Page 30 of The Bratty Heir

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.

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