Page 26 of The Bratty Heir

"I never asked for your sacrifice!" Rocco interrupted, his voice rising despite the need for stealth. "I never asked for your protection or your... whatever the fuck this is between us."

Hurt flickered across Victor's face, quickly masked by cold fury. "Is that so?" he said, voice low and deadly. "Then by all means, go get yourself killed. See if I give a fuck."

The words hit Rocco like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He opened his mouth to respond, to take it all back, but Victor was already moving away.

"Victor, wait—" Rocco reached for him, desperation clawing at his throat.

But before he could make contact, a new voice cut through the tension.

"Well, well," Marco Bianchi drawled, emerging from the shadows with a gun trained on Rocco's head. "Trouble in paradise?"

Rocco froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could see Victor tense out of the corner of his eye, ready to spring into action.

"Now, now," Bianchi tutted, gesturing with his weapon. "Let's not do anything hasty. Why don't we all take a nice, civilized walk to the VIP lounge? I think it's time the young Rossetti and I had a little chat."

Victor's growl was pure animal, his eyes blazing with protective fury. "Over my dead body."

Bianchi's smile was cold and sharp as a blade. "That can be arranged, Mr. Kovac. But I'd hate to deprive our boy here of his faithful guard dog. So why don't you play nice, and maybe I'll let you both walk out of here alive."

Rocco's mind raced, weighing their options. He could see the wheels turning in Victor's head, no doubt calculating the odds of taking out Bianchi before he could pull the trigger.

But the risk was too great. There were still hostages to consider, innocent people caught in the crossfire of their family's war.

"Alright," Rocco said, lifting his chin in defiance. "Let's talk, Bianchi. But my people walk free. All of them."

Bianchi's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "My, my. The pup has teeth after all. Very well, Rossetti. Your wish is my command."

As they were herded towards the VIP lounge, Rocco could feel the heat of Victor's glare boring into his back. He knew they'd have hell to pay when this was over—if they survived at all.

But for now, he had to focus on the task at hand. On protecting his family's interests and proving himself worthy of the Rossetti name.

Even if it meant sacrificing the fragile connection he'd built with Victor in the process.

The VIP lounge was a study in opulence, all plush velvet and glittering crystal. But the beauty was marred by the tableau before them—terrified hostages huddled in corners, watched over by Bianchi's stone-faced goons.

Bianchi lounged in a high-backed chair, every inch the conquering king. "Please, have a seat," he gestured magnanimously. "Let's discuss business like civilized men."

Rocco moved to sit, but Victor's hand on his arm held him back. "We stand," Victor growled, positioning himself slightly in front of Rocco.

Bianchi's eyes glittered with amusement. "Suit yourself. Now, young Rossetti, I believe we have some matters to settle."

Rocco lifted his chin, channeling every ounce of authority he possessed. "The only thing we have to settle is how quickly you and your men will be leaving my family's property."

A chorus of nervous titters rippled through the hostages. Bianchi's smile sharpened, predatory and cold.

"Brave words from a boy playing at being a man," he purred. "Tell me, does Daddy know you're out past your bedtime?"

Anger flared hot in Rocco's chest. He opened his mouth to retort, but Victor's grip tightened in warning.

"Enough games, Bianchi," Victor snarled. "What do you want?"

Bianchi's gaze slid to Victor, a hint of grudging respect in his eyes. "Ah, the loyal attack dog. Always so quick to bare his teeth." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "What I want is simple. The Rossetti family's complete withdrawal from the east side. All your operations, all your territory—handed over to me."

Rocco's blood ran cold. The east side was the heart of their empire, generations of hard work and sacrifice. To give it up would be tantamount to surrender.

"Never," Rocco spat. "You'll have to kill me first."

Victor tensed beside him, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Bianchi's eyes lit up with malicious glee.

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