded him amidst the chaos.

As the debate raged on, a kernel of an idea began to form in Rocco's mind. It was risky, potentially suicidal. But if it worked...

"I have a suggestion," Rocco said, his voice cutting through the din. All eyes turned to him, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "We hit Bianchi where it hurts most. His pride."

Victor's grip on his shoulder tightened, a silent warning. But Rocco pressed on, the plan crystallizing as he spoke.

"Bianchi's always had a weakness for high-stakes gambling. We set up a game, something too tempting for him to resist. Then we rig it, bleed him dry in front of his allies."

Giovanni leaned forward, interest sparking in his tired eyes. "Go on."

Rocco's confidence grew as he laid out the details of his plan. By the time he finished, a hushed anticipation had fallen over the room.

"It's audacious," one of the lieutenants muttered. "Might just be crazy enough to work."

Giovanni studied Rocco for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Do it. But if this goes sideways, it's on your head."

The dismissal was clear. As the room emptied, Rocco sagged against Victor, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard.

"That was quite a performance," Victor murmured, his breath hot against Rocco's ear. "But do you have any idea what you've just volunteered for?"

Rocco turned, meeting Victor's stormy gaze. "I know exactly what I'm doing. This is my chance to prove myself, to show everyone I'm more than just the boss's spoiled brat."

Victor's eyes softened, a hint of pride shining through the concern. "You don't have anything to prove, little one. Not to them, and certainly not to me."

The tenderness in Victor's voice made Rocco's chest ache. He wanted to lean in, to lose himself in the older man's strength. But the weight of what he'd just set in motion pressed down on him.

"Will you help me?" Rocco asked, hating how small his voice sounded. "I can't do this alone."

Victor's hand came up to cup Rocco's cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "Always, baby. I've got your back, no matter what."

For a moment, they just stood there, the air between them charged with unspoken emotion. Then Victor stepped back, his expression hardening into professional detachment.

"Get some rest," he ordered. "We've got a lot of work to do if we're going to pull this off."

As Victor strode away, Rocco couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just set something momentous in motion. His plan was a roll of the dice, a desperate gamble with not just his own life, but the fate of his entire family hanging in the balance.

He only hoped he wasn't in over his head.